Horror Story:Final

I left off where a stranger whose name I did not mention was driving me a short distance to off a few mindless zombies with a couple of coins and a paper clip.

                                                                         *

Curiosity was driving me more than anything. “So stranger, what’s your name?”

“I go by Mickey.”

“Why are you trying to kill them off, Mickey. I won’t be long before we’re like them.”

He turned his head my way. If looks could kill… “No, we won’t. The new sun was meant to cleanse our species. They will be dead. We will remain.”

“If you say so. Are we almost there? I really have to get back on the road to Florida.”

He didn’t answer. We reached a dead end. The car came to a halt. We jumped out. He had a bat in hand. I was armed with my trusty coins and paper clip. What a joke.

“Here they come!” he yelled. Then he yelled some more.

He swung his bat around like a madman, hollered at the zombies. They worshipped him with glacial eyes. The hunger shone behind them. I felt the kinship. They were a part of the change, a part of me.
I placed the coins and paper clip in my pocket, reached out to one of the zombies. The rotting creature took my hand. I yanked his arm off. Mickey egged me on. He swung the bat again, stepped forward to attack the zombies. I used the severed arm and clunked him on the back of the head. He fell to the ground.

“Chow down, now,” I cooed. “Good little zombies.”

They pounced on the fallen Mickey and peeled off his flesh. The delectable stench of his blood filled the air. I felt urge to pet them, but thought better of it. While they enjoyed their deserved meal, I hopped in Mickey’s car and drove away.

David was waiting for me in the SUV outside the diner. “Took you long enough,” he said.

I smiled. “I know. I almost felt sorry for him. Just like every other fool, he thought he could trust me.”

“Men can‘t resist such a pretty face.”

“Come on. Help me pilfer the gas. We don’t have all day.”

Hours later, as planned, we were in Florida. As I entered my parent’s household I was greeted by warm hugs and moist kisses. It didn’t matter if it smelled like someone had died and rotted away, or that cousin Benny had lost an ear and an eyeball.

Mom offered me a bowl of soup. She was always so hospitable.

“I hope you’re hungry,” she said.

I took the bowl, raised it to my face, and took a whiff. “Smell yummy, mom. What is it?”

“Kitten soup.”

I stirred the tiny carcass with my spoon. The fumes tickled my nose. I slurped some of the broth. I couldn’t eat the kitten, but I wouldn’t tell her that. Instead, I made my way to the guestroom where David was waiting with the dogs. I took the carcass out and fed it to them. With my husband I shared the broth. Later we would dig for bugs. Maybe dad would let us use his toes to create maggots.

We were zombies. We were family. The most important thing is that we stayed together.

THE END

Horror 2: Part 2

The horror story left off where we had just arrived at the café and parked the car.

                                                                                *

I pushed the door open. “I refuse to be massacred on an empty stomach. Babies wanna go peepee?”


Fuzzy ears popped up on unison. Tails wagged a happy rhythm. My canine buddies scampered out of the SUV.

David studied the dogs as they exited the vehicle. He rolled his eyes as they hurried to do what they were told, scoffed even more as I held them to my chest before leading them to the door of the café. Then he walked past me, patted them on the head in turn and opened the door.

“Hey, hey, Missy, you can’t bring those animals in here.” The man behind the register said.

“I won’t leave them outside,” I stated. “They’ll get eaten by something.”

“Ah, let them be, Marvin,” the lady at the register said. “They look like good folks. What can I get for you sweetie?”

She limped forward. One leg seemed shorter than the other. I thought it might be birth defect, but her foot was wrapped in gauze.

“What’s wrong with your foot?” I couldn’t help but ask.

Her face brightened with a toothless grin. “We were running low on condiments. Marvin severed a few toes. When left to rot a few night, they produce yummy maggots.”

I arched both brows. It was an acceptable explanation. Maggots added a nice zing to burgers for those of us who preferred to not feed on human flesh. “We’ll take two burgers and a little something for the dogs.”

The woman’s grin managed to grow wider. “Then have a seat, deary.” She hobbled toward us with napkins and silverware.

A man’s voice boomed over the adjacent booth. “You two look like you might possess the hunger.”

I considered him out of the corner of my eye. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“Most are mindless,” he said.

I shrugged. “We survive and stay together. Family. That’s what’s most important.”

The man in question stood from his booth and hurried over. He removed his hat to reveal a face as dark as a demon spawn, an Adonis in a world of zombies. He wanted something, and I was in no mood to lend a hand to any strangers.

“There’s a group of the mindless ones several miles down the road,” he began. “How about you help me kill them?”

“With what, a killer glance?” I asked.

He snorted once, reached into his pocket and pulled out two coins and a paper clip. “It’s a voodoo ritual.
What you do is knock them down, place the coins on their eyes, and connect them with the paper clip.”

“So you want me to play connect the dots with zombies?”

“Don’t be funny, little girl.” He pounded his fist on the table. “The ritual turns them into statues.”

I stood. “This I have to see.”

“Laila, where are you going?”

I glanced at my husband. “Stay with the dogs, honey. Enjoy your maggot burger. I won’t be long.”

Seconds later we were on the road.

TO BE CONTINUED

Horror Story 2: Something About the Flesh

It’s time to have a little fun with horror in the first person, and since it is in the first person, I'm going to write myself into the story.   I do enjoy playing with this genre, and after thinking about Mother’s Day, this story popped into my head. Panster that I am, I’m going to take it for a ride.

                                                                          *

The world was different since the arrival of the new sun. Half the planet
was crying out apocalypse. The other half had metamorphosed into mindless
zombies. They blamed it on the demons. The light was too much for them to
handle. The only solution was to hide inside mortal bodies, but an
otherworldly being was not meant to have a body. The result was an
uncontrollable hunger for flesh. The planet was depleted of animal life
forms. In the presence of such impending doom there was only one thing to
do: visit the folks.

“Grab the dogs, honey. It’s going to be a long ride,” I said.

“We should be flying,” he muttered.

I shot him a speaking glance. “With the price of gas? I don’t think so.”

I tossed the dogs in the backseat of the Explorer, took a seat on the passenger and handed my hubby the keys.

He stared at the metal object as if it could burn a hole in his hand. “How did I get stuck driving?”

I refrained from snorting. “Someone has to keep the poochies from trying to bite your head.”

He clamped down on his teeth. “We should just drop them off at the kennel.”

He paused, waited for me to visually spear his right shoulder. The corners of his lips tilted slightly. He shifted gear, and we set off on the long trip to Florida.

The first two hours went fine. Then the panting started, followed by the steaming up of the windows, and the occasional drooling. And that was just from me. I shuddered to think what the dogs were doing. A quick peek over my shoulder revealed that they were parched and bored.

“I think it’s time for a pit stop,” I said.

“We’ll be in Georgia soon,” David informed.

“Okay,” I said, "but someone needs to tinkle.”

Manly nostrils flared. “Again? You peed in Kentucky.”

This time I did laugh. “No, I made us stop for chicken. I’d never forgive myself otherwise. The bathroom usage simply followed.”

“Laila, we’re entering zombie territory. We can’t keep stopping.”

I leaned back in my seat to teak a few doggie ears. “Look, we need food. Don’t we? And it’s only a few hour till Florida. Look.” I pointed to a building popping over the hill. “It’s a café.”

He tapped on the breaks. “Shit.”

“What?”

He inched forward. “This is just like in the movies. A couple walks into an old café and gets butchered.”

He parked the car.

TO BE CONTINUED TOMORROW.

Memories That Make Me Sigh

The news has been going on and on about the royal wedding forever now. She wore the perfect gown and looked lovely,and he was....well....charming. Seeing them brought back a few tender memories.

When I was a little girl I wanted to be a princess. I had a fake crown, a secret costume, and glitter in my makeup. It was the result of years of reading fairy tales. My ideal life consisted of finding Prince Charming. He would toss me on his sparkling white horse and ride away with me because he discovered I completed his life. Secretly, I'm a romantic. Okay, maybe it's not such a secret.

As I grew up I dreamt of wearing a regal gown, leaning over a balcony, tossing a huge bouquet of roses, and blowing kisses at my subjects. I was a child of make-believe. All I wanted was for a man to love me and take care of me. I know, women should be self-sufficient. Well I am. My hubby can attest. Why can't we be both.

I hear women complain constantly about their husbands and how given a chance they would never ever get married again. It's a collective consciousness of female man bashers. I have to disagree. I love men. Oh, they're not always easy to get along with, but they'd say the same thing about us. I also love everything there is about being a woman.

Years later, when it was time to tie the knot, I still wanted to be a princess. I didn't hook a royal hottie, but I did get married in Victoria BC. It's a place rich in history and straight out of a fairy tale. I had a bouquet of roses half my size, shoes that made me at least four inches taller, and the perfect dress. I leaned over a balcony of a real castle and waved at the gathered few. In the background was playing the theme from Aladin. It was one fo the happiest days of my life.

Five years later, I would love to do it all over again. My advice to everyone is to make your own happily ever after. It's out there, if you dare to search.

                                                                         I was a little tipsy after drinking the champagne
                                                                        and ignoring the cheese and crackers, but it made
                                                                        for awesome pictures.

Poem Day: THE BEST.

This poem can mean so many things, depending on the reader. When I first wrote it as a teenager very much in the grasp of puberty and as someone so devoted to God, it was meant to depict the act of making love as seen through the eyes of the soul. That moment in which we forget that we are flesh and seek the union of souls, the glorious explosion that fractures us, makes us divine. 　
　                                  

                                                                  THE BEST　                                                     
                                                      

                                                       In and out I take my breath.
                                                       My time is everlasting.
                                                  
                                                       Don’t jump or cry or feel a threat.
                                                       There’s pleasure in the making.

                                                       Life up my veil of human flesh.
                                                       Behold my anxious specter.

                                                       Omnipotent kiss of lips afresh.
                                                       Place your hand on beating breast.

                                                       Delight my speech with endless woos.
                                                       Arouse my tears with sacred skin.

                                                       Tantalize by being true.
                                                       Become my careful kin.

                                                       Create a quake to make me tremble.
                                                       To man, my heart I shall not test.

                                                       Alas, my God, he is so gentle.
                                                       My heart, my love, to him the best.

Horror Story 1, day 4

I felt today would be a good day to toss in a little horror since I left the moles hanging.

Sylvana sat on her dusty throne beneath the earth. She was the last of her kind, the sole survivor of a race of mole people. The others had perished. They'd been hunted like deer and burned in rituals. It was the way of the sages, a group of humans who held them in the same regards as an abomination. She had been left without a mate. It had been revenge that had propeled her at first, but then it transformed into a basic emotion, that of loneliness.

For ages she had been hiding, biding her time, searching for the perfect consort in the form of a human man. Few had come her way. An array of men lay at her feet, some in the form of dried out cadavers. It didn't matter to her as long as there was flesh.

Thirty years ago she had the good fortune of encountering her recent lover. The world upstairs called it a stealing, a murder. They assumed that he was dead, but he had called to her. He had met her halfway. It was his hands that had dug firts. Once she had a hold of his arms, there had been instant magic. She took him.

"Sam," she called to her lover.

The man walked over to her ignoring the shackle fastened to his right ankle. "My queen, I'm here."

She reached out her hand. He took it, brought it to his lips. He had served Sylvana for thirty years. At first he had thought her repugnant. Her lack of eyes alone was enought to churn his stomach, but the years had revealed an unexpected kindness. He held steady while she touched him. The queen relied on him for pleasure, for love. She trusted him. He glanced down at his ankle. Yet she still kept him in chains.

"When will you release me, my queen?" he asked.

"You will leave me if I remove your chains and return to your maiden."

"That maiden as you call her is an old woman now. She's long gone. I have been faithful in my love for you."

She brushed clawed fingers through his hair. Should she tell him that the woman had remained, that she still loved him beyond reason? No. He would leave then. She would be alone again. Regardless of his pretty words, he would leave her. She knew much about love and about need. She wasn't so very different from his human bride.

TO BE CONTINUED....

Paranormal Romance

The one paranormal story that I'm focusing on is called "Bless Me Twice". Titles might not mean much, but to me it gives the story life, a sense of ownership and a life of it's own.

I started it about two weeks ago and have poured my first 50 pages into it. By the time I'm done editing them, they'll be 100.

The hero was easy. I knew his voice. Everything about Marcus shimmered and called out to me. I didn't need to date him. He was the one and definitely a diving force in this novel.

The heroine was a different issue altogether. At first it was difficult to connect with her, prefering instead one of the lesser characters who will also have her own story told soon. Lucy was sounding like a dimwit. Clearly, that was not the role I wanted her to play. What to do, oh what to do? The answer was simple. Keep on writing. She would eventually fall into place.

Keeping that in mind, I came up with a few villains. It's funny but I never have trouble finding villains, and they're all remarkably attractive.

Last night I sat at the computer around 9:00 and plucked away. Well, it was late. I was tired, yet the most amazing thing happened. I connected with Lucy...finally. The connection is important for the story to flow. Now I've filled her with my voice and brought her to life. I feel like a puppet master tugging on her strings, and it's a wonderful feeling.

The muses are whispering that this may very well be a quartet. I'm just going along for the ride and having an awesome time writing.