Excerpt 1:
“If you take me with you, I’ll do anything,” he said. To buy Astor some time. To get out of there.
She opened the door and pushed him out, preparing to close it again, but he put his foot in it.
“Anything?” she asked.
“Anything.”
“That’s a dangerous word when there are fates worse than death.” She tilted her head again to the side, an amused look on her face. “You’re a strange man, Kol.” She slammed the door, and he was alone in the darkness.
The Creatively Green Write at Home Mom
Creatively Green is the blog of freelance writer, avid crafter, and La Mamma Verde (the green mom), Wenona Napolitano. This blog features everything about her creatively green life from green crafting to eco-gardening, green parenting and green living in general. You will also find articles on writing, being a mom writer, and see guest posts from authors. Full of green musings, eco-product reviews, book notes, eco-friendly crafts and so much more.
Tuesday, October 15, 2024
How I Made Artful Tables from Salvaged Wood by Kit Karlsson
Saturday, October 5, 2024
Release Day Blitz - Six Degrees of Separation by Amanda Mackey
Excerpt:A very handsome waiter approaches us, all masculine energy and charm. With his arrival comes stronger pinpricks under my skin. It’s akin to getting zapped in winter from static. But as I glance around the restaurant, everyone else is carrying on as normal so I sit and try to act normal as I look up at the sexy as sin man. I’d peg him as thirty perhaps. Ebony, silky hair, styled back off his face. Deep eyes, Roman nose and full lips. What is it with Italian men? Are they all attractive at this age?
My eyes fully appraise him as my pulse jackhammers. My neck feels flushed, causing beads of sweat to form. God, can he see my reaction? I’m mesmerized like a hormonal teen, riveted to the spot.
His full smile adds to his beauty and for a moment even Bianca remains mute as he greets us. There’s a presence about him I can’t define. It’s that certain something that ‘just is’. The X Factor. Energy is pouring off him and I’m in the line of fire. Can someone please bring me a cold glass of water? Or an industrial fan?
She quickly recovers though and offers a ‘ciao’ which I robotically mimic, enthralled by his rugged beauty up close. The flickering light of the candle on our table, catches his high cheek bones and full mouth, stealing my attention for way too long. His short-sleeved black shirt fails to cover a tattoo which disappears up his forearm.
“Do you speak English?” Bianca asks for my benefit, a little too loudly might I add. When I peek at her, she’s wearing a knowing expression, right eyebrow raised, lips tipped up. Her foot taps mine under the table. When did she begin staring at me like that? Probably when I answered him like Siri.
“Of course. I’m fluent. I’ve been learning it since high school. Would you like a drink first?” That voice. Every syllable and word hit me front and center. The tone sounds like a deep lullaby I could be rocked to sleep with. Sheesh. What is happening with me tonight? Am I hormonal? My menstrual cycle is on point, my period not due for another two weeks so it can’t be that. If this heat doesn’t settle down, I’ll need to step into the bathroom to splash cold water on my face. I’m pretty sure the restaurant is air-conditioned too.
I look back to the waiter who is blatantly ignoring Bianca and watching me with his shockingly beautiful eyes. Eyes one could stare into if they wished to find all the answers of the universe. Eyes which see right through you and invoke a sense of belonging. As if you’ve seen them before. Familiar. Comforting. Ones I want to dive into and never leave.
They’re turning me into a hot mess. I need to get my act together. I’m acting so out of character. Like a schoolgirl, not a forty-year-old divorcee. My hands fidget on my lap as I glance around the room. It’s not big. A cozy, intimate space with guests lined up outside the door like we were moments ago. I count the tables. Fifteen. That’s all. I’m guessing they need to expand soon. Either that, or they want to keep it the way it is.
My eyes are drawn back to Mr. Handsome as he flicks his attention from Bianca and back to me again. It truly is getting too unbearably hot in here.
“Two glasses of your best wine. And would it be possible to have a garlic bruschetta?”
“Sure. Let me get that for you.” Finally he turns and saunters back to the kitchen, leaving me with heated cheeks and a flutter in my belly. But as soon as he’s gone, the temperature cools back down to normal. That’s strange. Is he running a fever? Does his body temperature run abnormally high all the time?
“Maybe he’s the one,” Bianca laughs. “He was checking you out.”
“And clearly younger than me. He was probably just being friendly to the tourist.”
But I doubt my own words. Men don’t make prolonged eye contact if they aren’t interested. Pity we’re leaving the day after tomorrow. I’d probably come back just to see his face again. A girl can dream. But how can he possibly be the one? Not the first hot Italian guy to speak to me. It couldn’t be that easy.
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Friday, October 4, 2024
Other Worlds by Kay Freeman - Haunted Halloween Spooktacular
Luna Lord’s Recipe for Healthy Carrot Muffins
for Humans and Werewolves
Ingredients:
¾ cp of gluten-free flour
½ cp of almond, rice or banana flour
⅔ cp dark brown sugar 2 tb raisins (optional)
2 tsp ground cinnamon 1 tsp ground nutmeg
1 tsp baking powder
½ tsp baking soda pinch of salt
2 large eggs
⅓ cp of melted butter or choice of oil 1 tb of vanilla extract
4 medium carrots, grated (about 2 cups)
½ cp crushed pineapple
Directions:
Preheat oven to 350 degrees and spray
muffin tins or line muffin tins with paper liners if using.
Whisk all dry materials together. In
another medium lightly whisk the egg, then whisk in the butter or oil and
vanilla extract
Quickly and lightly fold the wet
ingredients into the dry ones with a rubber spatula. Stir in the carrots and
pineapple until everything is evenly mixed. The batter will appear thick.
Divide it up into the muffin tins, evenly. Bake until brown and toothpick comes
out clean, approximately 30 minutes. Take out of tins after five minutes and
cool on rack. These are great warm but they can be eaten cool as well. These
freeze well too and can be reheated in the microwave.
Muffins are about 180 calories a piece,
approximately, and calories will fluctuate depending on oil and flour chosen.
Excerpt:
This
one’s perfect… similar to the model in the Botticelli painting Birth of Venus
and the evil one who took his son. She has a long, narrow face, alabaster skin,
and golden-brown hair that shines in the sun.
Just
like her.
King
crouches, blending in with the low-hanging branches of the donkey killer plant.
He’s been stalking the woman on the bike path since yesterday morning. It’s a
popular path with bikers, connecting the towns of Assisi and Spoleto in Umbria.
It’s December now, though, and too cold, which explains why she is the only one
currently on it. The woman’s faded blue jeans and turquoise flannel shirt make
her easy to track.
Yesterday,
she sat under a sprawling pine tree, its thick branches casting dark shadows on
her face as she wrote a letter. The paper covered her lap. She attacked it with
her pen, each stroke seemed more violent than the last until she tore the
letter into pieces. Her chest heaved and then, after she had calmed down, she
wrote another. When she finished, she read it aloud, her voice breaking as
tears streamed down her cheeks. She begged her boyfriend to send money.
After
pushing her completed version into an envelope, the woman walked to town,
speaking to herself the whole way before she mailed it. Then she trudged back
to her tent in the woods and got drunk, passing out, her desperation revealing
itself once more. King had slept while she slept, only coming to when her movements
awakened him this morning.
Now
she stops to fetch the last of her wine from her backpack and smokes reefer
while she hikes, making her more vulnerable. She’s probably on her way back to
her tent, the one she slept in last night. The flimsy canvas is no barrier or
protection from him or anything else. How silly for her to be out here alone.
Victor
King is alone, too. That’s seldom the case. Most of the time, he travels with
others from his pack, but right now, they’re back in the cave. If they had been
here, King wouldn’t be able to do what he’s about to.
Once
he traps her, he’ll call his friend Matteo, a human. Matteo promised to give
King five million lire for any woman he traps and gives him. King will use the
money to buy food and supplies. There’s been limited food to hunt as it’s
gotten colder, and once it snows, there’ll be even less.
King
had scoped the woods all morning and afternoon. There are no hunters or farmers
who will shoot at him to help the woman. The nearest cottage is three miles
away.
She
picks up her backpack before placing one strap over her shoulder and taking a
few steps. King keeps within striking distance. The jays and blackbirds go
quiet, and the woman senses something wrong and freezes. She turns her head
from right to left, searching the woods.
King
knows she can’t find him.
Thursday, October 3, 2024
The Witch’s Debt by Edward Rollins - Haunted Halloween Spooktacular
Of
Women Wronged: Hillbilly Hauntings
The days grow shorter, the air turns crisp, and something
deep within us all knows that the world is changing. Halloween draws near and
with it a thinning of the Curtain this world from the next, allowing haints –
restless spirits – to slip closer by than they were on brighter days.
No part of the world is without tales of restless spirits;
stories of the sorrow, anger, or injustice endured by the living. In Japan they
tell of the onryō, wrathful spirits devoted to revenge against the living. In
Mexico, they talk of La Llorona, who wander the water’s edge, mourning the loss
of their children. Across Europe they speak of the White Lady, symbols of
betrayal and life cut short. When it comes to tales of lost love and betrayal,
my beloved West Virginia isn’t without a tale or two of its own.
We tell the tales of Zona Heaster Shue, Screaming Jenny,
the Weeping Woman of Sweet Springs, Kate Carpenter, and our own White Lady of
Flat Top Manor. Each a spirit bound by sorrow, betrayal, or unfinished
business. Let’s take a moment and remember each, but take care, it’s said that
people die twice, once when their heart beats its last, and again when someone
speaks their name for the final time.
In Greenbrier County they tell the tale of Zona Heaster
Shue who - in 1897 - was found dead under questionable circumstances. Her
husband, Erasmus, was quick to claim she had died peacefully. Zona’s mother
wasn’t having it. She claimed that Zona's ghost began to visit her in the dead
of night, accusing Erasmus of murdering her by snapping her neck. Confronted
with the charges, a local judge ordered Zona’s body exhumed, and the evidence
of Erasmus’ guilt was revealed. Erasmus was convicted of the crime, but Zona’s
spirit still didn’t rest. She is said to haunt Greenbrier County still, a
chilling reminder that justice isn’t bound by the grave.
In Jefferson County we find a different sort of tale.
There, when wind moans through the trees and the moon lights the ground just
so, it’s said that you can hear the pain filled screams of a woman long dead.
Screaming Jenny, a local woman who died in pain and terror. It was a cold night
in autumn when Jenny, poor and living in an abandoned railroad shack, tried to
warm herself by a fire. Somehow, her clothes were set ablaze and, in her panic,
she ran screaming and blind in search of relief. She ran right onto the
railroad tracks and into the path of an oncoming train. Locals maintain that
now and then the figure of Screaming Jenny - still engulfed in flames – can be
seen running through the night. Her ghostly shrieks a reminder of her final,
desperate moments.
From the tranquil beauty of Monroe County comes a tale of
another ghostly presence born of sorrow and despair. Known as the Weeping Woman
of Sweet Springs, it’s said that she was a bride abandoned at the altar or
perhaps a grieving mother who lost her child. Whatever the case, the young
woman fell beneath the weight of her broken heart, and cast herself into the
spring where she drowned. But she wouldn’t have a place on our list if that was
the end for her. It’s said that she still wanders, a ghostly figure draped in a
flowing white gown, her soft sobbing proof that some heartache is too deep to
fade, even in death.
From Mercer County and the grounds of an old plantation
known as Flat Top Manor comes the tale of the White Lady of Flat Top Manor, a
restless spirit whose tragic story is tangled in the past. Some say she was the
young bride of the manor’s original owner; others maintain that she was a
servant who died at her master’s hand. In either case, it is agreed by those
who believe, that her life was cut short by violence. Witnesses maintain that
the air goes frigid long before her shadowy figure - fleeting and ethereal – is
seen gliding through the manor's hallways or lingering at the edge of the
woods. The truth of it is left to you, but the accounts of witnesses and
investigators alike have gone a long way to make Flat Top Manor's reputation as
one of the most haunted locations in the State.
Silent and still, the Greenbrier River flows through
Summers County like an apparition itself. It’s a peaceful scene as beautiful as
any faery tale picture, but its waters gave birth to a tale of lost love and
lingering sorrow. Kate Carpenter was a young woman deeply in love with the
wrong man. Her family opposed her choice of suitor and refused her their
blessing. Unwilling to either set aside her love or go against her kin, Kate
threw herself into the river and drowned the dark, icy waters. But as is the
case in these tales, neither the depths of the river nor the touch of death
could quiet Kate’s restless spirit. She lingers near the place where she left
this world, a spectral form barely visible on misty mornings walking the
riverbanks. For Kate, death was better than the absence of the man she
loved.
This Halloween, when autumn leaves rustle in a cold wind,
remember the story of these women as you sip your pumpkin-spiced drink. Their
stories are the echoes of unimaginable loss and suffering, and they leave us to
wonder—what would we do if faced with such sorrow? Would we find peace, or
would our spirits, too, be bound to the places where our hearts were broken?
But let’s remember as well that these spirits weren’t content to shuffle off
the mortal coil the first time. Speaking their names again – breathing life
into their memory - might be enough to remind them what binds them to this
world.
Excerpt
"You all right, Buck?" He set his coffee on the small table there as he took more of my weight than I intended.
"Yeah," I lied. "Bit of a headache." I couldn't look him in the eye. "I need to check on something. Be right in."
"Sure you're gonna be all right?" Dad picked up his coffee as I took my weight again.
“I’ll live.” I nodded and started toward the sitting room. I steeled myself against the pain I knew was coming and pushed my senses into the Curtain once again.
The little room off the chapel was packed with overstuffed couches and an ottoman which could double for a bed. I could see just clearly enough to avoid tripping, but it made finding the cat a challenge. I moved from piece to piece, looking behind and under each. There was no sign of it. It could have left through the chapel but I wasn't ready to accept that it had. It was bothersome enough it was inside the church. I didn't want to consider what it would mean if the thing could move across the consecrated ground of the chapel.
"Lose something?" Bonnie asked from the doorway.
Frustrated and defeated, I gave her a weak smile and let go of my view into the Curtain.
"Hello, Bonnie."
She stepped into the room, her coat and purse left behind somewhere. She wore a pained smile on her lips. "That the best you have for me?"
There were people in this town I didn't care to spare a kind word, Bonnie wasn't one of them. She'd done nothing but love me.
I stopped fighting the smile she had always put on my face and replied, "Well if it isn't Bonnie Blankenship, the prettiest girl at Pineville High. How are things, Ms. Blankenship?"
"Much better,” her smile touched her eyes and she stepped in close.