Friday, January 31, 2025

Poetry Day #stories4you from #OurAuthorGang

 A poem by Eva Bielby


The Door to Love and Peace

I close my eyes,

breathing deep for a while.

I visualise my door

and it appears yet again,

opening up to me.

And I…

I can feel them again.

Enveloped in their warmth,

I wait,

feeling beautiful peace.

One moves in closer.

Happy feelings,

laughter.

I recognise the one

up close to me.

Protective and

making me feel safe.

Loving.

Such overwhelming love for me.

Encouraging.

I feel strength.

He speaks

words only for me.

So subtle

yet so clear.

Words that bring peace

and happiness.

For he is happy,

in a world where hatred

does not exist.

In a world

many can’t comprehend.

In a world

where pain is not felt.

Yet I,

deep in my heart,

I know.

I know his other world.

I will return to that world

when from ours

I depart.

When my door opens

to me for the final time,

they will come for me

and guide me across their threshold.

My journey will come to an end.

The door will close behind me,

my door to love and peace.

Love and peace…

finally mine.

A beautiful new world

where exists…only love and peace.

They will wait for me…

wait for me to come home.

Infinite love

and infinite peace

wait just through my door.

Eva Bielby © July 2020

 

Eva Bielby

https://www.evabielby.co.uk

Eva Bielby was born in North Yorkshire in the Northeast of England. She has spent over thirty years of her working life as a company accountant. Eva has a keen interest in spiritualism/mediumship and has attended several workshops to develop her skills further. During her quieter moments, Eva enjoys a cryptic crossword, sudoku, and gardening.

Thursday, January 30, 2025

Guest Author Alice Marks #stories4you

 Today our guest author, Alice Marks, tells a story

Watch Where You Step

By Alice Marks

Today I had to walk to school by myself because my bestie, Janie Lizeth was sick. Every day we are careful not to step on a ***** in the sidewalk as we chant, “Step on a ***** and you’ll break your Mother’s back.”

By now you probably have supplied the missing word because everyone knows that this is a jingle and the word rhymes with back but today it’s been used for something considered a trigger word by the algorhytm. If you still aren’t sure what is stepped on, according to my uncle’s thesaurus it is a “fracture”, a “rupture” or a “fissure”, all meaning separations in the sidewalk. I guess I’ll use the synonym “fissure” and you will know I mean the word that rhymes with back.

To continue my story: Today I was preoccupied with Who will I sit with at lunch with Janie sick at home? And I stepped on a fissure in the sidewalk. I panicked. Oh, my poor mom. Then I grinned and said out loud, “That is just a silly superstition.”

I heard a siren. A firetruck sped by. To my horror, it stopped in front of my house. I turned back to the direction it was headed. As I reached home, I saw EMTs carrying Mom on a stretcher. My mind twisted, What if it isn’t a superstition?

“Mom, Mom!” I cried, running to the stretcher.

One of the EMTs pushed me away.

Though in my heart I knew what happened, I asked, “What’s wrong with my mom?”

“Broken back,” he muttered.

I hadn’t noticed the police car that had pulled up behind the firetruck. When the officer jumped out of the car and spotted me, he yelled, ”Is that your mom?”

All I could manage was a whispered, “Yes.”

“Thought so. Another kid stepped on a fissure and here’s her suffering mom.”

He grabbed me by the arm and said, “Are you going to own up to being careless, or did you do it on porpoise?”, and he laughed at his own stupid joke. “No, I guess you wanted to get even with your mom because of some stupid thing like she wouldn’t let you go to that monster movie at the Palladium.”

“No, no! I love my mom. It wasn’t on purpose.”

“Hard to believe that. I haven’t had a case like this in ages, but I can tell. You are under arrest, you little back-breaking liar!”

An ambulance pulled up, and the EMTs put my mom in it.

“Mom, Mom,’” I screamed but she couldn’t hear me because the ambulance left with its siren screaming.

The police officer threw me into the back of his car. I planned to jump out and run but immediately discovered there really were no door handles in the backseat, just like I had seen on TV. I sobbed loudly.

“Shad up back there. Wait until I throw you into a cell to bawl your head off, you

backbreaking brat.”

I wept more as we reached the police station. The officer yanked me out of the backseat and dragged me across a cement floor covered in fissures. Instinctively I hopped over the fissures.

“Too late, Missy!” laughed that awful police officer. “But you are a pretty good fissure jumper which proves to me that you deliberately stepped on a fissure to injure your mother in a serious way.”

As I cried, he sneered at me and threatened me with words, “I’ll be certain to tell the judge that, you cruel little back-breaker.”

The mean police officer handed me to a stern-faced woman who threw me into a dark little room, smaller than my closet, with bars across the front. There was no bathroom just a smelly pot on the floor. The only other thing was a little bed with a gray blanket. I curled up on the bed, which I guess people call a cot, and covered up with the gray scratchy blanket. I closed my eyes and pretended I was the one sick on a school day, cozy in my Barbie themed bedroom in my canopied bed. My mom – tears cascaded down my cheeks when I thought of her – would bring me tea and toast and later lavender colored Jell-O.

Instead, the cruel woman brought me a metal bowl with something that looked like the food we feed our dog, Ralph, but smelled worse. I asked her if I could call my mom. “Absolutely not! Do you think she wants to hear from her back-breaking kid? Besides she probably isn’t out of surgery. You know, she may never walk again.”

I crawled back into bed and cried until I ran out of tears.

The next day I asked the woman, who I had learned was named Matron, if I could call my mom.

Matron said, “Same answer, no!” and then she added with a wicked grin, “Do you know what today Is?”

My lips quivered as I tried to think what day it could be. Finally, I said, “Another day In jail?”

“Smarty Pants! It’s Friday the Thirteenth. That’s beware day, be careful what you do and say day. It’s the scariest day of the year day.”

Standing as tall as I could, which missed five feet by a couple of inches, I spoke in my bravest voice, that came out as a squeak, “Friday the Thirteenth is just a silly superstition.”

Matron cackled, “You, dearie, are wrong! You are going to suffer just like your mom.”

A huge fissure appeared on the cell floor. Matron had stepped out of the way, but I fell right through the fissure. I grabbed onto the sides and pulled myself out, but Matron gave me a push and I fell and fell and fell…

I must have hit my head when I landed at the bottom of the hole because I felt a bump on my head when I woke up. Everything was foggy. It lifted a little and I saw an ugly troll standing right in front of me. He looked just like the Boogie Man I used to think every night was in my closet and sometimes under my bed. I had outgrown that, I thought, but there he was with his fat lips, flat nose, flaps for ears, and over-sized feet wearing my bedroom slippers. I couldn’t help myself, I screamed.

That horrid creature laughed and in his spooky voice said, “So you decided after you were old enough to go to school that I wasn’t real! Fooled ya! Here I am.” He patted my aching head with his lumpy hand as I yelled, “Don’t you dare touch me!’

He laughed his evil laugh and said, “Welcome Scaredy Cat Susie Brat, to The Land Where All Superstitions Come True.”

“I don’t believe you! I know you’re not real.’“ I yelled as I took off running down the road.

He shouted behind me, “Of course, I’m real, and you better believe it. Everything here is real You’ll find out.”

I had to slow down because it was so dark. I’m not afraid of the dark but I don’t like it. Are those bats I hear flapping above? Oh, those things give me the Wilies. Once one came down Grandma’s chimney, so I know how they sound. Also, I heard moaning. It has to be ghosts and in a flash of lightning, I could see both the bats and ghosts flying right above my aching head. Thunder boomed, there were screams. I hate thunderstorms but here there wasn’t any rain and the lightning did let me see a little.

One of the moaning ghosts swooped down and grabbed my shoes and socks. Now barefoot I felt worms squishing under my feet. I gagged and turned back to find the hole. Somehow I would crawl back up to my cell. At least there weren’t any worms on the floor. I searched and searched but it was too dark.

The lightning flashed, and a black cat crossed in front of me. I love cats and I called, “Kitty, kitty, come here. There’s a superstition that black cats are bad luck but I don’t believe that. I adore black cats most of all. Come back, kitty.”

The cat stopped in its tracks and came to me. I tried to pet him. He yowled, “You better believe I’m bad luck!” He jumped at me, scratched me on the face, and ran off howling, “Bad luck, bad luck!”

I didn’t know where I was in this noisy, dark underground place but I discovered I had walked right under a ladder. Three huge black spiders with bulging green eyes and disgusting hairy legs sat on the top of the ladder singing “Bad luck, bad luck to walk under a ladder” over and over again.

That is a silly superstition.” I added, without conviction. “I ’m not scared of ladders or spiders.” At least I’m not afraid of the little ones in our basement, but these are really big and scary-looking and probably poisonous. I want to get away from them as fast as possible. I followed the path where the cat had gone. My bare feet hurt, but there was nothing I could do about that. The cat jumped out of some bushes and crossed the path, knocking me over. I skinned my knees as he hissed, “Bad luck! Bad luck!”

The fog was gone and I saw the road was covered with fissures. I must be more careful. My mom is in enough pain. Why can’t this be a yellow brick road I’m following?

I turned around and jumped down the path. I avoided the ladder, but now spiders occupied every rung still singing, “Bad luck, bad luck!” but they had added another chorus, “Friday the Thirteenth! Friday the Thirteenth! Watch out, girlie!”

Hurrying past them, I saw the black cat reappear and cross my path. I jumped over him and he rolled over on his back, grabbed my leg, and bit and scratched it. I pleaded, “Please black cat. I ‘specially love, love, love black cats. Please be nice, Blacky.

My leg and face were bleeding and my feet hurt something awful. I kept jumping down the path. I spied a penny. It was heads up and I bent down to pick it up, because I knew “Find a penny, pick it up, Heads up, all day you’ll have good luck.” If anyone needed good luck, I did. I put it in my pocket.

Out of nowhere appeared someone who looked just like Mrs. Willus, my math teacher. I know math isn’t my best subject but part of it is Mrs. Willus is a terrible teacher. Even the parents think so. She screams at us and she looks hideous with long white hair with a blueish tint and a long nose and a wart on her chin. Of course, we call her Mrs. Witch-us behind her back. But what if she is here to help me? I will never say the mean things about her again.

Instead this person who looked just like Ms. Witch-us grabbed my arm and yelled in my face. “Well, if it isn’t Susie Carroll from Brandt Middle School! I bet you didn’t do your math homework last night and now you show what a stingy brat you are for picking up that penny. What if it was heads down, would you pick it up?”

“No, of course not!”

“Don’t you know you are supposed to leave it where you found it when it’s head’s up so someone else has the happy experience of finding it and having good luck, too?

I didn’t know that. Obedient, I put the penny down, heads up. Mrs. Witch-us, I mean Will-us cackled and said, “it’s too late now. You won’t gain any good luck from that penny.” She vanished and I saw the path twinkled with hundreds of shiny pennies, some heads up, some heads down. What if Mrs. Witch-us is right about leaving them to bring someone else luck in this terrible place. Am I supposed to turn the heads down up? I decided to ignore all the pennies. Anyone who is stuck here needs all the luck they can get but I’m afraid to touch those tails up. Besides I’d step on more fissures while doing that and there are more and more fissures on the path. It is impossible to jump over all of them.

Defeated, I quit hopping and ignore the pennies, the few bright things in this dark spooky world in which I find myself. There are just too many fissures. I hope my mom ’s back isn’t getting worse with every fissure I step on.

At a distance I saw someone I know, somebody Janie and I don’t like, Amy Sara Kline. Amy Sara-the-beautiful. Amy Sara is a blonde and goes to a hairdresser every week just like a grown-up. She never has had a bad hair day and she never gets zits. She also has a figure that makes boys give her looks while both Janie and I have zits, stringy hair and flat fronts. Amy Sara also is a snob, who never would ask us to eat at her table at lunch.

Why was she here? What if she stepped on a fissure? At least we’d have something in common - remorse with both of our moms in the hospital. I couldn’t help myself, I strolled up to her and said, “Hi, Amy Sara, Why are you here? Did you step on a fissure or something?”

“Of course, not, Moron! I am here to torment you.”

“Ha! Nothing you say can hurt me. I have something you don’t.”

“Impossible! You have nothing.”

“You are wrong! I have a true-blue best friend. You have friends who eat with you because you are rich and may take one of them to a movie or roller skating. Everyone seems to like you until they wise-up and then they don’t.”

I could tell I had made Amy Sara mad because her face started getting red, but she said, “Oh, my, your bestie, Janie! She is bigger loser than you. She already found a new bestie while you’re serving time in the Superstition Underground.”

“Liar,” I shouted as I ran away from her, but she caught up and handed me a mirror from her genuine leather clutch purse.

“Look in the mirror,” she commanded.

I obeyed as she sneered at me. Look at those zits? Don’t you use some sort of acne preparation on them? And your hair. Do you brush it 100 strokes each night? And no wonder the boys call you ‘flatsy’. Haven’t you heard of stuffing Kleenex in your bra? And what about First Aid for scratches? Don’t you know you could die if they get infected? Look in this mirror and you will see the meaning of hopeless!” And she laughed and laughed.

The hand mirror turned into a full-length mirror and we both stood looking in it. Amy Sara was more beautiful than ever while I looked horrible, especially since I hadn’t combed my hair since I wound up in jail, I have a bump on my head, severe zits and the bleeding scratches from that miserable black cat, not to mention filthy feet.

Something made me reach out to the mirror, and when I touched it, it broke into 100s of pieces.

“You, idiot, you broke my mirror! Don’t you know you have brought seven years of bad luck on yourself and since it is Friday the Thirteen, it is seven times seven, meaning your whole life you will have bad luck.”

Tears formed in my eyes but I decided to stand up to Amy Sara’s bullying. “Sorry I broke your mirror, but I don’t believe in superstitions. (That was a lie but I had to say something). My dad will buy you a new mirror when we leave here.”

“You think you are going to leave from The Land Where Superstitions Always Come True’? I will stay until I’m tired of harassing you. You are such a loser and so is your friend Janie, who is so stupid she pretends she is your friend, but I know I something you don’t. In fact I know a lot you don’t. For example, “Do you know what friggatriskaidekaphobia means?”

“No, I don’t because you made it up!”

“You always think you are so smart and I overheard you call me a ‘dumb blonde’, but, you don’t know what it means and I do. You should know the meaning in this underworld so out of the sweetness of my heart, I will inform you it means someone afraid of Friday the Thirteenth and you sure as heck should know this in the land where every superstition comes true.”

Turning around so she wouldn’t see I my tears, I yelled, “I don’t believe you! Go back to the hole you climbed out of.” I continued walking, flinching as I stepped on a fissure. The black cat, hissing, blocked my pathway I shouted, “Bad luck creature, where are you going to bite me now? The cat stared at me and acted all innocent. I deliberately stomped on its tail. It left howling.

Instantly I was sorry I hurt the cat. I’m a good girl who doesn’t ever hurt animals. I think I did it because I was so mad about what Amy Sara said about Janie dropping me when she finds out what I did. I know she would be loyal to me and take my side. I was thinking about this when I looked up and saw three vampires blocking the road.

They weren’t wearing vampire black but pastel sweaters and navy pants likes my great-aunts always did when they were alive. I loved them and was sad when they died, one after another. I missed them, but now they were here, with dead-looking eyes ,long scary teeth instead of their regular false teeth. “We’ve come to suck your blood,” they chanted. More like “lick it” went through my mind because they look so old and weak.

As if she suddenly recognized me. Great-Aunt Pearl, said, “I thought she was such a sweet little thing, but it’s horrible to think that in middle school she broke our dear niece Patty’s back. She must be punished.” She squinted, “Has anyone seen my glasses? “ Great-Aunt Violet said, “What?” Great-Aunt Susan, the one I was named after, said, “I don’t remember her at all.” That broke my heart and didn’t help my situation.

I suddenly remembered a horror movie about vampires that Janie and I watched at a sleep-over at her house. We learned a vampire can be scared away with a rabbit’s foot. Darn! I left my lucky rabbit foot at home. I looked around and saw a rabbit nibbling on clover in the woods to my right. I crept over to it, and though I hated to do it, I tugged off its left hind leg. The rabbit didn’t even pause eating as his leg grew back. I returned to shake the gross bloody leg at my vampire aunties and they disappeared.

It suddenly occurred to me that maybe I had the power to turn bad luck into good.

Even though I had a rabbit’s foot, I knocked on the wood of the tree. After a grove of these trees, I saw a meadow. It was filled with four-leafed clovers and I grabbed a handful. Across the meadow I saw a gang of kids playing tug-a-war. I wish I hadn’t walked closer because I saw these weren’t regular kids. They were kid-sizes skeletons. This was the scariest thing I had seen down in this totally scary place. I had to get out of here.

As I ran back across the meadow I began to itch all over. All the clover I was wading through had turned into poison ivy. I emptied my fist only I accidentally threw the rabbit’s foot away I wasn’t about to crawl through the ivy to find it. I also tossed away the four-leaf clover in my other hand. Now I had no good luck charms. I crossed he finger of one hand. I knew it was bad luck to cross fingers on both hands.

As my poor body burned with rash, i saw a big clean and dry wishbone that probably came from a large turkey. When my brother and I wished on such a bone, I always won because I was bigger and stronger than he is.

I had no problem of making a wish, “Let me out of this place” but as soon as I said that I thought I should have wished for complete recovery for my mom. I picked up the wishbone and a huge, hairy hand grabbed the other side. We pulled and pulled, and I realized how my little brother must feel when he always lost. I looked up. The winner was a huge gorilla with a silly grin. I imagined him breaking me like the wishbone, but he just chomped on the wishbone. I noticed that his home opposite the meadow was like a jungle in Africa. I saw a tiger, that could eat me, and a leopard that could help the tiger eat me, an elephant that could stomp me, some long-eared jackals that would grab me before the lion and tiger had a chance but what scared me as much as those skeleton kids were giant snakes coiled around trees and sticking out their nasty tongues, Suddenly a wild dog with vicious teeth chased me to a green-colored river. The color of the water bothered me but I didn’t have any choice. I hoped I could swim better than the dog as I jumped into the water. The dog didn’t follow. I saw why. The lake was filled with crocodiles, all smiling at me. Those teeth made me glad that I am a good swimmer, and apparently the crocs already had eaten lunch because they didn’t follow me to the other side of the river. I scrambled out and found whatever makes the river green cured my itching.

This time I found myself in a beautiful rural area where there were all kinds of gentle animals, cows and sheep grazing, chickens in pens clucking happily, and adorable baby goats jumping for joy. All kinds of delicious fruits ripened on trees. I was starved but didn’t touch a single fruit. With my luck a bite would be deadly.

I was hungry and thirsty and I begin to walk down a dirt road that has no fissures. It was lined with wildflowers of all colors, which lead to the prettiest little brown cottage. It looked like it was made of regular wood, not gingerbread, so I walked closer. It had a blue roof and blue shutters. I opened a wooden gate attached to a stone fence. The stones surrounded a garden of beautiful flowers, birdhouses in trees and a birdbath. There was a porch swing inviting me to sit down while birds chirped and flew around me and butterflies touched my cheeks.

One window was open with a delicious-smelling pie cooling on the windowsill. The sweet sound of a flute came out a high window under the peak of the roof. I noticed a mat at the door that said WELCOME. Close to the door was a mailbox with the house numbers. I wished I was better at math. There were three identical numbers, and I wondered what if the combination of identical numbers was lucky or unlucky. The numbers were 666.

Alice Marks

Find her books on ON AMAZON

Wednesday, January 29, 2025

The Treasures of Grandma's Attic #stories4you from #OurAuthorGang

 A short story by Erika M Szabo


Sixteenth birthdays are special, but something they find in Grandma’s attic will make sure they’ll never forget this party.

An Excerpt from the story published in the What If? Anthology

It was Mia’s sixteenth birthday. Before, her birthdays were always celebrated with her parents, two brothers, grandparents, aunts and uncles, and cousins. But after a long discussion with her parents, they hesitantly agreed to let her have a house party with only her friends and celebrate with the family the next day. She invited half of her classmates and friends from the neighborhood, and they had a blast in the small cottage in the back of the property where her grandmother lived before passing away two years before. Ever since, the cottage stood unoccupied with her grandmother’s things still intact.

Mia looked around the living room, watching as her friends danced, and nibbled on snacks she prepared with her mom and with Kati, her best friend. Everyone seemed to be having fun. The music was loud, she felt the thumping of the bass beneath her feet. It was hard to believe that just a few short years ago, she had been a tomboy whose wardrobe included only a few T-shirts and jeans. Now, here she was, an outspoken, confident teenager, blossoming into a young woman. She loved beautiful dresses, feminine shoes, and accessories, and she took special care of her long, shiny chestnut hair that she usually wore in a ponytail.

As she scanned the room, her eyes fell on the old family photos lining the walls. Her grandmother had been capturing every moment of her family's lives. Mia felt a pang of sadness as she reminded herself that her grandmother was no longer there in the house that held so many fond memories.

The party was in full swing, the music blaring through the speakers, the smell of pizza and cake in the air, and her friends laughing and dancing around the room.

Suddenly, the front door burst open, and a tall, dark-haired boy named Jake walked in uninvited. He had his usual charming, devilish grin on his face that made girls around him feel desirable and alive in a way that no other boys their age could.

“What is he doing here?” Mia rolled her eyes and looked at Kati. “He’s such a troublemaker and gets into fights all the time.”

“I know he’s unpredictable and unreliable, but he’s so damn good looking…”

“Yeah… I know you have a crush on him,” Mia laughed. “I don’t want to interrupt the party and throw him out right away. But as soon as he puts one toe over the line…”

“Okay, I admit. I have a little crush on him, but Jake is definitely not boyfriend material. He’s like a butterfly. Goes from flower to flower and never settles down. You can’t even have a normal, relaxed conversation with him. All he wants is to get into your pants while his eye is on the next girl to conquer,” Kati sighed.

“You didn’t… did you?” Mia’s eyes grew wide, and she took a sharp breath.

“Of course not! I’m not stupid,” Kati indignantly replied. “But I can look and daydream,” she giggled, winking at Mia.

Mia wasn’t immune to Jake’s charms either, but her steady boyfriend, Collin, was different. Not as charming as Jake, but she liked him a lot and loved spending time with the quiet boy who had solid plans for the future. He’s so steady and predictable, and he treats me with respect. Mia could never forgive Jake for the embarrassing incident when they were fourteen. He yanked her bikini top off in the pool and grabbed her breast. He laughed and told his friends that they were not ripe yet, not even a handful. He made me feel dirty and violated, I wished I could’ve just died, she thought, shuddering.

“Why are you so gloomy? It’s your birthday!” Kati whispered as she hugged her best friend.

“Oh, I just miss Collin.”

“Why didn’t he come? You didn’t break up with him, did you?” Kati asked, concerned.

“No! Of course not. His little sister had an emergency appendectomy in the afternoon and he’s in the hospital with her.” 

“He’s a good guy,” Kati said.

“Yes, he is,” Mia replied watching Jake as he pulled a vodka bottle from his pocket and started pouring it into the punch bowl. “Now he did it!” Mia shouted and with a few strides reached Jake and yanked the bottle out of his hand. “Out!” she yelled. “Everyone knows how much I detest alcohol, and you weren’t even invited.”

“Just a little something to get your boring party going,” Jake chuckled.

“Boring?” Mia shouted when she saw the sarcastic smirk on Jake’s face. “Get out! Now! Have fun somewhere else.”

“Okay,” Jake shrugged. “Who wants to come to my house and have a real party?” he asked, looking around.

The majority cheered and when Jake headed toward the door, they followed him. Some of her classmates, whom Mia thought were her friends, gave her a sheepish, apologetic look, and others just left without showing any remorse.

“Just go!” Mia said, fighting back tears.

“At least you found out who your real friends are,” Kati pointed at the two girls who were shaking their heads in disappointment as they watched the others leave.

“He ruined my birthday,” Mia turned to her friends, sobbing. “Thank you for staying, but I think you better go home too. Suddenly, I lost my happy mood.”

Kati gently slapped Mia’s shoulder. “What are you talking about? Are you going to let that scoundrel ruin your day?”

Mia wiped her eyes and sighed. “He did that already.”

“Come on, cheer up!” Cloe, a chubby blond girl hugged her. “I don’t feel like music or dancing either, but we can still have loads of fun. Old houses like this are usually full of treasures. Let’s look around.”

“That’s gonna be fun!” Donna, their shapely red-headed friend clapped. “I love looking at old photo albums. People back then looked so elegant. I especially love the 1930s dresses and hairdos.”

“Yes!” Kati exclaimed. “Remember?” She turned to Mia. “When we were little, we spent hours in the attic rummaging through boxes of stuff and trying on your grandma’s fancy dresses and shoes.”

“I haven’t been up there for years,” Mia gazed at the staircase that led up to the attic. “She did have a lot of old stuff up there, and my parents left everything as it was when Grandma was still alive.”  

The four friends climbed the stairs and from the small landing tiptoed into the attic. Pushing aside the cobwebs, the stale air that had collected in the rafters made them sneeze. The spacious room was dimly lit by moonlight that filtered through the slanted windows at the apex of the roof. Mia turned the lights on and gasped. Everything was as she remembered. In the center of the room was a large table littered with forgotten, dusty relics of decades past. Boxes and old suitcases filled the space by the walls, leaving only a narrow path around the table.

“Wow!” Cloe shouted, and when she heard Donna’s wheezing breath behind her, quickly turned and asked her friend, feeling concerned. “Are you okay?”

Donna, reaching into her pocket for her inhaler, managed to say after pushing the pump and inhaling the medicine, “Just my… asthma. I’ll be okay. I just need to sit down for a minute.”

Mia quickly pulled out a small ottoman from under the boxes, and Kati helped Donna to sit down. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Mia asked, worried.

“I’m fine, don’t fuss!” Donna snapped, giving Mia a quick smile, her breathing already calmer and voice clearer. “I’ll sit here for a minute. Go, find some fun stuff!”  

Continue reading the story in the Anthology


What if you think the known world isn’t strange enough? Embark on a journey that pushes the boundaries, challenges your perception, and questions reason, logic, and established beliefs.

Monday, January 27, 2025

Campfire Stories 4 #OurAuthorGang

 A campfire story by David W. Thompson

Henry walks the night

It was a warm spring day in my youth. The fish were eager to throw off the winter doldrums, invigorated by the lukewarm waters surrounding them. But as the shadows grew long, the chill of the evening settled in our bones. We huddled near the fire to embrace its warmth—except for Henry.

Henry was our token “old guy.” None of us knew his last name or where he came from. He appeared like a mist from the shadows whenever we camped here. He was a mysterious, good-natured sort who knew every hole that held trout, and we welcomed his arrival. He’d sit beyond the heat of our flickering campfire and listen to our morbid ghost stories with an odd smile on his pale lips, but he never volunteered a tale. We'd decided it was time to change that.

“Ah, you lads humor an old man,” Henry said, “but my tales are too dark for innocent ears.”

“Unfair, Henry. You’ve listened to our stories for years…”

“Is it fairness you want? If that’s the price of admission, I’ll pay my share. I know such a story of justice, though I doubt it will seem so through youthful eyes. And it’s a love story. Will that do?”

We nodded our approval.

“Before you lads were a twinkle in your father’s eyes, we lived in a lovely home. It was beautiful in the light of day when the sun cast off the shadows of my torment. Merriam was my betrothed and was stunning in any light. She owned my heart.

“But when he came, I feared my concern for her was misconstrued—made into something it was not. But the change in her was too noticeable to ignore. Had I wronged her? Was there a special event or anniversary I'd forgotten?

“We welcomed him into our home as if he was a long-lost friend. Embraced him like a brother as he crossed our threshold from the cold. Lost in the wilderness, he’d said. Starving and covered in ice, we drew him to our hearth, and oh, how he repaid us—repaid me.

“Overnight, she and William became best friends, sharing things that should remain unsaid. Things she liked and didn’t, but it wasn’t about her favorite meals or reading preferences, but things only a husband should hear.

“She grew colder toward me, my Merriam, my heart. William spurned me in my home as if I was the unwanted guest. What was I to do? I wished for someone to talk to, but since we met, only Merriam existed. My love was true, and my trust was absolute. Was I a fool?

Their laughter floated through the mansion. Hers was light and flirtatious like a schoolgirl, his dark and ominous. But silence greeted me when I entered the room. I was well-read in literature but illiterate in the writings of the heart. Wealth breeds isolation, I’m told, and I’d known both in quantity.

I’d trade that wealth to see love reflected in her eyes again, but the two of them laughed all night & slept all day. No longer in my bed, nor William's—but had she fallen for him? Could a love such as ours be so casually discarded?

“I woke to the full moon shining through my window and sensed the change in the air. I felt her calling to me in my mind, as clear as a shout. She beckoned me to her bed, and I flew to her. Merriam’s arms were thrown wide, her flesh pale, and her lips crimson. ‘I’m cold. Kiss me,’ she said.

“At the kiss, she turned and slid her teeth into my neck. Oh, the bliss I knew at her touch renewed! She drew on my essence, and we were one again and forevermore. My vision blurred as her words caressed me... and saved me.

“‘I love you,’ she said. ‘This is William’s gift; now, he must die.’

Henry stood, his eyes glowing unnaturally.

“William paid for his disrespect and knowledge of us.”

He smiled a toothsome smile. “Now I’ve shared my secret, lads, and you will share William’s fate.”

His eyes, burning with hellfire, terrified me, but Jim and Ricky didn’t notice. They smiled and, in their mirth, paused a moment too long. I dashed into the darkness, and their screams followed me. I spent the night cowering in the shadow of a cross some long-forgotten penitent soul erected years before.

I never saw Ricky or Jim again, but their spirits haunt me. They torment my dreams and call me a coward. Are they the source of the knocks at my window late at night? Those with no visible source? Has Henry returned to reclaim his prey?

I cannot say, but now you, too, know the tale! Beware the darkness, the mysteries in the fog, and the whispers of the wind. Henry walks the night.

David W. Thompson

https://www.david-w-thompson.com

David is a multiple award-winning author, Army veteran, and graduate of UMUC. He’s a multi-genre writer and a member of the Horror Writers’ Association, and the Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers Association. When not writing, Dave enjoys family, kayaking, fishing, hiking, hunting, winemaking, and woodcarving.

Sunday, January 26, 2025

Book Sunday #OurAuthorGang

 Today's recommendation



A chapter from the upcoming novel of R.A. "Doc" Correa

We are brothers, before the masses we stand together. No matter what issue may exist between two members of this brotherhood, all brothers will be united against all others. To ensure our members are joined in unity, we declare the following as the bylaws which we will live by.

- The declarative statement of the Bylaws of The Brotherhood -

 

Prologue

Steve Baker walks into the lobby of the Galactic Geographic building. He strolls towards the lifts, stopping for a moment to take in the paintings on the walls. Over the last century the institution has accumulated an impressive collection of artworks depicting the scenery and creatures of hundreds of worlds from renowned artists throughout human space. His favorite has always been the one of the dragons from Sigma 5 Omega. It has been hanging in the lobby for as long as he can remember, at least twenty-three years. That is when he was transferred from London to Sydney.

     He walks up to the painting. It is a meter wide and two meters high. The tortured landscape, and the orange and red sky, are brilliantly depicted. The subject of the portrait spreads its massive wings as it roars towards the heavens. Having been on an expedition to study these creatures early in his career he can feel the passion the painter felt as she captured the essence of these reptilians and their primitive world.

     In all the years that he has admired this painting he has never looked at the painter’s information so Steve glances at the artists signature, Jennifer Anne Sebring. He gazes at the artist photo on the information plate, Wow, she could be Kathy Masters older sister, they are almost twins. The information plate says she lived on Safe Port. Hmmm, I wonder if she survived the Chinese attack.

     Steve goes to the lift and rides it to his offices on the thirteenth floor. He walks past his new receptionist giving her a perfunctory good morning and continues to his office. What is her name? he asks himself as he enters the room.

     Steve crosses the floor to his desk, as he does, he realizes there is someone else already in the room. He turns to face the big leather chair in the corner near the window. A man sits in the chair sipping tea. "Good morning Mr. Baker," the man says.

     Steve carefully looks him over. He is in his sixties perhaps a little older. Very athletic. The man wears an expensive dark gray three-piece suit and black Italian leather shoes. He has a black leather briefcase sitting on the floor beside the chair.

     "What the hell are you doing in my office?" Steve demands.

     The man simply holds up an ID wallet. Steve at once recognizes the Planetary Law Enforcement Agency badge. He gulps nervously, What the hell is he doing here?

     "I love that painting too. In case you didn’t know, she traveled to Sigma 5 Omega, spent three weeks photographing the dragons, then studied those photos for six months before she painted that dragon."

     "Really?" Steve replies, somewhat intrigued.

     "Did you know that Jennifer Anne Sebring is in fact the first Mrs. James Ulysses Black?" the man asks.

     "You mean she was married to Commodore Black of the Rapier?" Steve queries.

     "Yes, that's exactly what I mean. And the answer to your musing is no, her and their four-year-old daughter were killed the night the Chinese attacked. That's the main reason Commodore Black became a privateer."

     "How'd you know I was wondering about that? Do you have implants?" Steve asks.

     "No, and the only way that would work is if you had implants as well. That is something we learned during our examinations of Kathy and Cindy Black. It is just simple deduction Mr. Baker; the fact you spent so much time looking at the information plate shows you were wondering about something. Because it tells you the artist was from Safe Port leads one to speculate you were thinking about whether or not she survived the attack. Like I said, simple deduction," the man in the suit replies.

     "What do you mean by the first Mrs. Black?" Steve asks.

     "Ah, I take it you haven't heard yet. Our dear Miss Masters married Commodore Black just before he died. I am sure it will all be explained when you open the package that came for you in the morning post," the man in the suit says, as he takes another sip of tea.

     "What package?" asks Steve.

     "The one your receptionist will bring to you in about," the man looks at his chronometer, "five minutes."

     "How do you know all this?" Steve asks.

     "It's my job to know these things. More specifically, I have a number of contacts, on and off planet, whose jobs are to keep me informed on things of importance," says the stranger.

     "You mean spies, you run a massive spy ring," declares Steve.

     "That's one way to put it," the man in the suit states. Then he takes another sip of his tea.

     Steve changes the subject, "Then it's confirmed, Commodore Black is dead."

     "Yes, it's confirmed. A shame really, I truly wanted to meet him," the man says with a touch of sadness.

     "Really and beside putting him in prison why would you want to meet him?" demands Steve.

     "Mr. Baker, most men that enter his profession are truly pirates, like Bartholomew and his crew. Others, the privateers, border on being pirates just barely holding onto their humanity. But Commodore Black was a man that kept his humanity despite all that happened. Yes, he came close to losing it but somehow, he did not. I think Kathy may have been the reason, her, and Cindy. He made sure the captains and crews that served under him also kept their humanity, a remarkable accomplishment. And he was a man of honor, even knowing his story you do not seem to see it, but I do, and that Mr. Baker makes him a truly exceptional man. I meet all kinds in my profession, but very seldom do I meet a truly exceptional man," replies the man in the suit. There is a short pause, then he says, "She's pregnant again."

     "Who's pregnant?" Steve asks.

     "Kathy Erin Masters-Black of course," he replies.

     Steve looks surprised then asks, "Is that important?"

     "It could be," replies his unexpected guest with a grim expression on his face.

     There is a knock on the door, then it opens, and Steve's new receptionist walks in with the morning post. Again, he asks himself, What the heck is her name? She lays out the letters on Steve's desk and sets a small package next to them then walks out the door, closing it as she leaves. Steve walks to his desk and sits down in his chair. The man in the suit picks up his briefcase and moves to a chair in front of Steve's desk. He sits and sips more of his tea. "I suggest you open the package," the man in the suit tells Steve.

     Steve unwraps the package, it holds a small box. Inside the box is a holographic projector. He sets it on the desk and turns it on. It projects an image that grows to about a meter in height, the image forms into Kathy.

     Steve looks closely at Kathy's holographic image. The gray streak in her hair has turned white. She wears a sixteenth century blue skirt with a white blouse and blue vest, that cover a slight baby bump. A black tricornered leather hat with a white ostrich plume on its right side sits on her head at a slight cant. There is a rapier on her left hip and a laser pistol slung low, gunfighter style, on her right. The leg strap for the holster goes through two slits in the skirt and around her right thigh. She has a twentieth century slug thrower on her belt by the buckle over the baby bump. It is holstered for a left-handed draw. Though her eyes still sparkle he can tell they are filled with a deep sadness. "Hello Steve," the image says.

     "Hi Kathy," he replies.

     "I take it someone from planetary law enforcement is in your office," Kathy's hologram states.

     "Yes," Steve answers.

     "That's okay, he can stay," Kathy says.

     "Thank you, Mrs. Black," the man in the suit says.

     "You're welcome," the holographic image of Kathy replies. "The recorder only has limited response capability, so I won't be able to answer all of your questions, especially yours Mr. Aimes."

     "Ah, so you know who I am," the suit says.

     "It is wise to learn all you can about those that pursue you,” Kathy's image responds.

     "So true,” Mr. Aimes states.

     "I'm sure by now you've heard about the death of Commodore Black," for a moment she chokes up, "and the extinction of the nanchiks." A tear runs down her cheek. Steve finds himself wondering, Is the tear for the commodore, is it for the nanchiks, or is it for both? "Then of course there's the rebellion of the houses of Chan, Zhu and Yi against the Chinese Prefecture. So much has happened since we left Earth Steve," Kathy's hologram declares.

     "Yes, it has," Steve agrees.

     "Well Steve, I've got another exclusive for you. A story that will tie it all together, so it makes sense. And I'm sure the suit in your office would like to hear all that I have to say on this," the holographic image says. Mr. Aimes nods his agreement.

     "If you agree to the same terms as last time place your thumb on the scanner," Kathy's image instructs.

     Steve looks at the suit for a minute, he turns on his transcription bot, then places his thumb on the scanner of the holographic projector. It reads his thumbprint, and the hologram continues.

     "We were in Reavers Cove for a couple of months buying and upgrading a ship, then recruiting a crew. For the record Mr. Aimes, the ship has advanced nanchik tech, one might say two generations more advanced than what we traded for our freedom. While we were doing that Lien was taken to Xerxes Major by her grandfather to present herself to the emperor. As soon as we were ready, we left aboard our new ship, the Razor, and made best speed for Safe Port..." 


R. A. “Doc” Correa

https://www.amazon.com/stores/R.A.-Doc-Correa/author/B073R82QC5

A retired US Army military master parachutist, retired surgical technologist, and retired computer scientist. He’s an award-winning poet and author. “Doc” has had poems published in multiple books and had stories published in Bookish Magazine and Your Secret Library. His first novel, Rapier, won a Book Excellence award and was given a Reader’s Favorite five-star review.

Friday, January 24, 2025

My Bridezilla Moment #OurAuthorGang

 The Blizzard Wedding of 1977

A short story by Lorraine Carey

As I approach my 48th wedding anniversary on January 29th, I can’t help but reflect on the only time in my life I earned the title of "Bridezilla." It’s not a badge I wear with pride, but sometimes, the stress of orchestrating the perfect wedding can push even the calmest bride over the edge.

We’ve all heard the tales—Bridezillas demanding perfection, snapping at friends, family, and vendors as they strive to turn their Pinterest boards into reality. Some brides demand bridesmaids to lose weight, dye their hair, and choose a gown that is way out of their budget.

A viral tweet once proclaimed: “If someone wears white to my wedding, I will literally spill red wine on them. #Bridezilla.” Can you imagine that? The audacity!

But back in 1977, there were no viral tweets or Instagram feeds to fuel unrealistic expectations. Instead, there were family traditions, wedding magazines, and the memories of elegant ceremonies I’d attended. My half-Italian mother took charge, planning a grand affair: a beautiful church ceremony, a live band, the best local caterer, and, of course, trays of homemade Italian cookies baked by family friends.

Everything seemed perfect—until the weather decided otherwise.

The Blizzard of the Century

January in northeast Ohio was always a gamble, but no one could’ve predicted the blizzard of the century would strike on my wedding day. I had to wonder, was this an omen? When I announced my chosen date back in November, my mother had warned me, “Why not be a June bride? You’ll regret this.” But I was stubborn, insisting on a winter wonderland wedding.

By January 28th, the governor declared a state of emergency. Roads were closed. Businesses shut down. Even the airport was out of commission. My dream wedding felt like it was slipping away. I had guests who were flying from out of state to attend the wedding.

So, with all this, I flew into my ‘Bridezilla Rage’ the day before. I was hysterical and locked myself in my bedroom pacing back and forth in tears refusing to come out. I phoned my fiancée, and he had assured me he’d be there even if he had to walk! But if everything was closed, he’d walk to a phantom event!

Everything was in place, yet there would be guests who were coming from out of town who couldn’t make it, the caterers were on hold, and everything else. Well, my mother, being who she was, took control of the situation and, having a family with some pretty strong connections in the area, had assured her they’d be there. She also had reminded me that she’d told me back in November a January wedding was not a good idea, but I was too stubborn to listen.

My father had come to my room and gave me a big hug and words of comfort, reassuring me all would be well. I can remember that precious memory to this day.

The result was a fabulous wedding even if the pews at the church service held fewer guests than expected. By evening most of the roads had cleared with some of the snow melted along with the city plow trucks working overtime. This meant that many were able to get to the reception, where I felt much more relaxed and ready to enjoy the party. The catered Italian food was delicious, and we danced to the local band that played some of my favorite love songs that were popular at the time.

I’ve read the Bridezilla Era may be coming to an end, with couples opting for smaller and low-budget weddings. This could be due to the cost of living these days, and many would much rather save their money to purchase a home. I’ve heard even modest weddings nowadays may start at around 20K.

It’s been 48 years now, and this Bridezilla is still happily married. Not to say that I don’t turn into a ‘Wifezilla’ now and then, but I believe we all have those moments and days that push a few buttons. 

Lorraine Carey

https://authorlorrainecarey.blogspot.com/

Lorraine Carey is a reading specialist and an Award-Winning Author. She was living in California until fate whisked her off to Grand Cayman. She currently lives in Florida. Her love for paranormal stories began at a young age, and is no stranger to the paranormal, having encountered unexplainable events that are woven into her stories.

Wednesday, January 22, 2025

Mysteries of the Wetland #OurAuthorGang

 A short story by Erika M Szabo & Lorraine Carey

Join Ava Jenson on vacation in her grandmother’s old country when all mysterious events are connected to an ancient legend about a cursed church bell.

Ava Jenson sighed as she glanced over the travel brochure for the impressive resort in Siofok, Hungary. Hotel Azur overlooking Lake Balaton with an elegant glass facade looked inviting. It had a spa, an outdoor café and a five-star restaurant. She’d always wanted to visit Hungary as her grandmother was born there and immigrated to the US as a young woman. Her stories always fascinated Ava, but her husband for ten long years had refused the idea of a European vacation and always bullied her into doing what he liked.

It’d been five years since her nasty divorce, and she was finally ready to venture out on her own. She hadn’t had a vacation since then and with so much unused vacation time from her job at the boutique, she decided to make it a two-week stay.

Sipping her coffee, she remembered what the travel agent told her about Lake Balaton's clean water and the striking emerald-green color due to its chemical composition. It’s heavy in carbonates and sulfates, and there are also around 2000 species of algae that grow in its waters. Ava phoned the travel agent; she’d made her payment and was all set to go at the end of the month.

The two weeks flew by fast, and after nine hours of an exhausting overnight flight, she arrived in Budapest. The two-hour taxi ride to Siofok was pleasant with the chatty driver who entertained her with local legends as he drove toward Lake Balaton.

Ava trailed behind the porter who carried her luggage on a huge cart down the long hallway covered with lush red carpet. She tipped him and threw herself on the bed, arms outstretched. “I can’t believe I’m here!” she said, her head turned toward the large sliding glass doors that overlooked the calm water of the lake. She marveled at the classy pool that showcased the many tables and lounge chairs with oversized umbrellas.

She could just picture herself lying out there getting some well-needed sun. But first, lunch, she thought smiling when her stomach rumbled.

With a quick trip to the bathroom, she washed her face and applied some light makeup. She piled her long blonde hair into an updo and changed into a knee-length black cocktail dress. This should be fine for a five-star eatery, she thought as she glanced at her slim figure in the bathroom mirror.

After a delicious lunch of stuffed cabbage rolls and Gundel pancake for dessert, she returned to her room ready for a few hours of rest. Feeling exhausted, she slept through the afternoon and night, and the following morning she ordered room service and ate as she perused the booklet in her room that featured various places of interest to see in the area.

She dressed comfortably and decided to book the historical tour in the village of Tihany. The resort shuttle promptly left at 10 a.m. She had to quicken her step to catch it before it left without her. Taking a backseat on the shuttle allowed her to have some privacy and reflect on how blessed she felt at the moment to be able to take this trip.

She joined the group after departing the shuttle to listen to the guide who explained the schedule for the day and the time she’d need to be back at the bus. Glancing at her feet thought, Glad I packed these old sneakers. They’ll get some good use today.

The tour of the huge Benedictine Abbey that was built in 1055 was the first stop, and its beauty was overwhelming, not to mention its size. Ava took several photos before they had moved deeper into the village where she was looking forward to shopping in the various pottery shops and having lunch in one of the quaint outdoor cafés.

The tour had exhausted her and even though it was almost dinnertime she took a well-needed nap on the comfy king-size bed.

Opening her eyes, she glanced over at the clock on the bedside table. "Six O’clock already? This clean air and walking all day are doing me good!”

She headed to the shower and then to the closet to select a dress that would be appropriate for the dining area. Hmm, this red cocktail dress is just the ticket. Red has always seemed to give me more energy.

A few stares were quite noticeable as she entered the stunning outdoor restaurant with a beautiful fountain in the center of the seating area. The hostess led her over to a table close to the fountain. Strings of small outdoor lights were strung along the walls making the alfresco area seem almost magical.

After ordering a glass of white wine she read the menu and couldn’t help but notice a loud but friendly-looking young couple who had taken the table next to her. They had a pile of brochures and other literature that they had brought to their table along with a camera.

The young redhead turned to the hostess. “I’m sorry, ma’am. We don’t mean to be so loud but we’re nature photographers and so excited to be here. If we take a few shots of this gorgeous outdoor patio, please forgive us.”

The hostess smiled and waved her hand to dismiss the woman’s apology. “No problem at all. Enjoy your stay,” she said.

The waitress took Ava’s order and asked if anyone would be joining her. “No. I’ll be dining alone,” she stated with a sad smile.

The young redhead stared at her for a second with a sympathetic look and walked over to her table. “Sorry to bother you, I just heard you speak English. My name is Tessa Jergenson. My husband over there is Kevin. We are professional photographers and are here to take photos of the wildlife in the marsh, especially the birds. The Small Balaton is a huge wetland habitat that is unique in Europe. We’re planning to go down to the river Zala delta tomorrow.”

“Hello, I’m Ava. I hope you’ll enjoy your adventure to the wetland. I prefer to relax and enjoy a quiet two weeks in the comfort of the hotel,” she laughed.

Tessa took her hand. “We’re so excited! The wetland has a large population of plant and animal species such as bee-eaters, cranes, and marvelous herons. The Small-Balaton area is also rich in other species of animals. European pond turtles, otters, ermine, martens, various species of dragonflies, and about 30 species of fish. Also, numerous species of orchids can be found there. Oh, sorry for bugging you, but I’m so excited about the trip and we can’t find too many people who speak English.”

“No bother at all!” Ava assured the chatty young woman. “Enjoy your adventure.”

Tessa returned to her table and whispered to her husband that she felt a tone of loneliness in Ava’s voice. “Maybe we should invite her to join us tomorrow,” she suggested while picking up a menu.

Kevin nodded. “She didn’t sound like she’d be into that sort of thing.”

Ava couldn’t help but overhear their muted conversation. Hmm, so I see they feel sorry for me. I should put on a happy face, but no. I did that way too many times when I was married.

After dinner Ava took a stroll around the grounds, admiring the lush vegetation and colored lights that lit up the pool area. A strong breeze had picked up and she rubbed her arms trying to erase the goosebumps. The all-so-familiar odd feeling came over her that always warned her of impending danger. Perhaps it just signals a normal storm this time. I hope... She headed back to her room to turn in for the night.

Right before she climbed under the covers, she looked at the other brochures, one featuring the Water Tower in the village's main square. She thought that if the storm was coming, she may not be able to do the tour. Maybe that’s what that feeling was I had out there and nothing more. However, the uneasy feeling stayed with her and made her think of the countless disasters, accidents, and people getting hurt that followed after she experienced those eerie feelings.

She sighed and after looking through another brochure she became drowsy and quickly fell into a deep sleep.

The loud sound of the church bell had awakened Ava out of her deep slumber and the foul smell of rotten eggs filled her nose. She sat up in bed startled and nauseous. The clock showed 6 a.m. Is there a fire? Perhaps here they sound the church bell instead of the fire alarm, she thought as she rose quickly to look out of the large glass doors.

She saw a large plume of black smoke engulfing the back pool area. She quickly threw on her robe and made it to the lobby to see what had happened.

Several guests had congregated in the lobby as the desk clerk and manager had informed them all was okay now. There was a grease fire in the restaurant’s kitchen. Firemen were called and were attending to the fire.

Ava shook with chills—the same ones she’d felt last night. I just knew something bad was going to happen. I felt a storm may have been in the works but even so, my intuition is usually a natural alarm system.

She had noticed Tessa and Kevin now rushing to the lobby and making their way over to her. “What’s going on?” Tessa asked, her arms folded across her chest trying to ease the chill in the air.

Continue reading in the Anthology