Sharon L. Clark

Within (Part 2)

On August 19, 2020

I’ve been working on the same novel, making revisions, for such a long time that I needed a little break to stretch my writing ‘legs’, so to speak. There will be a total of 4 installments and I will release a new section each Wednesday. “Within” was a quick short that I thoroughly enjoyed writing – and that I hope you enjoy reading!

~~~~~

Livid tears stream down my cheeks and I can no longer hold back. I open my other hand and the purple haze washes over me, pulsating like a heartbeat. The tendrils tear out of the man under the light, his empty meat sack dropping into an unnatural heap where he stood. They wind around me, lifting me from the ground and suspending me in the air, a helpless witness.

Kyle’s gone. He’s seen this episode before and his heartlessness allows him to disappear, leaving his underlings to face my wrath and a power they could never imagine in their worst nightmares. I hear the report of gunfire, see the muzzle flashes all around me, but none of their bullets touch me. Screaming through my tears, I beg them to stop, to run, to save themselves, even though it’s too late. It was too late the minute I turned onto this street and stepped into their ambush.

My head is forced backwards, the pressure emanating from inside me and bearing down on me at the same time, almost tearing me to shreds. God, if only that would happen—could happen! But there is no God. Only the force that’s woven itself into my DNA, part of me and wholly separate, simultaneously saving me and dooming me to walk this earth with no peace.

The sky rips open, all air sucked into the gaping hole it creates. Metal clatters to the ground as hands release weapons to grasp at throats, unable to breathe. There are no cries of fear or pain. The silence is bone-chilling and I force my eyes open to see if it’s over. Human bodies with absolutely no right to are being stretched, elongated, as the Black Hole’s gravity works on them. Mouths freeze open in silent shrieks while the bones of their skulls and their spines are pulled up and away from their shoes until they are torn apart and swallowed.

There is no stopping it: I’m not in control, I was never in control. All I can do is wail and scream and beg for it to end, to spare someone—anyone—from this destruction. The pressure is almost unbearable now, every cell in my body rioting. The tendrils wrap themselves tighter around me, the frenzied wind in my little bubble threatening to flay me alive. And then, with a crack like the world is splitting in two, it’s done.

I’m kneeling on the dark sidewalk and all around me is silent devastation, as though I’ve survived a nuclear detonation. Cars mangled and flipped, the lamp post impossibly twisted, the cement buckled and cracked. And not another soul in a half-mile radius.

My body is numb at first, wasted and weak. Fiery pinpricks burn across my skin. It’s not my time to die. Not today. Maybe not ever. Pain and fear and shame and loneliness are all I have to look forward to for eternity, death nothing more than a dream.

While I wait for enough strength to return to my legs to get them under me and to haul ass, I let the tears pour onto the cement. I’m exhausted. Each outburst leaves me wasted and heartbroken. Just in time for the highlight reel of the past four years’ torment to start.

One after another, I see the faces of all those this curse has touched. Their screams, their prayers and their bargaining play out inside my head, and then their gasping and the watery squelch as their bodies are overtaken. One voice always filters to the top and it’s enough to rip my heart out of my chest.

Wallowing in the vision of her face as it swims behind my closed eyes, approaching footsteps catch me off guard. My eyes fly open and I pop to my feet, fists at the ready, but a quick punch to my nose sends me staggering, stars filling my vision. I fall back on my ass, hard, and the shockwave travels through my bones, rattles my teeth. My arms are grabbed from all around me, several pairs of hands holding me in place. It’s starting again, I can feel the tingling build in my palms as They try to return.

Then his voice is in my ear, his warm breath causing the wisps of hair around my face to tickle my cheek.

“It didn’t have to be this way, Des.” He strokes my hair and my scalp crawls, right before I feel a sting and burning pressure behind my ear. “Shh…Don’t fight it. While I would love nothing more than to see you suffer, I’ve been ordered to make sure you arrive mostly unharmed.”

His poisonous voice is still ringing in my consciousness as I feel the effects of whatever he just fucking dosed me with. I can’t hold my head up, my sight narrows to a dark tunnel, and the tingling in my hands fades to nothing.

“What have you done?” I think the words came out of my mouth but my head is so stuffed with cotton that I can’t be sure.

My teeth clack together as Kyle clutches my hair and yanks my head back. “Shown you mercy, which is far more than you deserve, Des! I should slit your throat right here and now, consequences be damned.”

Then all is black.

Within (Part 1)

By Sharon Clark

On August 12, 2020

In Stories & Excerpts

~~~~~

A bus whips around the corner, the headlights washing over me, and I flinch back into the shadows. I pull my hood tighter around my face: That life is long behind me and recognition isn’t a risk I’m willing to take.

I pass through yellow pools of street light on my path to nowhere. The scar on my shoulder twinges painfully, as though it heard my thoughts. Yeah, yeah, I remember you. No need to be a dick about it.

There’s a man leaning against the lamp post on the corner, smoking a cigarette. He’s watching me, one foot propped up and his head cocked to the side. Even from a hundred yards, his greasy smile is repulsive.

I keep my head down and press a little closer to the buildings. Maybe if I can keep out of arms’ reach it’ll be more work then he wants. Come on, man, just look the other way and we can both see tomorrow.

“Hey, baby. Where you goin’ in such a hurry?” He tosses his smoke into the street and takes a step toward me. “A pretty thing like you shouldn’t be out here all alone.”

“Fuck off.” I speed up, keeping my head down. A few more strides and I’ll be flush with him, but I can tell by the change in his stance that I won’t get any farther. Shit.

“What’d you say to me?” He pulls up to his full height and blocks my path. My stomach twists into a knot: he’s easily six inches taller than I am, and he’s faster than he looks. Doesn’t matter. He’ll never move fast enough—none of them do.

My heart starts racing and I fight to keep my breathing even. I’ve been found. Again. Is he the only one here? Don’t be stupid, Des, they’d never send just one poor sap to round you up. They’ve learned that lesson.

“Come on, sweet thing, ain’t you gonna talk to me? Tell me your name at least? Don’t be mean.”

From the corner of my eye, there’s movement in the shadows across the street, that bus that passed me earlier. Parked on the next block, the windows dark—except for the red tracer lights trying to get a lock on me. Fuck.

“Look, man.” I keep shifting my weight from foot to foot, trying to make myself small and give the illusion that I’m scared of him. “I don’t want any trouble. I’m just trying to walk here, that’s all.”

A man steps out of a shadowy doorway to my right, and my heart sinks into my feet. “Give it up Des. You’re surrounded and we’re going to take you in one way or another. So, just don’t make this difficult.”

I shake the hood off and my hair gleams in the artificial light. “Don’t call me that, Kyle. You don’t get to call me that. And you aren’t taking me anywhere.”

Without taking my eyes off the creep in my way on the sidewalk, Kyle watches me, perfectly calm. Sandy-blond hair falling into his eyes, his lips pressed into a thin line, his hands resting loosely in his pants pockets. My own hand itches to smooth the hair off his forehead and see that smile he saved just for me once upon a time. But that was years ago and too much has happened since then for him to ever look at me with anything but pure loathing.

It would never match the loathing I feel for myself, not even a tiny bit.

My hatred for myself and for these monsters is making my skin crackle with energy. Taking a deep breath, I clench and release my fists, still in my pockets, hoping against hope to be able to hold it back, just this once. “Please, Kyle, let me go. Don’t make me do this.”

“Then come with me quietly, Des. We can help you.”

That name again. The tingling in my hands flares, then my head snaps up and I lock onto his sky-blue eyes. He has to see how futile this is—he has to! I plead silently with my eyes, but there is no compassion left in his.

He nods quickly and God damn it, I know it’s on. Why does he keep doing this to me? The man closest to me twitches in my direction and I jerk back, my hands low at my sides. He hesitates when he sees the pale violet glow leaking out between my clasped fingers.

“You moron,” Kyle bellows. “What are you waiting for? Get her. Now.”

Kyle’s lackey takes a step closer, but I open one hand and the tendrils fly free. As they travel over him, tasting his fear, his eyes are wide and his body is rigid. He opens his mouth to scream, but no sooner do his lips part than they are inside of him, gorging on more than the stench of his terror. I squeeze my eyes shut.

“Desiree!”

Kyle’s hands are clamped in fists and trembling at his sides, but he’s taken a step back, one foot inside the doorway he had emerged from earlier. Red laser dots, dark like blood, light up my chest, as the glow envelopes me.

“Don’t, Kyle!” I struggle to keep the sob out of my voice. “You know how this ends—please call them off, get them away from me!”

His eyes narrow and his chest puffs out as our eyes meet over the writhing body of his flunky and I know. I fucking know. With nothing else to live for, vengeance has made him cruel and nothing else matters to him but winning.

“You know I can’t. I won’t.”

“Do you think I don’t pay for what I did every second of every day?” My voice breaks. “There’s nothing you can do to me that’s worse than what I do to myself.”

“Well then.” His smile sends a chill down my spine. “You can call this mercy.”

Dark & Twisty, This Book Belongs On Your Summer Reading List

By Sharon Clark

On July 26, 2020

In Book Reviews

Bang to Begin by Jethro Weyman
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Beautifully written and deliciously disturbing!

I have been a fan of Jethro Weyman’s prose since reading the first page. There are many reasons to fall in love with this book, but for me, it’s all about the graceful way Jethro weaves his words. Don’t get me wrong, I love the dark themes and the horrific situations the characters find themselves in, but I am in awe of Jethro’s descriptions and the unique cadence of his prose.

There are some chapters that feel like the imaginings of a fever dream and others that hit a little too close to home in their raw honesty. Each chapter could stand alone, unique and beautiful, but they all intertwine into an ethereal, mind-bending, heart-stopping ride you’ll want to take over and over.

Definitely recommend!

View all my reviews

Ohhh…So THIS is Where Dystopian Novels Come From

By Sharon Clark

On June 17, 2020

In Messages From Sharon

What a wild time to be alive.

The past three months have been, in a word, tumultuous. It seems that a year’s worth of joy, fear, anger, sadness, and love has been crammed into just a few months.

Over one weekend in the middle of March, my son’s senior year ended abruptly, my daughter got engaged, I signed with a fantastic agent, and COVID-19 shut down most of the country. Life as we know it changed, I believe, irrevocably and overnight. Then recent events brought the ugly truth of racial disparity and police brutality into the spotlight, adding to an already volatile situation.

With everything that’s happened, I should have written a library of dystopian novels by now!

To be honest—and I know I’m not alone in this—being isolated at home, uncertain of what the future holds, has made it hard to focus. I find myself avoiding the computer, unable to write anything new as it all seems so trivial. Some days I sleep too much, other days I can’t make myself go to bed. I should be preparing my youngest for his first year of school in another state, planning a wedding with my daughter, talking with my middle child about his final year of college and his future. But it’s hard to make plans when everything can change in the blink of an eye. So what can I do?

I can keep moving forward. I can embrace hope and I can share love.

With the help of my agent, Katie, I am working on chapter-by-chapter revisions of my novel. I have been given the opportunity to spend quality time with my youngest before he flies the nest to start his real life. My middle child has demonstrated strength and compassion by using his voice to try to make a difference in the world. Wedding plans are progressing with my daughter, despite the darkness in our world, and even if it doesn’t look exactly as she’d initially dreamed.

And we all have contingency plans for our contingency plans.

I’ve found that now, more than ever, it’s imperative to stretch your creativity and leave your comfort zone. We must adapt or we die, and right now we are being forced to challenge the status quo and find better solutions—what better way than through creating, writing, and thinking outside the box?

Without deviation from the norm, progress is not possible.”

-Frank Zappa

How are you keeping your head above water these days? Are you pushing yourself, using new creative outlets, or brushing up on ones you’d forgotten? Drop me a comment or send me an email!

Patience Is NOT My Virtue

By Sharon Clark

On March 4, 2020

In Messages From Sharon

Earlier this week, I decided to take a chance and submitted the romantic suspense novel I’ve been tweaking since 2017 to a handful of agents.

Finding a literary agent is terrifying and can make you question your talent as a writer and your value as a human. If you aren’t familiar with the process, querying involves an author boiling down their 74,000-word novel into a few sentences and wooing an agent to fall in love with their work. It’s an exhilarating and nerve-wracking experience and one that bears paraphrasing an acclaimed movie line:

I’m just an author, standing in front of an agent, asking them to love my story – and, by extension, me.

In theory, I know how this works. Agency websites explain up front that the process can take 6-8 weeks before the author should expect a response. Does that calm my nerves? Not in the slightest. I am an over-thinker. As my mom says, I “borrow trouble” and can’t help ruminating on the possibilities: What if they all say no? What if they all say yes?! Do I have any idea what I’m doing?

The number of times I’ve hit refresh on my email and checked my spam folder since querying is embarrassing.

When you submit your work for approval, it stirs up a crazy combination of emotions. On one hand, I’m exceptionally proud of myself for finishing this novel and working through several rounds of edits to get it where it is. Most days, I love the story and want everyone to read it immediately.

There are other days, though, where I can’t believe that I’d be so bold as to think I have any chance of getting published. I’m trying to detach myself from the querying process and not take criticism and rejection personally, but my brain just doesn’t work that way.

So here are some things I’ve done to distract myself:

Take the dogs to the park
Laundry
Clean the junk drawer
Taxes (someone put me out of my misery)

Of course, writing this post has been an exercise in pseudo-distraction. I’m not obsessively checking my email, but I am writing about obsessively checking my email. Doesn’t exactly work.

Have any of you gone through this stage? What advice do you have? Please feel free to distract me with funny stories, questions, or other comments – I’d love to hear from you!

short story, story prompt, prompts, short stories

An Unexpected Union

By Sharon Clark

On February 19, 2020

In Stories & Excerpts

Most of my recent short stories have fallen on the dark side. I’m not sure why that happens, and my friends like to tease me about it. So I was determined to write something sweeter, a cozy romance, perhaps. It was a little harder than I expected but I was ready for a writing challenge.

One of my favorite things about following prompts from this book, Write the Story, is that I can curb my fondness of going down writing rabbit holes. I tried to keep this romantic short story simple and I hope you like what I ended up with!

Title: An Unexpected Union

Words: brothers, potato, common, hands, boyfriend, alphabet, scribble, hydrangea, sandwich, tug-of-war

Julie Lillis wiped down the counter in the deli she’d worked at since high school. Kelly’s Deli was the go-to lunch spot in the small town of Pinto and most of the residents came through the doors for their famous roast beef sandwich or a bowl of vegetable alphabet soup any given day.

“I don’t understand what the big deal is.” A tall, lanky young man with waves of dark hair falling into his brown eyes leaned over Julie’s shoulder, making her jump.

She swatted at him with her towel and he poked her in the ribs. “Damn it, Shawn, what’s wrong with you? You’re gonna get an elbow to the nose one of these days.”

“Yeah, right,” he drawled with a smirk. “Anyway, I don’t get what’s so wrong with sticking around here one more year before you run away from home.”

Rolling her eyes, Julie tucked a blond curl behind her ear then put the chairs on the tables so Shawn could mop the floor. “Don’t be so dramatic. I’m not running away from home, I’m running toward my future. There is no way to get around the fact that my prospects are severely limited around here. It’s already been three years since graduation, I’ve got my associate’s degree from the community college, it’s just time for me follow my dreams.”

Shawn Flores leaned on the mop handle and stared at the floor while she talked.

“You know I won’t quit until I’m working for the Smithsonian Institution in some aspect. One of the museums in DC would be ideal, but I am not picky.” She blew her bangs out of her eyes, noticing Shawn’s forlorn expression.

They’d been like two peas in a pod since they were eight years old when Shawn moved into the house next door to Julie’s. It had been in the deepest heat of the summer, the kind of oppressive humidity that made daylight unfit for man or beast. At first, they wanted nothing to do with each other. His family had moved into the house that had been vacated by Julie’s first best friend, Annie, and her eight-year-old brain blamed him for making Annie leave.

First thing on summer mornings, Julie and her mom would work in the yard, pulling weeds from the small vegetable garden and watering the flowers. Julie’s favorites were the hydrangea bushes under her window. She’d picked out the first one when she was five and had gotten to buy a new one each year. The result was a collection of thriving blooms in blue, purple, and pink that mesmerized her every time she looked at them. One such morning, she’d been daydreaming over the flowers when Shawn’s mother came barreling over, dragging him behind her, to introduce herself. Julie glared at him. He stuck out his tongue. They maintained their crossed-arm standoff for nearly five minutes before she noticed his Power Rangers t-shirt.

“Hey! Do you like Power Rangers?”

Shawn had narrowed his eyes and answered, “Maybe. Why? Do you?”

Within another five minutes, Julie had dragged him to the shed where she kept her collection of morphers, swords, and laser blasters and the rest was history. Their bedroom windows faced each other and they spent the next ten years talking to each other through those windows after bedtime or taking the time to scribble a secret note before folding it into a paper airplane to shoot across the yard.

But looking at his mopey face in the middle of the darkened deli, Julie felt a pang in her chest. She talked a big game but she was nervous about leaving alone and not having him to talk to and lean on every day.

“Shawn?”

“Hmm?” he mumbled as he started swishing the mop back and forth on the black and white tiles.

“You could come with me, you know.” The way his head whipped up and his eyes locked on hers wasn’t the reaction she was expecting. He’d always refused to talk about going to college with a snort and a wave but this was very different.

“What do you mean?”

Hopping onto the counter behind her, Julie swung her legs and shrugged. “What do you mean, what do I mean? I mean you don’t have to stay here in this nowhere town and work at this old deli for the rest of your life. Let’s pick out a college together, one where I can get my history degree and museum curator’s license and you can take art and music classes.”

He frowned into the bucket of soapy water. “Don’t be dumb. First, how the hell am I going to afford college? After dad left, mom and I couldn’t even afford the community college here in town. Second, I can’t make a living with art or music. I’m better off staying here and managing the deli in another couple of years.”

Julie dragged her hands down her face and groaned. “Oh my god, Shawn. You know Joe isn’t going to retire. Like, ever. You will have to pry that set of manager keys from his cold, dead hand, and even then it’s not a guarantee. You are so talented, you could do anything you wanted! You deserve so much better than this.”

His smile was sad as he rolled the mop and bucket past into the back room. “You think so? Sometimes I wonder.”

“Hey,” she whispered, placing her hand on his arm. “Your dad’s an asshole and your folks were wrong to play tug-of-war with you during the divorce. They were both in so much pain they couldn’t see what they were doing to you and I’m so sorry.”

Without looking up, Shawn placed his hand on top of hers and sighed. “I want to believe you, Jules, I really do. And I try to. But there are only so many positive affirmations I can tell my mirror before the words mean nothing.”

Julie’s other hand slid into the longer shaggy locks at the back of his neck while she tried to think of what to say. When he was about twelve, his dad began an affair with a woman he met on the golf course and his attitude at home turned to shit. He was rude to Shawn’s mom if he acknowledged her at all, and he had zero kind words for Shawn when he realized that football and baseball weren’t in his future. Instead, singing and art were Shawn’s true and outstanding talents, but his dad never accepted that. He left a year later. She knew she shouldn’t, but Julie felt guilty that her parents were still married and happy together.

Leaning into her touch, Shawn started to relax. He turned to lay his forehead against her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her waist. It was a common pose for them, taking comfort in each other without words or judgments.

Shawn took a deep breath and pushed back from Julie’s embrace. “Thanks, Jules. You always know how to make me feel better. And you know what? I’ll think about it. There are worse things than running away with you.”

The way she gasped when he said that made his heart skip a beat. She knew he would do anything for her, so why would she look so shocked and confused?

Just then, there was a loud rapping on the front door. Julie’s face lit up as she jumped off the counter but Shawn’s whole posture deflated and he muttered, “Like spending any time with him, for instance.”

“Hush, you,” Julie laughed as she unlocked the door to let in her boyfriend and resident town stud, Troy Hawkins. After she set the lock behind him, he immediately crushed her against his chest, his hands roaming all over her. “Woah, hold up there, tiger – we’re not alone!”

Without letting go of Julie’s butt, Troy sneered at Shawn and flipped a bro nod his way. “S’up, man.”

Shawn hated him. He was one of a set of athletic, handsome, all-American brothers who were virtually worshipped in Pinto. Somehow, they were blessed with good looks, strength, and sports ability, but not one of them had a higher IQ than a potato.

From the time they were thirteen, Troy had decided that Shawn needed a shove into the lockers or a friendly trip in the cafeteria pretty much every day. Once they graduated, Shawn thought he’d finally gotten rid of that douchebag and was ready to live his life free from the Hawkins brothers’ bullying tactics.

But no. Julie had crushed on Troy all through school and he’d never given her the time of day, instead dating the head cheerleader, Allison Bernhard. Then Allison left for college. After burning through the rest of the cheer squad, Troy had finally noticed Julie a couple of months back and Shawn was forced to play nice for her sake.

Yep. With the burning passion of a thousand suns, he despised Troy Hawkins.

“Not much, Troy. What are you up to tonight?”

Eliciting a squeal from Julie as he lifted her off the ground with one arm, Troy sauntered into the deli, tracking dirt behind him on the floor Shawn had just cleaned. “Gonna take my best girl here out on a date. You’ve had to wait long enough for me to have some free time, I thought I’d surprise you.”

She pressed a lingering kiss to Troy’s lips and Shawn tried not to barf.

“Give me just a minute to change out of my uniform and we can go. Where are we going?” She gazed up at Troy with shining eyes, then shook her head. “No, don’t tell me. It’s your surprise. I’ll let it be a surprise.” Then she dashed into the back room leaving Troy leaning against the counter while Shawn rolled the bucket back toward the door.

Neither of them acknowledged the other. With Julie out of the room, they didn’t need to pretend to be civil. In fact, Shawn was pretty sure that Troy had forgotten he was even in the room, which was fine with him. The last thing he wanted to do, short of gouging out his own eyes, was to make small talk with Troy freaking Hawkins. Thankfully, Troy’s phone rang just then and Shawn was saved.

Because he was a moron, Troy answered the phone on speaker and a female voice filled the room. “Babe, where’d you go? My bed is lonely.”

Shawn froze and tried to shrink into the shadows. What the hell was he hearing?

“Allie, I told you not to bug me about what I’m doing. I had something to take care of, and that’s all you need to know. I’ll come back when I feel like it.”

Allie? Was he talking to Allison?

She purred from the phone, “I miss you, that’s all. And here I am, all alone, lying in my bed without a stitch of clothing on me.”

From his vantage point, Shawn watched Troy rearrange his stance and grin. “Yeah? Send me pics to get me through until I can get back there. I gotta take my little cousin to a ball game then I’m all yours. Love you, Bernhard.” When he disconnected the call, he noticed Shawn was in the room. He frowned and his face darkened, fists clenching at his sides.

“What the hell, Flores? You spying on me? Do I need to put you in your place? Again?”

Fury pulsing through him, Shawn pushed the bucket out of the way and drew up to his full height. “Nope, not spying. But I sure heard enough to keep you from taking Julie anywhere tonight. Or any other night, for that matter.”

“Oh yeah? What do you think you heard, shithead? You didn’t hear dick.”

“Mmm, I beg to differ,” Shawn countered. “I heard, loud and clear, you lying to your old girlfriend Allison Bernhard, asking for nudes and promising to be back in her bed as soon as you were done with your ‘cousin’. All that while you’re waiting to take your current girlfriend on a date. Sound about right?”

Taking a couple quick steps toward Shawn, Troy brandished his fists and snarled, “You better keep your damn mouth shut or I’ll knock your teeth down your throat.”

Shawn laughed and shook his head. “Oh, Troy, you stupid, simple gorilla. I’ve let you push me around for half my life, let you threaten me and make a fool of me and it was no big deal. I could take it.” All humor drained from his face and his voice dropped to a deep, low tone that didn’t hide the menace behind his next words. “But Julie means everything to me. Everything. I have been in love with her since the day I met her. She deserves the sun and the moon and all the stars in the galaxy and the next and you are a speck of dust on the bottom of her shoe. And I won’t let you hurt her, ever.”

“Ha. What’re you gonna do, Flores? So what if I get a little piece of ass on the side, ain’t no big deal. Allison is a fantastic lay – you should take her for a ride sometime – and since Julie won’t give it up quite yet, I’ve got every right. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her, anyway.” A growl emanated from deep in Shawn’s throat as he advanced one step at a time. Troy tried to hold his ground, but the flash of fear behind his eyes was unmistakable. “You gonna tattle on me? Who do you think she’s gonna believe? Her loser neighbor or her hot boyfriend?”

“Oh, definitely the hot boyfriend.” At the sound of Julie’s voice from the darkened doorway to the back room, both men jumped and stared at her. Then Troy smirked over his shoulder at Shawn and sauntered toward the pretty blonde. Shawn’s heart broke and he hung his head.

“I knew you would, baby,” he gloated, reaching for her.

But Julie avoided his touch.

“Yeah, when my boyfr- excuse me, I mean my ex-boyfriend, himself, says that he’s sleeping with someone else why wouldn’t I believe him?” She crossed her arms and glowered at Troy until he was forced to take a step backward. “I think it’s time for you to leave, Hawkins.”

The grin on Shawn’s face as Troy skulked from the deli was more pride in his best friend’s gumption than the fact that Troy Hawkins had finally gotten caught in his own lies. Although that was pretty sweet.

His face burning red, Troy stopped at the door and fumbled with the lock. “Yeah, well, you both are losers. Julie Lillis, you’re a prude and I am way out of your league. I was doing you a favor!” When Julie stepped up next to Shawn and rested her arm on his shoulder Troy nearly came unglued. “Whatever. You two deserve each other!” He finally yanked the door open and stormed out into the night.

The two friends didn’t move or speak for a moment. Shawn knew that couldn’t have been easy for Julie. One part of him wanted to whoop and laugh at the humiliation on Troy’s face but the other part could sense that his best friend was unusually quiet and still and was probably embarrassed, herself. He turned toward her and squeezed her hands.

“I’m so sorry Jules, you didn’t deserve that.” His whisper sounded far too loud in the silent restaurant. “And Troy didn’t deserve you. You know I’m glad he’s gone – I’ve never hidden how much I loathe him – but I’m so sorry that he hurt you like this.”

Julie kept her eyes trained on their joined hands, her eyebrows drawn together. Then suddenly her scowl eased and the corner of her mouth lifted. “Don’t worry, he didn’t hurt me. I knew what he was a long time ago and I say good riddance to bad rubbish.”

Shawn started to laugh but Julie’s head whipped up and she fixed him with an accusing glare, freezing him in place.

“But you, on the other hand, I am pissed at you right now!”

“Wait – what? Why? I didn’t trick him into outing himself, I didn’t start anything with him! I didn’t do anything!” He stumbled backwards as Julie jabbed him in the chest.

“That’s right, you didn’t do anything,” she yelled. “All this time, all these years – wasted – because you didn’t do anything!”

Shawn’s back hit the counter and he couldn’t retreat any further. With anger still written all over her face, Julie marched closer, pressing him back until their faces were only inches apart. Then, with an exasperated huff, she captured his lips in a passionate kiss.

At first, he didn’t understand what was happening, but then realization dawned and he wrapped his arms around Julie’s waist, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss. Every moment of his life had been leading up to this moment, every fiber of his being had yearned for this, and he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming. But he didn’t care.

When they separated, both of them panting and cheeks flushed, they stared at each other for a stunned moment. Then they laughed before holding each other tight.

“I heard what Troy said, Shawn, but I heard what you said, too,” Julie murmured against his cheek. “You’re an idiot. So am I.” She tangled her hands in his thick, dark hair and pulled back to gaze into his eyes. “All this time, you felt the same way I did and I never thought to tell you that I love you. That I’ve always loved you.”

The warmth and joy spreading through Shawn’s chest was something he’d never experienced before, a sense of pure joy and acceptance and love. Looking into his best friend’s crystal blue eyes he knew deep in his bones that he’d never be without that feeling again.

Chasing the Enemy

By Sharon Clark

On February 12, 2020

In Stories & Excerpts

When I start on one of these prompts, I write notes about where I see the story going. The funny thing is that it’s very rare for those ideas to make it into the story…For instance: one of the original ideas for this prompt was a man with a special parakeet that could identify demons. 🤔😈

I hope you enjoy this story – leave a comment or send me an email with your thoughts!

Title: Chasing the Enemy

Words: demon, bystander, escaped, parakeet, destiny, hammer, singing, ash, cathedral, heels

Cigarette smoke curled into the night air in the circle of light cast by the lone street light. Outside of that circle, however, the shadows writhed with everything dark and dangerous. The gloom concealed the thieves, the prostitutes, the murderers. At least until an unsuspecting bystander got caught in a snare and was swallowed by the night.

Damien was no stranger to these shadows. In fact, he often sought them out. He dropped the spent cigarette and crushed it with his toe, brushing the ash from his jacket lapels. How many nights had he held vigil on this corner? Two? Three? Rubbing his eyes, he yawned. Too many nights, that’s how many. But he’d been chasing leads and suspects long enough to know that sleep would only come once his quarry was caught and neutralized. Then he could safely trudge home and sleep in his own bed, under the same roof as the one he’d sworn to protect.

Shaking a new smoke out of the pack, he pulled it free with his lips before touching the bright flame of his lighter to the end. No spring chicken, Damien was gruff and scruffy, loud and bossy. He wasn’t bad to look at even though his jet-black hair was now streaked with a dirty gray and he couldn’t seem to keep his chin free of whiskers for more than an hour. It was the way he carried himself that had kept him alone for nearly a decade. He was aware of his permanent scowl and his hunched shoulders and his angry tone of voice if anyone dared show him kindness.

He knew he didn’t deserve it.

Taking another long drag from his cigarette, he turned his eyes to the lighted windows of the cathedral across the street. His friends, when he’d had them, tried to get him to find peace in the church. Any church. After his wife had been murdered and the perpetrator escaped into obscurity, however, Damien felt that God was mocking him. He was being punished, his destiny twisted and mangled until he had lost all traces of humanity.

Their argument that day had been entirely his fault. Jeannie had been asking him for months to pick up his hammer and finish building the bookshelves he’d promised her when they bought the little craftsman-style house. He’d picked out the perfect oak and lovingly stained and treated it, carving intricate designs for accents. But for some unknown reason he was unable to assemble the pieces. Not physically unable, but some kind of mental block stopped him any time he thought about finishing them. His insecurities had convinced him that the one person he loved more than life wouldn’t need him anymore once those shelves were built.

She’d begged him that day, teasing, bribing him with a vacation or tickets to his favorite band. But he refused everything. Jeannie had tried to be kind and he’d been a complete ass. Yelling, calling her names and telling her to get off his back, he’d slammed out of the house and peeled away in his stupid Chevelle SS. An image in his rearview mirror, standing on the front porch looking heartbroken, was the last time he’d seen her alive.

If only he’d been there. If only he’d apologized and kissed her. If only he’d just built those damn bookshelves, she’d still be alive.

Damien didn’t remember anything from the moment he pulled onto his street, singing along to the radio and saw the police cars until everyone was gathered at his house after Jeannie’s funeral. When he came back to himself, all his neighbors and family patting him on the back and vomiting platitudes at him when he was drowning in self-loathing, he checked out. Without a word, he walked out the front door, climbed in his stupid muscle car and drove away. He had no idea what happened to his house or any of his other property – and he didn’t care.

He shifted his weight and stretched his back, lighting another cigarette with a scowl. Ten years. It had taken ten years of traveling, of taking odd jobs just so he could drink himself into oblivion, to bring him to Ellen. He exhaled with a small smile and a shake of his head. How they’d found each other was a mystery and why she stayed with him, well…that was simply a miracle. If it hadn’t been for her parakeet yellow raincoat he wouldn’t have paid any attention to her and she might have gotten away with it.

He had been stumbling down the sidewalk, using the buildings he passed to keep him mostly upright, when she materialized in front of him. At 15 years old and barely five feet tall, Ellen had popped up and caught his attention in that damn coat. When he stopped to stare at it, she offered to help him make his way home. It wasn’t until they were almost at the door of his motel room that he felt her hand in his pocket.

They’d been taking care of each other ever since.

Movement at the cathedral doors caught Damien’s attention and he melted back into the shadows, snuffing out his cigarette. The man exiting the church strolled down the steps and across the street, whistling a jaunty tune to the rhythm of his heels striking the pavement. Damien’s hands curled into fists: it was him.

Counting to twenty, Damien calmed his breathing and slid the knife from its sheath on his hip. He stepped off the curb, his gaze trained on his prey. With quick, silent steps, he drew closer to the demon who had destroyed his life, following him down the steps to the near-abandoned subway platform.

Damien tightened his grip on the handle of the blade and grinned with the knowledge that he’d sleep well that night.

short story, story prompts, fiction writing, #writingcommunity

Drama In and Out Of the Lab

By Sharon Clark

On January 31, 2020

In Stories & Excerpts

This story prompt was a lot of fun for me and could potentially be drawn out to a novella or something. I’m intrigued by the characters that developed…

Standard disclaimer: This isn’t edited other than for spelling and punctuation so I apologize for any glaring errors.

I hope you have as much fun with it as I did!

Title: Drama In and Out of the Lab

Words: microbiologist, telephone, hidden, bystander, trench, inside, international, shoe, heights, persuade

“No, no, no!”

Carl threw his hands up in frustration. This was all wrong. Again. The samples had been contaminated, resulting in an outcome that would have been impossible if the experiment had been clean.

“Damn it, Isaac,” he murmured.

Slamming through the inner door to the decontamination chamber, Carl was having a hard time keeping his cool. His ‘partner’ Isaac was in the main part of the laboratory, oblivious to everything around him except for the ear-splitting metal screeching he was air drumming to.

“Isaac,” Carl said, once he was out of his clean suit. When the boy didn’t respond, he lost his temper and let loose a bellow to shake the rafters. “ISAAC!”

The boy spun around, eyes wide, slapping at the speaker to make it stop. “Yo, Carl, man, you can’t sneak up on a guy like that! What’re you yelling about anyway?”

Carl pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. “Isaac. Did you prep the samples the way I showed you?” When the boy nodded enthusiastically, Carl folded his arms. “Really? Are you sure? You did it all inside the sterile chamber, wearing all sterile gear, protective gear over your eyes?”

The way the color blanched from Isaac’s face told Carl all he needed to know and it was the last straw.

“You are impossible! I don’t know what else I can do to teach you how to work in the laboratory! There are standard operating procedures posted nearly everywhere, plenty of equipment and personal protective gear, and I have personally walked you through the procedures a dozen times.” Carl raked his hands through his hair and paced the small space, trying to control his anger. When he felt he was able to speak without shouting, he turned back to Isaac.

Isaac, who was now standing perfectly still, his head hanging and his shoulders slumped, his headphones hanging limp from his hand. Carl felt a pang of remorse for being so hard on the boy. He was just too damn frivolous and didn’t seem to realize that what they were doing was of the utmost importance and there was no room for careless mistakes.

Approaching the forlorn figure, Carl placed a hand on his shoulder. “Look, kid, I’m sorry for blowing up. But the validity of this research is imperative if we are going to make a difference. If we can isolate the bacterium that is wreaking havoc in China as we speak, we can save millions – maybe even billions – of lives.” Isaac looked up with red-rimmed eyes, his mouth turned down. “Perhaps it’s time for you to reevaluate your desire to become a microbiologist. There are many other worthy sciences that might be better suited for a young man such as yourself.”

With a shrug, Isaac started clearing the clutter he’d accumulated on the desk. “I know, Carl, and I’m sorry. Microbiology is my passion, I swear it! I think I just get too excited and have a hard time being patient enough to go through all the steps. Give me another chance – I’ll do better, I really will!”

“Fine.” Carl ran a hand down his face and shrugged out of his lab coat. “Let’s give it up for today. Go ahead and clean everything up and I’ll see you in the morning.”

In the locker room, Carl stared at his reflection. How did he get here? Mid-thirties, not quite balding but certainly thinning, with a little paunch and an overabundance of tweed in his closet, he had envisioned a much different life for himself. When he got into microbiology he dreamed of saving lives on a massive scale, like in the movies. Where was his opportunity to create and distribute a life-saving vaccine, secreting the vials across international borders, defying evil overlords and corrupt governments? No, instead, he was teaching inept children like Isaac the very basics of just working in a laboratory without even so much as a minor breakthrough.

Carl smoothed his hair back from his forehead and straightened his bow tie. If forced, he’d admit he was lonely, too. The last date he’d been on was with a beautiful divorcee with bangs and a turtleneck sweater who’d been too nervous to keep up any form of conversation. And the worst part was that most of his dates were like that. The women he met were generally timid, intellectual, and sweet – but where was the fire? Everything was so clinical and boring with them. Carl didn’t fancy himself any kind of a playboy or full of thrills, himself, but he yearned for some excitement. Not the emotional drama type, but at least something to get his blood racing. Was that too much to ask?

Tucking a newspaper under his arm, he ventured into the early afternoon sunshine to sit in the park for a little while before heading home. Alone. Again. At least sitting on a bench in the park, Carl could watch all the people and feel like he was part of something. It was a short-lived relief but it would have to do. He settled along the tree-lined path and opened the paper. He didn’t really care about reading any of the articles, it was a prop so he could watch people without being creepy about it. The role of innocuous bystander worked well for him and he imagined the lives of some of the characters who passed by.

There was a man in jeans and a polo shirt strolling with a younger man in khakis and a colorful button-down shirt. The way he kept straightening his collar and touching his hair told Carl that this was more than a friendly chat. The polo man was very interested in the younger man. Was this a first date? Looking at the younger guy with his pink cheeks and inability to make eye contact with his companion for long screamed yes. If not a date, a precursor. Carl smiled. Good for them.

Over the top of the newspaper, Carl scanned the people milling around and frowned. Pretty tame today, full of the same folks he saw frequently. Mothers pushing strollers with toddlers, men and women taking their dogs for walks, couples holding hands or smiling as they rode past on bikes. With a sigh, Carl thought about swinging by the store on the way home and grabbing a frozen pizza and a pint of ice cream. Hopefully tomorrow would be better.

Before he could fold up his paper, he saw her. Dark auburn curls, aviator sunglasses, wearing a trench coat as she stood under a tree across the path. She seemed to be watching him, but it was hard to tell from this distance. Lifting the paper a little higher, Carl took her in, hoping she couldn’t tell. The way she stood so still, her hands in the pockets of her coat, she definitely stood out from the activity buzzing around them. This woman was beautiful and intriguing and no one else seemed to notice her. As he watched, she slid her glasses down her nose, making a point of meeting his gaze, and smirked.

“Shit,” he muttered. He thought he’d been hidden enough to not be caught but she sniffed him out immediately. Peeking again, Carl was mortified to see that she was making a beeline for him, striding confidently across the park, oblivious to the traffic around her which stopped or simply flowed around her. Folding up the paper, he floundered. Was she going to yell at him? Call him a pervert for watching her? God, he hated confrontation. It was one thing when dealing with the drama in his lab – that was where he was comfortable, where he belonged – but out here in the real world? If there was a way to avoid drama out of the lab Carl was one to grab it with both hands and run.

He jumped up from his seat as she drew near but she grabbed his shoulders and swooped in to kiss both of his cheeks. “Don’t panic, darling,” she cooed in his ear. “Just sit back down and act natural. I don’t think I was followed.”

All Carl could think was how amazing she smelled, like summer rain and lavender, but he sat with her anyway. When she pulled off her glasses he tried not to gasp. She was exquisite: deep blue eyes, almost violet, perfect smile with a dimple in one cheek. Sliding under his arm and nestling next to him, she kept talking under her breath and Carl was far too stunned to do much else but go along with it.

“I wasn’t sure you’d show up. You weren’t answering your telephone and I got worried. There is no way for me to stress enough how important this mission is and the role you will play in it, yourself.” Snatching the paper from his hand, she pretended to read the articles, pointing to a story as though discussing it with Carl. “For today, you may call me Natasha but I am not at liberty to reveal my true identity. You will be Kraven for now. No,” she held up her hand when Carl opened his mouth. “You must not tell me anything about yourself. That way, if we get caught, we can’t reveal anything they can use, no matter what torture we might undergo.”

Carl stopped moving – almost stopped breathing – and tried to wrap his head around what she’d just said. “Torture?” His voice squeaked and he cleared his throat, repeating in a deeper tone, “Torture? What are you talking about?”

Glancing around furtively, she took his face in her hands, her eyes boring into his soul. “You know how dangerous The Shoe can be – many of our best agents have gone missing after following her trail of crime and corruption. But together, you and I can bring that vile woman down to meet justice.” She trailed her fingertips along his cheek, a smile trying to burst forth from her lips. “I must leave now, but you must find me again in an hour. Come to the rooftop restaurant at 27th and Elm. Bring a passport and a weapon. I’m worried that we may have already been compromised.” Natasha pressed her lips to Carl’s, drawing him into a deep and passionate kiss. After his initial shock at the contact, he melted into it, wrapping his arms around her, but she abruptly pulled away.

“Not now, darling. There will be plenty of time for that when the syndicate is stopped, once and for all.” Without another word, she rose from the bench with an elegance Carl had only read about, and she disappeared into the crowd.

Carl remained in place on the bench, gaping after her. She may have been a hallucination, something he’d dreamed up and created for himself. But what if she wasn’t? His mind was chasing itself to the point of complete inaction.

On the one hand, he had just been craving ‘excitement’ hadn’t he? This – Natasha – was nothing if not exciting. Women like her never noticed men like him. It wasn’t an intentional snub, it was just that he and others like him tended to blend into the background. Not only had she noticed him, she had called him ‘darling’ and kissed him in a way he’d only dreamed of. And she wanted to meet him again.

Was he seriously considering this? Sure, Natasha was gorgeous. But the word ‘torture’ had come out of her mouth in reference to a possibility in his future. That set off major warning bells and threw red flags all over the place. Not only was there the chance that he could be hurt or killed, but it was also probable that this beautiful woman was completely unhinged. Did he want to invite that into his neat little world?

Carl’s hand floated to his lips, the feel of her lips still lingering. In the lab he only had the drama of Isaac to deal with, predictably negligent Isaac, and the same failed experiments day after day. But here, outside of the lab? An adventure had fallen into his lap, an adventure named Natasha. Well, no, not really. That was only her code name.

Could he be ‘Kraven’, the persona she’d given him? Alluring and dangerous, ‘Kraven’ was a man who ate adventure for breakfast, washing it down with a glass of aged Scotch. ‘Carl’ was a man unironically wearing a bow tie and a tweed jacket, ready for a beautiful woman to persuade him to chase after his own potential death.

Glancing at his watch, Carl knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was going to meet Natasha. How long had he been sitting there? Did he have 45 minutes left? Only 30? He jumped from the bench and dashed home to collect his passport and – what did she say, a weapon? The only weapon he could think he possessed was a police baton he kept for protection and a handful of throwing stars from when he’d been obsessed with Bruce Lee movies. Yes, they would do. Small, compact, easily hidden.

Carl dressed the best he could to fit what he thought ‘Kraven’ might wear. All he owned was a gray turtleneck from his Carl Sagan days and a black leather jacket from…he had no idea where. With everything he needed tucked in pockets, he slicked back his hair and left his apartment, destiny leading him to the rooftop restaurant perched on the tallest building in the city.

Nevermind that he was afraid of heights.

The End Is In Sight! Maybe. Probably Not…

By Sharon Clark

On January 27, 2020

In Messages From Sharon

I haven’t given an editing update on my novel for nearly a year and boy, has a lot happened since then! The last time I checked in, I was still trying to cut thousands of words and put together a sample query letter for a writers’ conference I was attending in March.

That’s a story for another time. Let’s fast forward.

To July. Yep, it took me that much longer to get my novel to a point that made me comfortable. I whittled my story down to roughly 94,000 words and had decided to go a step further and hire an editor. She was suggested to me by someone I admire and was an excellent fit for me. In my naive, sometimes conceited mind, I expected to be told that my manuscript was ready and I should compile my list of agents to query. (Think Ralphie’s daydream about his Red Rider theme paper.) Seriously, I thought I could send the story to the editor in early July and be querying agents by the end of August.

Ha.

Every developmental suggestion from the editor made sense to the point that I was embarrassed I hadn’t seen the need for the changes myself. Her suggestions made the story stronger and more believable, but it took me another several months to get through the changes and rewrites. After shaving an additional 20,000 words, my novel is back in the same editor’s hands for another round of suggestions and probable rewrites.

And I’m perfectly all right with that.

This process is tedious and sometimes disheartening, but I know the end product will be the best version possible. Not only that, but I’m learning so much about my writing and how to improve on it that my next novel(s) can only benefit from the mistakes I’ve made. I love my adverbs and weak, passive verbs, but that’s what editing is for and I’m not afraid of it anymore.

Two more novels are waiting patiently for me to complete them so they can be edited with the same love. I also have a file of story ideas trying to woo me with their shiny new plots and characters. Acting as a critical beta reader for friends, challenging myself with writing prompts, attempting to make a dent in my massive To Be Read pile; all of these things add to my toolbox that will build me up as a writer and I love it.

What surprises you about the process of writing a book? Feel free to ask about anything I’ve shared here by commenting below or reaching out through my email – I’d love to chat with you!

A Family Mystery Uncovered

By Sharon Clark

On January 23, 2020

In Stories & Excerpts

This is the second story prompt from the book I got for Christmas and it took me several versions to get something I didn’t hate. The title was given to me and the words that had to be included are underlined throughout the text. I haven’t edited this story, either, so I apologize for anything repetitive, misspelled, or just plain idiotic.

Enjoy!

Title: A Family Mystery Uncovered

Words: Sunday, secret, wallpaper, swap, sister, curiosity, island, notebook, marathon, demand

I laid in my bed, the covers pulled up to my chin, and held very still. Even breathing seemed too loud and made my heart race at the thought that I’d be heard and the ghost would come for me.

Every night for as long as I could remember, there had been unexplainable sounds that woke me up and kept me paralyzed in fear until exhaustion simply won out. I was only fifteen but I didn’t know a time when I wasn’t living in terror. When I complained to my mother about the moans, taps, and scratching I heard throughout the night she shushed me, declaring it all a bad dream. She even took me to a psychiatrist who diagnosed me with ‘night terrors’ which was absurd. Did you have to sleep to have those?

My sister, who had the attic bedroom, never heard a thing – or so she claimed. She was two years older and so close to graduating and leaving home that we rarely even saw her. But every now and then she’d invite me to her room to hang out or for what she called a sleepover. We’d roll sleeping bags onto the floor and lie awake, gossiping and making up scary stories until we couldn’t keep our eyes open. Those were nights that I cherished and would miss when she was gone.

“Do you think mom will let me swap rooms with you when you leave for college?” We were sprawled on the couches one Sunday in the throes of a massive rom-com marathon. “I can’t sleep in that room at all and I’m worried that whatever is in there is going to finally come for me. It seems like your room doesn’t have the noises and stuff.”

Angie glanced at me quickly and popped a chip in her mouth. “Seems that way, huh? Did it ever occur to you that you just don’t notice it when we’re both in there?”

I paused the movie and sat up. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that I hear the same shit you do, it’s just not as loud all the way up there.”

Gaping, I tried to wrap my mind around what she was telling me. “Wait – so you’ve been hearing the same stuff all this time? I was forced to doctors and psychiatrists who tried to convince me it was all in my head and you’ve heard it too?”

She wouldn’t meet my eyes and started picking at her fingernails. “Come on, Mel, what do you think would have happened if I’d said anything? The folks would demand that I get my head shrunk, too. You were already going: if it was determined that you were insane it could be surmised that I was, too, right?”

Just then, our mom walked into the kitchen, tossing her keys on the island and pulling bobby pins out of her hair, letting it hang loose around her shoulders. “You were what, Ang? What are you two lazy bones talking about?” She leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms.

Angie and I exchanged a quick wide-eyed glance before answering.

“Oh, you know, Mel’s worried about getting accepted to college. I was just telling her that I was worried, too, but she doesn’t have to worry about it.” She tugged at my hair playfully. “She’s smarter than I am, anyway.”

Mom cocked her head and smiled at us with soft eyes. “Oh, you girls! It makes me all warm inside to see how close you are!” She dashed across the room and wormed her way to a seat right between us and reached for the bag of chips. “So what are we watching tonight? Are we on a romance or horror kick right now?”

*****

The noises were particularly upsetting and my hands were trembling as I clutched at my comforter. I couldn’t keep my eyes still; too afraid to move at all and possibly draw attention to myself, my gaze was constantly flitting from one shadowy corner of the room to the next, certain there was something crouching in the darkness.

Whatever was keeping me awake had moved on from taps and moans to bangs, thuds, and outright muffled screams. How was my mom not racing through the house right now, making sure we were safe? It sounded like someone was being murdered.

There was a creak outside my bedroom and my heart tried to jump out of my chest when the doorknob turned. I pulled the covers over my head and chanted in my head, Go away, just go away!

“Melissa?” my sister whispered from the doorway and I was so relieved I almost burst into tears.

“Angie!” I hissed back, lifting the edge of the covers so she could jump in and we could huddle together for at least the illusion of safety. “Do you hear it, too? It’s so much worse!”

“We have to do something, Mel,” she said. Her hand flashed out from under the blanket and clicked on the lamp next to my bed.

“What are you doing?” I tried to climb over her to douse the light but she held me back.

“Whatever is going on isn’t going on inside your room. Don’t you think if movement or light drew it to us that I would’ve been caught on my way down here?” She pulled a notebook out from under the sheets and placed her palm on the cover. “I’ve been writing down every event over the past year, documenting what I heard, what time, what day, and I think there’s a pattern.”

I couldn’t focus on what she was saying, my nerves were shot and adrenaline was at an all-time high. “A pattern? What does that mean?” I pulled my knees up to my chest and tried to slow my breathing and my racing brain. With my eyes I traced the floral pattern on my wallpaper as the vines and leaves wound around the room, over and under, through and across.

“I mean, there are thumps and bangs nearly every night but things get really crazy every three weeks or so.” She tapped her finger on her chin. “What is going on every three weeks to ramp activity up so much?”

Before I could formulate a hypothesis, something caught my eye. The wall above my desk was moving, almost breathing. I watched a spot bow out and back flat, out and back until I wasn’t sure if my eyes were playing tricks on me.

Angie was still thumbing through her notebook, trying to figure out what the pattern could mean so she didn’t notice when I climbed off the bed. My curiosity overwhelmed my fear and I advanced on the wall, walking on tiptoes until I could reach out and touch it. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

A hand settled on my shoulder and it immediately had a calming effect. I loved that my sister was right there, offering her support and letting me know I wasn’t in this alone. I straightened my spine and lifted my hand once more.

“I don’t know that you want to do that.” My mother’s voice sounded in my ear and I spun around to find her right behind me, a serene smile on her face.

Her blood-spattered face.

“Wha-what happened? Are you okay? Where’s Angie?”

I leaned around mom to see Angie lying across the bed, unmoving, her notebook flung to the floor. Mother waved a hand and said, “Oh, don’t you worry about her. Your sister will be just fine. I only gave her a small dose. She’ll wake up with a doozy of a headache, but nothing a little aspirin can’t sure.”

Pressing my back against the wall, I was horrified at the calm vision before me. My mom’s hair was pulled neatly back into a ponytail that swung against the shoulders of a red track suit. After closer inspection, it wasn’t meant to be red. Her hands and her clothes were drenched in red, carrying with them that distinct metallic smell of blood.

“What have you done?” I barely choked the words out, fear gripping my chest as I stared at this monster who looked like someone I loved.

She clucked her tongue and stroked my cheek, saying, “Oh darling, I hadn’t intended on revealing our little secret quite yet; it’s far sooner than I had hoped. I didn’t think you’d be ready for another couple of years, to be honest.”

My mouth hung open even as I tried to escape her gentle touch. “I don’t want to know your secret!”

“Oh, it’s not my secret,” she chuckled. “This is a tradition that has been handed down through the generations of our family, from mother to daughter, for centuries. Once you see it in motion, actually get to perform the rituals with your own hands, you’ll wonder how you ever lived without it.”

She reached for me as though to gather me in her arms but before I could slap her hands away, the wall behind me exploded outward, showering us all with plaster and dust.

“Save me!” a voice rasped out as a bony claw clamped onto my shoulder. I screamed and my mom’s eyes lit with a blood lust I never could have imagined in my worst nightmares. She calmly stepped forward and peeled the fingers off me, bending them back until they cracked and the voice in the wall emitted an inhuman screech of pain, before the hand and the voice disappeared in a series of muffled thuds.

I dashed to my sister’s side as she began to wake up, groaning, and I could think of nothing but trying to protect her. Mother smoothed her stained hands down the front of her suit and took a deep breath.

“You two stay put and I promise I’ll explain everything when I get back.” She leaned in to peck a kiss to my cheek and winked. “But right now I’ve got a man to catch.”

END