Wednesday, September 25, 2013

Author Interview – Jim Musgrave

How do you write – lap top, pen, paper, in bed, at a desk?

Anywhere I can be connected to the Internet.

Where do you get support from? Do you have friends in the industry?

A fellow recovered alcoholic and successful indie author, Martin Crosbie, who got me started on the road to indie freedom.  Also, Kim Mutch Emerson and the MasterKoda gang on Facebook.  On the literary fiction side, a guy who liked my stuff (and has written blurbs to that effect) and has possibly won more short story contests than anybody in the world, Jacob M. Appel (he always wants the “M” in his name because there’s another famous Appel.  Go figure!).

How much sleep do you need to be your best?

Eight hours.

Is there anyone you’d like to acknowledge and thank for their support?

My publicist and full-time “Madame,” (inside joke) Ms. Jennifer Perry.

Every writer has their own idea of what a successful career in writing is, what does success in writing look like to you?

It is vital to get exposure and target the right readers for your writing, tell us about your marketing campaign?

Tell us about your new book? What’s it about and why did you write it?

I wrote this trilogy because I wanted to get into the Steampunk genre.  Therefore, the first three books in the Detective Pat O’Malley historical mysteries bring my sleuth ever closer to meeting the main adversaries, the Steam City Pirates.  Technically, only the third novel, Jane the Grabber, features an authentic Steampunk villain, but all of the novels do feature elements present in the genre and aficionados will appreciate them as well.  I hope my marketing campaign will introduce new readers to this interesting genre of fiction, so I can gain a following all my own.  Please read my blog post on this topic.

Do you have an organized process or tips for writing well? Do you have a writing schedule?

Writers can watch for my daily “Sweet Writing Tweets.”

What do you hope people will take away from your writing? How will your words make them feel?

I hope my readers will enjoy learning about history as they are entertained.  I spend many, many hours on historical research for accuracy.  I weave it within the plot like a fine tapestry, and the result (hopefully) should be an overall feeling of satisfaction by the reader.

Jim Musgrave

Buy Now @ Amazon @ Createspace

Genre – Historical Steampunk Mystery

Rating – PG13

More details about the author and the book

Connect with  Jim Musgrave on Facebook & Twitter

Website http://contempinstruct.com/Forevermore/

$250 Amazon.com gift card giveaway

Quality Reads UK - All I Want for Christmas

Some of us started blogging from December 2012 and it has been an experience like no other. Apparently, we are no where near finished setting up our blogs and we are still learning how to navigate Twitter or Google+. And we thought this was going to be a restful retirement.

For the authors who have stood by a fumbling group of senior citizens as we took our baby steps into the online world, we would like to thank you.

This Christmas, we would like to feature your book in any way you want to except a book review. You can submit a guest post, an author interview, excerpt or the description with your book cover and contact information.

Preference will be given to the authors who took a chance on us when we first started and will be limited to the first 100 authors.

Participating Quality Reads UK members include (more may join at a later date)
- Mommy Adventures with Ravina
- The Reading Cat
- Paws on Books

To sign up please email your guest post, an author interview, excerpt or the description with your book cover, contact information and preferred date to kurianandrea @ gmail . com

Event dates are from December 1 to December 31.

With many thanks & best wishes,
Bob & Eliza

Tuesday, September 24, 2013

Richard Abbott shares his two cents on "Writing about religious organisations"

There have been many different kinds of religious organisations and structures over the years. The particular problem that I face is to imagine how daily religion was carried out in rural Late Bronze Age Canaan. We have a certain amount of solid information – some temples of varying sizes, a fair amount of religious literature, and quite a lot of household items which are probably religious in focus. I say “probably” since in fact we just don’t know in many cases what certain items were used for.

But the special problem affecting my characters is that they are residents of a small town, up in the hill country of what is now Israel and Palestine, well away from temples or holy places of any size. How did they go about their religion? There were most likely a number of pilgrimage sites in holy places, but the general population would not have had many opportunities to visit these. Their faith had to be enacted within something close to home – something on the level of their own village, where they could express devotion as part of everyday life. I have imagined many of their practices and rituals, based as closely as possible on the little that we know.

The model I chose as a modern analogy was an independent non-conformist church. This was for several reasons, The main one was that in the past I was very involved with such a church, so have some familiarity with its strengths and weaknesses. Secondly, they function at an intimate community level. Typically leaders and members live close together, and meet daily. Relationships are informal, and there is no real separation because of status. Differences in rank are often based on social conditions, not religious ones.

It also means that the leadership cannot easily maintain a dignified or “official” distance from the members, who easily remember their childhood and youthful triumphs and embarrassments. At its best, there is an easy intimacy within an organisation like that… at its worst, there are opportunities for manipulation and covert cruelty.

In any event, this is the setup I presumed for ‘In a Milk and Honeyed Land’. This form of religious organisation seemed right for a fairly isolated hill country community. Damariel and Qetirah are village members, apprenticed in youth to the couple who were serving as priests and seers for Kephrath. The whole village knows what they were like as children, and conversely they have to minister to people they have known all their lives, with all of the everyday likes and dislikes that involves. When Damariel experiences personal tragedy, everybody knows most of the intimate details, and his difficulties have to be lived out in public. When there is a division of opinion in the village about overall leadership, the resulting dispute cuts across old friendships and family relationships. Anyone who has been part of a religious group functioning on a local scale will recognise the situation. There is no possibility of hiding behind an official uniform!

Milk & Honeyed Land

The Background
In a Milk and Honeyed Land is a novel about everyday life about 3,000 years ago in the hill country of Canaan - now called Israel and Palestine - close to the end of the time of Egyptian rule of that province. It explores how the vast changes in lifestyle, politics, religion and music that occurred in that area between what archaeologists call the Bronze Age and Iron Age might have been mirrored by individual people's words and actions. The large-scale actions and military campaigns of the Egyptian pharaoh and other great kings are nowhere in sight; this is a story of the resources and people available within four small allied communities.

It is set close to the end of a long period of comparative stability in the hill country of Canaan. The Egyptians – the Mitsriy of the story – have governed the region with a fairly light hand, on the whole. Population has declined, and towns and villages have dwindled in size as the occupants have moved out into the more prosperous lowlands. Within a hundred years or so, the political landscape will be quite different again, with the Mitsriy gone and small kingdoms arising to compete over the territory. For the time being, communities continue in their traditional ways, with local priests and chieftains chosen from among the people by merit rather than dynastic ambition. The book follows the life of a village priest in one of the towns as he struggles with timeless issues of life and love, loyalty and betrayal, greed and generous giving.

The First Part of the Story
Damariel is apprenticed as a young man by the village priest, whose reckless actions lead to his disgrace. Damariel manages to avoid becoming implicated in the matter and carries on his training, marrying his childhood friend Qetirah shortly before they begin their shared ministry in the town. Feeling ashamed of their continuing inability to have children, Qetirah becomes pregnant by the chief of the four towns, but the pregnancy is difficult. Damariel's anger and outrage spills over into the marriage. He holds the chief responsible for the situation but cannot see how to get either justice or revenge...

Buy Now @ Amazon
Genre – Historical Fiction
Rating – PG13
More details about the author
Connect with Richard Abbott on Facebook, Google+ & Twitter

White Chalk - Pavarti K. Tyler

Chapter 1

Troy Christiansen came for me.

I knew it the moment he first walked into Northwoods Secondary School. I watched, transfixed, as he glided right through the crowd of popular kids who hung out by the front door—like someone used to being ignored, slicing through the throng like a ghost. He had a black Mohawk pulled tight into a ponytail, and smelled like cigarettes and delinquency. A black T-Shirt and long-sleeved hoodie clung to his hunched shoulders.

Something about him looked so perfectly fragile.

He looked up only once and, by the smirk on his wide full lips, I knew I’d been caught staring. It didn’t really matter. I’d fallen instantly and obsessively in love, but not the kind of teenage drama crap you might expect. No, this was the real soul-wrenching kind of love. I’d never be the same again.

The whole school trilled with gossip. Morgan heard he’d moved here to live with his dad after his mom got arrested. Sebastian said he’d been in Juvie and just got out.

I knew better, having spent that entire day wandering the high school between classes, getting more tardies in one afternoon then I’d received so far that year. But I didn’t care. I was determined to figure out a way to talk to him, whatever it took. Something about the way he’d looked at me, the way the world fell away, taking with it the dread sitting in the bottom of my stomach. Like getting shock therapy, or jumping in the lake in winter, suddenly I felt alive—thanks to him.

Two days later at lunch—one of the few events not segregated by grade—I finally saw him.

I’d been held after class in Algebra; too many days of missing homework. Teachers seemed to think we possessed this unlimited amount of time between getting home and going to bed for all this work, and every one of them gave enough homework to fill the whole night. This assumed I bothered to even try. Between cleaning up the house, trying to keep the reality of my life from caving in, worrying about Dad coming home drunk or Ma crying over bills, Earth Science homework just didn’t seem like that big of a fucking deal. At least I didn’t have to worry about homework in History—it paid to be Mr. Harris’ star student.

When I finally got out of there, I trudged down to the cafeteria, ignoring the insults the boys tossed, or their occasional moo call. Fuck them. I retreated to my usual spot in front of the vending machine, looking for something sugary before finding Morgan on the front steps with her friends.

Cheetos or cupcakes or a Rice Krispies Treat… the options for processed fat and sugar proved endless.

“The machine gave me two, you want one?” A low rumble came from around the corner.

I stepped to the side and looked around the clunky machine blocking my view. There, on the ground with earbuds dangling around his neck and one hand offering up a HoHo, sat Troy Christiansen.

“Umm, Yeah.”

I took the treat and shifted my weight to the other foot. I wanted to tell him I’d seen the way he’d looked at me, that this place didn’t suck too bad, that I could be something—maybe something special—if he wanted. Instead, I just crinkled the plastic wrapper between my fingers.

He shrugged, put the earbuds back in, and picked up the book on his lap—something old, with tan pages and a cracked spine.

Dejected, I turned away.

“You can sit here if you want,” he said, without looking up.

A swelling in my chest made it difficult to breathe, and, for a minute, I floundered. I wasn’t even sure if I could find the strength to sit, but when he glanced up and raised one eyebrow, I shivered and stepped closer.

“Um… yeah… sure.” My mouth went dry and my tongue felt stiff as a diving board, but my legs managed to lower me to the floor without falling. Little miracles shouldn’t be taken for granted.

The waist of my jeans cut into my middle and made it tough to figure out just how to sit, but I didn’t want to fidget too much. With one leg bent and the other curled under me, it wasn’t comfortable, but I couldn’t cross the other leg. I left it bent, my knee poking out at an angle.

“Thanks.” I peeked through my hair, afraid to look right at him. When he smiled, a thrum of excitement started in my chest, speeding up my breath.

“What’s your name?”

“Chelle.”

He nodded. “I’m Troy.” His eyes shone in the florescent glare of the cafeteria, and he passed me one of his iPod’s earbuds. When I took it, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, not bothering to eat the HoHo balanced precariously on his knee.

The earbud was still warm, and shrill, fast music crashed into my brain. It clamored around in my head, abusing the parts of my mind normally reserved for coherent thought, but I didn’t care. Troy Christiansen and I listened to the same thing, shared the same sensations.

I didn’t eat the HoHos he’d given me, despite a tingling at the back of my mouth anticipating the decadent mixture of chocolate and cream. I leaned against the wall, enjoying how every breath he took moved the air around me. The hairs on my arm reached out to him, and I vibrated with the fantasy that he might touch me.

When the warning bell rang, chairs scraped against the linoleum floor as everyone rushed to finish their conversation, stuff in one more bite of processed meat, and dump their trash before heading to class.

Troy and I just sat, him with his eyes closed, me trying desperately to look at him… without looking. His sharp features were symmetrical, and sitting side-by-side, we weren’t too different in height. But my figure was thick, his lanky, and where I curved, he stuck out in angular points. He wore the same tight jeans as the first day I saw him. His lip ring dangled from the center of his bottom lip, pulling it out into a pout that made me shiver and look away.

The class bell rang and even though I couldn’t afford another tardy, the mere idea of moving away proved inconceivable. I’d spent all week searching for him; no way I’d get up first. Every minute we sat—the cafeteria now cold and barren—the knot in my stomach grew. I tried not to fidget, to keep my hands still and not worry about needing to go to my locker before class.

Finally, he opened his eyes and pulled out his earbud. He set the iPod on the ground before standing up and stretching.

From where I sat I could glance at the swatch of skin above his pant line, pale and smooth. I fumbled with the earbud and gathered the cord around the iPod to keep from staring.

“You smoke?” He stuffed the iPod and uneaten HoHo into his bag.

“Yeah.” I scrambled to pull myself up as he slung it over a shoulder.

“You didn’t eat. Aren’t you hungry?” He pointed to the HoHo in my hand.

“Nah, I’ll eat later.” I hoped he couldn’t hear my stomach growl, or the crinkling of the plastic wrapper as my hand shook.

He shrugged and walked away, out of the cafeteria and down the long hall leading to the main door.

“Aren’t you going to class?” My voice reverberated in the empty hall, too loud as I rushed to keep up with his long legs.

“No. Why would I ask you to smoke if I was going to class?” His response made so much sense, I felt stupid for asking.

“Well, you can’t go out front,” I offered, lowering my voice a little, trying to make it sultry or something. I knew something he didn’t, and despite the fact I was essentially skipping class for the first time in my life, I desperately wanted him to keep me around. “We have to go out back, behind the loading docks. None of the teachers bother going there.”

“I don’t give a fuck what the teachers do.” He glanced down at me, his eyes cold before softening into a teasing smile. “But if you do, we can go.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled, embarrassed to have cared, to assume he would care about getting in trouble. He was a junior—he didn’t have to give a fuck.

We turned and walked back past the cafeteria, beyond the foreign language hall and out the side door. He followed me, not speaking as I jumped over a pile of unmelted snow left over from the last storm.

He chuckled—laughing at me or with me? Didn’t really matter, given the smile that brightened his face.

When we rounded the shed to the unofficially designated smoking area, he pulled out a cigarette, lit it and inhaled deeply. His thin face appeared even more drawn as he held in the smoke before exhaling through his nose.

I rubbed my hands on my pant legs. I didn’t have my bag with me, so no cigarettes.

Troy didn’t seem to notice, though. He just gazed out over the parking lot, tapping his foot as he smoked.

I wrapped my arms around my middle, trying to keep warm.

White Chalk

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre –  Literary Fiction/Coming of Age

Rating – R (15+)

More details about the author & the book

Connect with Pavarti K Tyler on Facebook  & Twitter

Website http://www.fightingmonkeypress.com/

Monday, September 23, 2013

Sadism by Mary Maddox

Sadism
by Mary Maddox

A few years ago I gave an early draft of Talion to a woman I thought was my friend. She read only the first chapter. The scene in which Rad cuts Whistler’s throat appalled her so much she couldn’t continue. "How can you write about things like that?" she asked. "I mean, I respect the power of the imagination."

I was rather proud of the scene – especially Rad’s thought that "the dying body has a thousand voices.”

This reader’s implication was that I had invoked the power of my imagination in the service of something evil. I thought, “Who is she to talk?” Here was a poet whose poems were erotically charged and often explicit. In one, the speaker beheld the beauty of a young child and understood why a pederast would desire him. Other poems chronicled her attraction to her brother. Her imagination covered all kinds of forbidden sexual territory, but she considered violence beyond the pale, a land of evil where no decent person ventured.

I never spoke my mind to her. The violence in Talion is shocking, and I couldn’t blame her for an honest response, as much as I wanted to. Afterward she had as little contact with me as possible. I was no longer someone she cared to have coffee with. Or even to email.

Ironically, I detest sadism. Stories of cruelty to children and animals make me angry and break my heart. I despise people who take pleasure in hurting others. But when I decided to bring Rad into the story, I had to understand him. I read a number of books about sadistic killers and violence. What I learned wasn’t altogether comfortable. While serial killers are obvious unlike most people, the emotions that drive them are shared by all human beings. Rage. The need for control in a hostile and overwhelming world.  I recognized these emotions in myself and realized it wasn’t innate goodness that kept me from being a sadistic killer but the familiar accidents of heredity and environment. I was born female with hyper-reactive nervous system. Though my parents were far from perfect, I received love as a child.

My former friend might have become a killer too, under different circumstances. Maybe that was the truth she didn’t care to contemplate.

Talion
Global Ebook Awards Silver Medal Winner

2nd place for horror fiction in the 2013 Global eBook Awards

GEbA_Silver

Meet Rad Sanders, the most terrifying serial killer you will ever encounter, in a thriller unlike any you have ever read...

Lu Jakes lives with her alcoholic father and abusive stepmother, Norlene, at Hidden Creek Lodge in the Utah mountains. When the beautiful Lisa is sent by her protective parents to stay at the lodge for the summer, Lu makes her first real friend - dangerously unaware that Lisa's is not the only new face at the resort.
For Lisa has been followed by Rad Sanders, a sadistic killer who has plans for the girls - sick plans that will drag them and their families to the very brink of hell. Rad stalks Lu and Lisa, waiting for his moment, certain that his deadly plan cannot fail.

But unknown to Rad, Lu has a secret. She can see things that nobody else can see: the spirit Talion and his companions. But are these spirits real or a trick of the mind? And will Lu's special gift help her and Lisa as the killer closes in...

TALION is a gripping, intense tale of friendship, family and dark desires, that blends Thomas Harris with Stephen King.  It is a book that will make you want to sleep with all the lights on - if you can sleep at all.

Rated R for adult language and scenes of disturbing violence.
Buy Now @ Amazon
Genre – Thriller / Horror 
Rating – R
More details about the author
Connect with  Mary Maddox on Facebook & Twitter

Kain (Elyon’s World #1) by Brie McGill

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Glory

I.

The distant, steady beeping of an electrocardiograph machine roused him from the abyss and into a fuzzy state of consciousness. He knew they ogled the spikes and dips on the screen displaying his brain activity. He knew they used their machines to eavesdrop on his every breath.

During these delicate moments between waking and sleeping, Kain sensed their scrutiny most acutely. He knew they waited for something, they wanted something, but every time he woke, he found it impossible to remember.

“Skirra.” A rough male voice interrupted his thoughts; fingers snapped. “Increase the current.”

“Yes, Sir,” a timorous female voice responded. Fingers clacked across a keyboard. “Output is increased by twenty units.” Skirra tapped her foot against the tiled floor.

A harsh, electronic tone split through his head, cutting into his brain like a knife: in a burst of pain and confusion, his bubble of thought popped and disappeared.

“He’s primed.” The man approached with the clomp of heavy boots. “Inject him.”

“Sir... Commander Brigham? Sir... if I may speak...” Skirra’s limp fist thudded against her chest; she offered the customary salute. “The biomedical research team in the Nanotech Department submitted a recent study of the compounds for review, and--”

For a moment, neither spoke. The electrocardiogram beeped steadily.

She cleared her throat. “One of the primates in the experiment went berserk.” Pausing, she swallowed. “Sir, not that I am comparing your investments to a bunch of monkeys, Sir--” She vouched for her intentions with another salute. “I believe this experiment will bring Glory to the Empire, Sir!”

Rattling a rack of glass vials, Skirra poked through a clanging assortment of tubes. She selected one from the rack and popped the cap. Moments later, she tore a disinfectant pad from the wrapper.

Kain knew all of these sounds; they were routine.

“Then do it.” Brigham’s fingers drummed on a nearby table.

Cold fingers dug into the muscles of his arm, dabbing him with a cool swab, moist with an astringent-smelling chemical.

“That whole department is revolting. They have become so obsessed with transcending human limitations that they’ve grown disgusted with the body.” Brigham snorted. “It will forever retard their efforts.”

Skirra drove the needle into Kain’s arm.

“The will to live frustrates them because it is irrational, unquantifiable; there is no way to predict it, or to accurately compensate for it within calculations.” He hovered over Kain. “The body is an impressive machine: consider the possibilities in subduing that will, in bending its power to serve your goals.”

Skirra’s cold hand, bedecked with metal rings, gave Kain’s hand a firm squeeze.

“If we want to test his capabilities, we have to push him to the limits.” Brigham’s voice remained cool, scientific. “If we find his breaking point, we can control him. Once we can control him, we are free to utilize those capabilities to the fullest extent.”

Pressure surged through Kain’s head, overwhelming him. He lurched forward, restrained by thick, leather bonds on a metal chair. His breath caught in his throat, and his eyes fluttered open.

Skirra released her hand. “Sir, his vitals are stable!”

He squinted, blinded by the garish light.

“Let’s begin.” Chase Brigham, a sturdy man old enough to be his father, with waist-length silver hair, loomed over Kain and spit the booming command: “Aadima.”

Mind abruptly blank, Kain opened his eyes. He tilted his head to one side, feeling a metal helmet shift on his head. Posture stiffening without his control, Kain nodded, making a fist, unable to beat his chest in salute. “Commander Brigham, Sir!”

Brigham glanced at the winking display of computer monitors beside him, and then at his watch. “Thirty-seven seconds.” He nodded to Skirra. “Note it.”

Skirra fumbled with an electronic notepad, alternately typing notes and chewing her nails.

Kneeling down on one knee, Brigham signed an intricate series of hand gesticulations to him. “Greetings, Kain.”

Kain could think of nothing to do. Feeling nothing, wanting for nothing, he remained rigid in the chair.

“Dvitiiya.” Brigham paired his command with a symphony of motor signals. “Disable.”

“Secondary Dvitiiya functions.” Kain echoed him in an empty voice. “Disabled.”

“Kain.” Brigham climbed to his feet, sauntering behind the chair. “Tritiiya.”

Kain froze. His mind froze.

“Damn you!” Brigham grabbed a flat remote from his pocket, and pointed it at him.

Moaning as violent tremors wracked his body, Kain convulsed and flopped in his chair.

The unforgiving bonds subdued him, held him in place, subjecting him to further torture.

Skirra lifted her hands to her head, watching in horror as graphs spikes and numbers soared on adjacent computers.

“There are no uses for faulty machinery!” Brigham leaned into Kain’s face, hissing his words. “None. You remember that.”

Skirra glanced at the clock and chewed her nails.

“Kain.” Brigham cleared his throat. “Load Tritiiya.”

Shifting his posture, Kain’s breathing slowed, and he sat upright. He stared ahead with empty eyes and spoke in a monotone. “Tertiary Tritiiya functions loaded, Sir.”

“Kain.” Brigham waved his hand and spoke in a thunderous voice. “Load Caturtha.”

“Identification confirmed: granting access to restricted Caturtha systems.” Kain mechanically rotated his head toward the floor and closed his eyes. “Proceed with instructions.”

Skirra plunked an unwieldy pair of goggles over the bridge of his nose, fitting the frames one at a time over his ears with a gentle touch. Compulsively grabbing the tufts of flaxen hair that poked from his helmet, Skirra thumbed his temples affectionately before jerking her hands away. “Sir, goggles are ready, Sir!” She threw her hands into the air and blushed.

A hypnotic lightshow of flashing colors entranced him.

“Kain, do you recognize the image of this man?” Brigham drummed his fingers against the chair.

Amidst the lights, Kain saw flashes of an elderly man, with thinning hair and age spots. “Recognition affirmative, Sir.” Kain knew him: he was a senator.

“Spectacular.” Brigham joined his hands in a deafening clap. “Execute primary Caturtha commands, and target this man.”

“Target confirmed, Sir.” Kain remained hypnotized by the goggles. “Requesting variables of mission duration, Sir.”

Brigham pealed his final command. “Caturtha functions will terminate when his Glorious duties are fulfilled.”

“Parameters understood, Sir.” Kain twitched. “Caturtha, execution complete. Awaiting further instruction.”

Brigham waved dismissively. “Kain, I require no further services from you today.”

Kain’s eyes fell shut, and he slumped forward in the chair, still restrained by the leather bonds.

He felt himself drifting again... floating, fading...

Looming over him, Skirra placed a hand on Kain’s chest. She paused, and then quickly swiped the goggles, retreating behind Brigham.

“Skirra, send for Krodha. We’re finished today.” Brigham turned and strode toward the door.

Kain

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre –  Sci-Fi/Steamy Romance

Rating – R (18+)

More details about the author & the book

Connect with Brie McGill on Facebook  & Twitter

Website http://www.sexdrugsandcyberpunk.com/

Sunday, September 22, 2013

The Howling Heart by April Bostic (Excerpt)

Chapter One
Last night, a wolf howled for me. The deep, haunting sound pierced through my dreams and pulled me from the infinite, black void of my subconscious. The howl took hold of my soul as I slept and forced me to relive a distant memory from my childhood. It was a memory I think the wolf didn’t want me to forget.

In a world of vivid color, I was suddenly ten years old, again. It was mid-summer in Black River, Colorado, and my family and I were vacationing in our cabin in the Rocky Mountains. I had hoped this vacation would be pleasant, but I had doubts when my parents’ bickering started in the car on our way to the cabin. While sitting quietly in the backseat with my nose buried in the hair of my favorite, old doll, I silently wished they would be nice to each other.

I was in my bedroom when I heard them arguing downstairs. I was used to my parents not getting along, but this time, I decided I didn’t want to be around them any longer. Escaping to the dark quiet of my bedroom closet wasn’t far enough. I needed to go further away. I needed to run away. While they argued, I grabbed some clothes, my doll, and an unopened juice box, and I smashed them all into my suitcase.

I tiptoed down the wooden staircase and stepped softly across the hardwood floor in the living room, until I was about to pass the kitchen. My parents’ voices gave me pause, and I pressed myself against the nearest wall.
As I peeked into the kitchen, I witnessed my mother slam pots and pans on the counter and stove. She did this to emphasize her points during the argument. They yelled at one another, but I guess the noise from the cookware irritated my father, because he grabbed one of the pots from her. His dark eyebrows knit tightly together, and his usually cool, blue eyes blazed as he glared at my mother.

My mother’s hazel eyes widened in shock, and she hit his arm. “Don’t you dare snatch that from me!”

Now was the perfect time to escape. They were so busy arguing and glaring that they were oblivious to the fact that their young daughter could hear every word. I started to cry when they mentioned my name. My father blamed my mother for being too strict with me, and she blamed him for being too lenient and allowing me to make a mess of the house. I didn’t think I was messy.

I watched them silently for another minute until I realized I had to get my sniffling under control or I’d give myself away. I felt wetness on my cheeks, and it dribbled down to my mouth. I licked my lips and tasted the salty tears. They’ll miss me when I’m gone, but I won’t come back.

I turned around slowly, and I crept through the living room and out the front door. I still heard them yelling as I ran down the front steps. I don’t know if the door made a loud sound when I closed it, but I heard my loud sobs and my sneakers pound against the grass as I ran toward the dense, surrounding forest.

Dirt, sticks, and leaves covered the forest floor. There were so many trees, I ran in zigzags to avoid running into one. For a moment, I stopped to look where I was going. I stood in the middle of the forest, surrounded by nothing but evergreens. Everything looked green and brown, and a misty fog swirled around me. I cast my gaze skyward and saw a dark canopy of leaves. Only slivers of sunlight and patches of indigo sky crept through the branches. The sun was setting, and I walked aimlessly in the shadowy light of dusk.

I was thirsty from running, so I sat against a tree to retrieve my juice box. As I popped the plastic straw through the foil opening, I looked around to see if I was alone. I knew animals lived in the woods and didn’t want any of them taking me by surprise. I looked down at my sneakers and noticed the bottoms caked with dirt. My mother would be so angry if I walked into the cabin wearing dirty shoes. I wondered if I should go home or keep to my plan of running away. Since I had already run away, I wondered what to do next.

The forest was surprisingly quiet. The only sounds were the birds in the trees above me and my own breathing intermittent with slurping juice. I was on alert, my eyes surveying my surroundings.

I wouldn’t sit in peace for too long, because I heard the crunching sound of someone or something coming toward me. At first, I thought it was one of my parents. I was prepared to run, because I didn’t want to go home. I gasped when the mysterious visitor came into my line of vision. It emerged from behind an enormous tree. With its coloring, it lacked natural camouflage. I dropped my juice box in my lap and stared with wide eyes at the small, white dog.

It stood a few yards away and stared at me. Then, it cocked its head and whimpered. I was more intrigued than afraid, and the feeling was mutual. I expected the puppy’s owner to be within a close distance, but I didn’t see or hear anyone else. The dog approached me cautiously with its head lowered. It jumped back every time I made a sudden movement, like touching my hair or scratching my cheek.

I always wanted a puppy, but my father never let me have one, because my mother was allergic. I remembered she wasn’t here, so I smiled. This moment would be my only chance to have a pet.

I decided it would be wise not to move and frighten it away. As the puppy walked closer to inspect me, I saw it was completely white except for its black nose and golden eyes. They stood out eerily in the dark forest and glowed softly. The animal stopped a few feet away from me, as if it was trying to keep its distance.

I encouraged it by rising to my knees and beckoning to it. “Come here, little one. It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”
The puppy whimpered again and took another step toward me. I knew dogs didn’t drink juice, but that didn’t stop me from offering my half-empty Capri Sun.

Another minute ticked by until the dog was close enough for me to touch. Once again, it hesitated. After a couple of seconds, we finally made physical contact, and I touched the tip of its muzzle. Its nose was a bit cold but not wet. Its body flinched, but it didn’t move away. I knew I had earned its trust when it allowed my hand to glide up its muzzle to the top of its head. Its white fur felt like sleek bristles. My hands ventured behind its ears and both cheeks. The puppy wagged its tail, and to my surprise, it jumped on me and rested its head on my shoulder.
Before the puppy arrived, I worried about being alone in the forest. I no longer had to worry, because I had a new friend.

“I ran away,” I said as I stroked its back to the tip of its tail. “I’m tired of my parents yelling all the time, so I thought it would be better if I left. I’m always making a mess, and my mom says she’s tired of cleaning up after me. I try not to spill things, but sometimes, I do it by mistake.”

I talked to the dog for at least an hour while it sat in my lap. I discovered it was actually a male. He let me know with a growl after I commented, “You’re a pretty girl.” Then, he rolled onto his back to prove his sex.
I apologized in laughter, and a few licks to my face let me know he had forgiven me. His playful licks lifted my spirits, but my happiness didn’t last long. Panic set in as darkness closed in around me, and I reconsidered my plan.

“Maybe, I should go home, now. It’s getting late. My parents are probably worried about me, and I’m hungry. I forgot to pack some food.”

I stood and took a few steps in the direction I thought would lead me home. My new friend wanted to be my guide. He grabbed my pant leg between his teeth and yanked.

“What is it?” I laughed. He growled softly as he pulled me along. “Oh, I see. You want me to follow you?”
He finally released me, looked into my eyes, and barked.

I grabbed my suitcase and followed the puppy as he led me through the forest. I hoped I would see the cabin, soon. In an attempt to ease my fears, I hummed an upbeat melody and pretended I was on an adventure. Every now and then, my friend would look back at me to make sure I was following.

“Do you know where you’re going?”

He stopped suddenly and turned to look at me. He let out another high-pitched bark, and I smiled. It was almost as if he answered me.

The puppy and I had established a bond of trust, so I didn’t expect him to lead me to danger. Unfortunately, in my naivety, that’s exactly what he did. We arrived at a clearing with a dark river running through it. Instantly, my panic increased threefold when I realized I was deeper into the forest.

“What’s going on? Where are we?”

He turned toward me, and I knelt in front of him. We snuggled again, and he licked my face.

“I need to go home, now.” He whimpered and licked my nose, causing me to giggle. “I’m sorry, but I—”

A menacing growl cut my sentence short. I looked toward the sound and saw a big animal baring its sharp teeth. As it stalked toward us, more animals emerged from behind the trees. I clutched my friend to my chest protectively. I watched National Geographic, and I knew these were not dogs…they were very large wolves. There was a hill on the other side of the river, and more wolves appeared as they materialized from the darkness.

I heard another whimper, but this one came from me. I shivered in fright, and the puppy squirmed in my arms. I released him quickly and stood in surrender. I turned in a circle and realized the wolves surrounded me on all sides.

My voice wavered as I begged the predators to show mercy. “Please, don’t hurt me.”

I breathed rapidly and dropped my suitcase with a thump. My feet shuffled, and my eyes darted around as I tried to figure out my next move. I had nowhere to run and no escape.

The puppy ran away and stood between a snarling gray wolf and me. My lips trembled, and I scrambled backward. I didn’t care if I was moving closer to another wolf. I just wanted to get away from the scary, gray wolf stalking toward me.

The puppy barked at the wolf, and I silently prayed for him to return to my side. He was too small to save me from a dangerous wolf pack. The wolf stopped and turned its attention to the puppy, as if it was listening. Other wolves approached me, but their demeanor was non-threatening and curious. I stood frozen in fear and sought escape.
Luckily, I didn’t need a plan, because I was about to be rescued. In the distance, I heard my parents and other people calling my name.

I yelled in relief, “Mom, Dad. I’m here! Help me!”

The wolves started to retreat, but not the puppy. I grabbed my suitcase, and as I turned to run toward my parents, I felt another tug on my pant leg. I looked down and spoke soothingly.

“No, I have to leave.”

He released me and sat on his hind legs. Then, he scooted toward me and laid his head on my foot. His whimper actually broke my heart.

“I’m sorry. I can’t stay with you.” My eyes welled with tears.

My mother’s voice called out to me, desperate and anxious. “Paige, where are you?”

“I’m here, Mommy!”

My friend backed away but never took his gaze off me. I heard a deep bark from one of the wolves. I looked up and saw the gray one standing by a tree. The puppy quickly turned his head toward it before he looked back at me one last time. Sadness is an unmistakable expression in any animal, and I know that’s what I saw in his face. He ran toward the wolf, and a second later, the darkness swallowed them.

My father reached me first and pulled me into his arms. I looked at the spot where my friend had disappeared, shocked by the revelation he wasn’t a dog…he was a wolf.

My dream fast-forwarded to the following morning. I awoke in surprise and found a dead rabbit at the foot of my bed.

When my mother entered my room, she immediately noticed the rabbit and the blood. “Paige! What is that?” she shrieked.

My father heaved a loud, irritated sigh from the hallway. “What’s going on now, Maggie?”

“David, get in here!” My mother looked disgusted and clapped a hand over her mouth.

I sat on my bed and stared at the gray, lifeless body. Shiny, black eyes looked eerily back at me, and the ring of blood around its neck stained my quilt. I had no idea where the rabbit came from.

“Mom, I’m sorry.” I leaned over to pick it up, but my mother grabbed my arms.

“Don’t you dare! It could have diseases!”

My father finally entered the room as I scrambled off the bed. He looked confused for a moment before he set his gaze on the dead thing my mother was having a fit over.

“What is that, and where’d it come from?”

My mother sighed heavily. “What does it look like? It’s a rabbit. Get rid of it. I want it out of this house!”

He ignored her demand and approached me. His tall form bent down to my level, and I saw concern behind his eyes. “Did you bring the rabbit into your room? Tell me the truth, sweetheart.”

“No, I didn’t. I swear. I don’t know how it got here. I woke up, and it was there.”

My mother glanced at one of the windows. “Paige, why is your window wide open?”

I shrugged and cast my gaze toward the floor. “It was hot in here last night, so I opened it.”

She slammed the window shut and locked it. When she turned to me, suspicion filled her eyes. “Did you go out last night and bring that dead thing into the house?”

I shook my head vehemently. “No!”

My father started walking out the room. “I’ll get a trash bag and some rubber gloves.”

I looked after him, but once he was out of sight, I set my gaze back on my mother. She stood a few feet from my bed, hands planted firmly on her hips and lips pursed tight.

“We’re washing everything on your bed.” She gagged when she looked at the rabbit, again. “Ugh! That’s disgusting! I can’t believe—”

“It wasn’t me,” I said in a small, quiet voice.

She sighed, again. “Then, who did it? Who came into your room and put a dead rabbit on your bed?”

I shrugged.

My father returned minutes later and removed the rabbit. My mother kept to her promise and gave my bed linens a thorough wash. She flipped my mattress over after she sprayed it with Lysol.

The scene in my bedroom dissolved until I was playing in the backyard of the cabin. Since I was an only child and hadn’t met any children on the mountain, I had to entertain myself. That afternoon, I decided to play a soccer game with a giant, evergreen tree as the goalie. I kicked my rainbow glittered ball toward the tree, but I missed my mark, and it rolled a few yards toward the forest. I was about to run after it, but someone grabbed it first. I gasped in astonishment.

I’d never seen a naked boy before, and he wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing. He was taller than me, but he looked around my age. He had a suntan and sandy blonde hair, longer than my mother preferred. He was in serious need of a bath, because his hands and feet were filthy. He held the ball against his stomach as he slowly walked toward me.

This young, naked stranger entranced me, and I couldn’t move. He slowly closed the distance between us, until I could see every feature of his face. The bright, clear color of his eyes reminded me of green apples. When he cocked his head and grinned, I noticed a brown mole on the upper left corner of his mouth.

I still couldn’t move and struggled to speak. He frowned, and his eyes darted around us.

“Who are you?” I said breathlessly with wide eyes. “Where are your clothes?”

He grinned again and held out my ball. I took it from him, and our fingers touched. “Thanks,” I said, smiling nervously.

He took another step forward and reached out his hand. This time, I flinched when he made contact with my skin. His hand softly caressed my cheek, and a wide smile broke free on my face. The boy smiled back, and I thought it was beautiful. In that moment, I was happy to see another kid. It didn’t matter anymore that he was naked. We could still play together, as long as my parents didn’t see him.

“What’s your name?” I asked quietly.

His expression was calm, and his eyes casually scanned my face.

I didn’t understand why he wouldn’t answer my questions. I felt my brow furrow. “Can you talk?”

Finally, his lips parted. I thought he would speak, but he glanced at the cabin and then back at me with a pained expression. He yanked my hand, and I slid across the grass.

Everything happened so fast. I cried out, “Hey! What are you doing?”

He released me and stepped away, but he hesitated before he turned around and ran toward the forest.

I reached out for him. “Wait!” Unfortunately, he quickly disappeared among the trees.

“Paige! What did I tell you about washing your glass after you have a drink?”

I turned toward the cabin and saw my mother standing behind the screen door, hands on her hips, again.

“Get in here right now!”

A loud, beeping sound snatched me out of my dream and tossed me into reality. My eyes snapped open, and I stared at the ceiling. I was back in my Manhattan apartment, lying in bed while the grating noise from my alarm clock blared in my ears. I reached over and slammed my palm on the snooze button. The beeping ceased, giving way to the bustling sounds of the noisy city outside. The morning sun barely peeked through the blinds. In my dimly lit bedroom, I exhaled a wistful breath and recalled my childhood memory for one brief moment.

I didn’t see the dirty naked boy again, but the next morning, I found a dead squirrel on my bed. My mother was in mid-conniption, and she wouldn’t let me sleep in my room after that. She also cut our vacation short.

The following summer, I asked my father to take me back to our cabin. I wanted to see the wolf pup or the strange boy, again. To my disappointment, something came up at the last minute, and he couldn’t. I never asked my mother, because she wasn’t fond of the place. The mountain was too remote, and our last experience turned her off to wildlife. My family never returned to the cabin.

Before the year was over, my parents went through a nasty divorce with me in the middle. The judge awarded them joint custody of me, but I stayed with my dad most of the time, because we got along better. In my heart, I missed the wolf pup the most. Maybe, he missed me as well, because I could’ve sworn I heard a howl the day we left Black River.

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Genre – Paranormal Romance
Rating – Adult
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