Life in the Countryside #OurAuthorGang

 A short story by Erika M Szabo

Mary and Michael enjoyed a peaceful life in their cozy countryside home. The spacious backyard and few acres land flourished. Their two large German Shepherds, Tucker and Hazel, took their job seriously, vigilantly overseeing the chickens, geese, and ducks that wandered freely in the expansive backyard. Michael had been raising and training the two dogs since they were puppies, teaching them to patrol the property to ensure safety and protect their animals from predators, whether they walked on four legs or two.

Their neighbors were like-minded people, appreciating the uncomplicated and serene lifestyle their environment provided. No one was bothered by the early morning chatter of roosters or the lively songs of birds. The bleating of lambs and goats contributed to the natural symphony that welcomed them each day.

Mary sat on the porch, enjoying her morning coffee and the serene beauty around her, feeling thankful for the life they had created together. It was a stark contrast to the city's hustle and bustle, but it was their own slice of paradise, and they wouldn't trade it for anything. Michael soon joined her, carrying a plate of freshly baked scones. While enjoying their breakfast, they talked about what they would do for the day. They chose to spend the morning working in the vegetable garden and then enjoy a peaceful afternoon reading and unwinding under the shade of their prized walnut tree.

As the day progressed, Mary and Michael's tranquil life was unexpectedly interrupted by some unsettling news. Their neighbor, George, drove into their yard on his way to town and asked, "Have you noticed anything missing from your property recently?"

"No, why are you asking?"

"Well, five of my chickens vanished from the coop this morning, and Charlie said two of his were gone yesterday."

"It might be a stray fox or coyote. They're common predators around here," Mike suggested.

"I doubt it. I talked to Joe down the road, and he mentioned two of his ducks went missing without a trace the day before yesterday. I'm heading to town to discuss it with others. You coming?"

"Absolutely!" Mike replied enthusiastically, kicking off his gardening boots and stepping into his sneakers.

They drove into town and heard similar stories from other neighbors they met at the Pub.

“It can’t be a coyote or a fox. There weren’t any feathers or bloodstains around the henhouse,” one man said.

Another farmer added, “It’s like the birds just disappeared into thin air.”

A stocky man exclaimed, "One of my piglets disappeared three days ago, and I haven't heard a peep. Even my dogs were quiet all night, and those monsters usually wake me up a few times a night because a leaf falls off the tree or an owl hoots nearby."

George, while scratching his stubble, concluded, “Now that you mention it… My dogs were strangely quiet all night. It’s definitely a two-legged thief, and the dogs might even know who it is. We need to keep watch!”

Everyone was anxious and uneasy about these strange events, as nothing like this had ever happened in their peaceful community before.

When Michael got home, he sat on the porch with Mary telling her about what he learned in town. Just then, the mailman pulled into the yard with his small white car, and getting out, he walked up the steps and handed a stack of envelopes and newspaper to Michael. “Beautiful day,” he smiled.

“Can I get you a cup of coffee?” Mary asked.

“Thank you, but I have to go. Lots of mail to deliver,” the mailman turned and started walking down the steps. “Enjoy your afternoon.”

As he drove down the driveway, Hazel and Tucker followed the car. They usually followed every visitor’s car or truck until they reached the road and turned, but this time they stopped halfway. They stood looking down at something and Hazel let out a short bark. “Wonder what they’ve found,” Michael said and walked toward the dogs.

The dogs standing over a piece of raw meat drooled but didn’t touch it. They were trained to start eating only when they heard the German word, essen (eat).

Michael picked up the meat and took it up to the porch where Mary sat, waiting to find out what the dogs found. “I bet this meat is spiked with something to make the dogs sleep,” Michael mused. “The neighbors said their dogs never barked the night their livestock went missing.”

“That dirty weasel!” Mary shouted. “So, he’s the thief!”  

“This is no proof, we have to catch him in the act. I'm going to stay awake tonight," Michael resolved.

“I’ll stay up with you,” Mary said, quickly forming a plan. “We’ll sit on the porch hidden by the rhododendron bushes. Tonight is the full moon, we’ll see if anyone comes to the property.”

“Sounds like a plan!” Michael smiled. “Let’s do it.”

That evening, Mary and Michael settled on their porch, Tucker and Hazel lying at their feet. To fend off the cool night air, they wrapped themselves in blankets, sipping hot tea from a thermos and nibbling on snacks. Meanwhile, the dogs remained vigilant, their sharp senses attuned to any potential threats in the air.

They sat quietly, their eyes scanning their surroundings. The idea of an intruder sneaking into their tranquil neighborhood and robbing their neighbors was disturbing. Hours slipped away without any hint of suspicious behavior. The only noises were the natural ones—crickets chirping, owls hooting, and leaves rustling every so often. Suddenly, Hazel perked up, sniffing the air and giving a gentle snort. Tucker rose, his fur bristling. Mike placed his hands on the dogs' heads to keep them quiet as they detected faint footsteps.

Michael kept a firm grip on the dogs, determined not to let them bark and reveal their hiding spot. The sound of footsteps intensified, and soon they saw the shadowy outline of a man pausing beneath the walnut tree. Mary and Michael exchanged anxious looks as the figure stepped into the moonlight, moving toward the fenced area where the henhouse and pigpen were located. "Hazel, Tucker, pay attention!" Michael whispered to the dogs, capturing their focus.

The dogs stood attentively in front of Michael, their eyes locked onto him as he softly commanded, "Track. Tackle. Hold. Go!" The dogs stealthily moved through the shadows of the flowerbeds toward the fence, where the man was struggling with the gate's lock. Just as he managed to unlock the gate and step through, Tucker sprang forward with incredible speed and brought him to the ground face down.

The man yelled in terror and attempted to crawl away, but Tucker pinned him down, growling, while Hazel bared her razor-sharp teeth just inches from his face. Paralyzed by fear, the man didn't dare move. Michael and Mary quickly approached with a flashlight, and when they illuminated the man's face.

"Well, would you look at that!" Michael remarked. “Mailman in the daytime and a chicken thief at night.”

"Wait, please, let me explain!" the man pleaded.

"There's no need for an explanation right now. We've caught you in the act," Michael stated firmly.

“But wait!” the mailman begged. “Paul, who owns a restaurant on Main Street, made me do it. You see, I lost a lot of money playing cards and borrowed from him, and he said I could pay him back in livestock. I had no choice.”

"So, Paul thought he could serve us our own livestock for dinner, huh?" Mary huffed. "I'm calling the police," she said, pulling her phone from her pocket.

Michael put his hand on Mary’s arm. "Hold on, don't call them just yet. We'll contact them in the morning, along with the neighbors. Everyone needs to know, and Paul has to pay for his crime too."

"But..." Mary glanced at her husband, concern etched in her expression. Michael winked at her before giving orders to the dogs. "Tucker, Hazel, behalten, uhr (keep, watch)!" he commanded while Mary turned her head to hide her smile. 

Hazel sank onto her stomach inches from the man’s face, eyes locked on the thief, while Tucker stretched across the man's back, growling whenever he attempted to move.

"Let's go inside," Michael said, wrapping Mary in a hug. "He's not going anywhere, and we can have a nice breakfast."

"I have a nice piece of liver in the fridge. I'll cook it for the dogs," Mary whispered, glancing back.

"They deserve it," Michael smiled as he watched Hazel swish her tale and a long drop of drool landed on the man's face. He was too scared to wipe it off.

Erika M Szabo

https://authorerikamszabo.com

Erika loves to dance to her own tunes and follow her dreams, introducing her story-writing skills and her books that are based on creative imagination with themes such as magical realism, alternate history, urban fantasy, cozy mystery, sweet romance, and supernatural stories. Her children’s stories are informative and educational and deliver moral values in a non-preachy way.

The Canterville Ghost at #OurAuthorGang

 A timeless tale by Oscar Wilde

Picture credit: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oscar_Wilde

Oscar Wilde tried his hand at various literary activities: he wrote a play, published a book of poems, lectured in the United States and Canada on "The English Renaissance" in art and interior decoration, and then returned to London where he lectured on his American travels and wrote reviews for various periodicals. Known for his biting wit, flamboyant dress and glittering conversational skill, Wilde became one of the best-known personalities of his day.

"The Canterville Ghost" is a humorous short story by Oscar Wilde. It was the first of Wilde's stories to be published, appearing in two parts in The Court and Society Review, 23 February and 2 March 1887. The story is about an American family who moved to a castle haunted by the ghost of a dead English nobleman, who killed his wife and was then walled in and starved to death by his wife's brothers. It has been adapted for the stage and screen several times.

Listen to the audiobook read by David Barnes

Watch the movie

With Patrick Stewart, Neve Campbell, Joan Sims, Donald Sinden, Cherie Lunghi, Edward Wiley, Leslie Phillips

Video Day 3 at #OurAuthorGang

 Lorraine chats with authors and reads stories

Erika's chat with author Lorraine Carey

Erika M Szabo https://authorerikamszabo.com

Lorraine Carey https://authorlorrainecarey.blogspot.com/

Lorraine is reading a story excerpt

From the What If? #4 Anthology

Flash Fiction Challenge 3 #OurAuthorGang

 Challenge accepted by Eva Bielby

Flash fiction is a concise form of prose storytelling consisting of self-contained stories that may also be referred to as sudden fiction, short-short stories, micro-fiction, or micro-stories. This particular genre is highly regarded by renowned English writers for its ability to convey profound insights and timeless human emotions within a few short paragraphs.

Eva's challenge was to write a flash fiction story of less than 500 words, based on this picture:

Felicity

Felicity recalled the day it all happened, and the despair she felt. She and her two babies were unceremoniously evicted from the house they once called home. The house where her children aged twenty months and ten weeks should have grown up. Of course it was all his fault – Adam, her soon-to-be, ex-husband! It was the threatening letters from the mortgage company and her subsequent ‘chat’ about the matter with him that she learned of the massive gambling debts he’d accumulated. Their car, plus the large electrical items (bought on finance) were all repossessed. He pleaded, even cried, as she told him to get out and disappear, though afterwards she felt guilty. He was the kid’s dad, after all.

Later the same afternoon, after spending hours making calls (in a café), desperate to find some form of help, that help arrived. A charitable organisation arranged some temporary accommodation for her little family. They gave an address where she was to meet with a representative from the organisation at six pm and sign the necessary paperwork. Felicity left the café and struggled along in the rain, pushing the double buggy one-handed and pulling a humongous suitcase on wheels with the other. Hard work. The case held their meagre possessions. All that she crammed in – clothes for the three of them. Not having funds to pay someone to transport household items to, or for that matter, a storage facility, it was all she could manage. Her parents lived at the opposite end of the country. The purse full of coins she had wouldn’t cover the train fare to them.

And now, three months later, still stuck in the grotty little bed-sit with the second hand cot (a charitable donation) squashed in next to her bed. Both babies slept together each night, top to toe. The only means of cooking - a dilapidated microwave. She’d needed money from somewhere, anywhere. The universal credit from the benefits system barely covered the extortionate monthly rent. Desperation set in over the last four weeks and she’d done things she wasn’t proud of. Caught shop-lifting, she’d hidden stolen food items in the buggy behind the back of her toddler. The store-manager took pity on her after she’d been hauled into his office, uncontrollably sobbing as she related her sad story to him. Yet, far worse than theft, unforgiveable even, she was taking a man back to the bedsit but thankfully, had a change of heart. She had thought about selling her body for money –next to the cot which held her two sleeping babies. All because she cared about feeding her babies and keeping the roof (grim as it was) over their heads. A sixteen year old girl from next door, her babysitter while she roamed the street, turned her nose up at the offered ten pound note. She snatched the offered note rather ungratefully. Felicity was destitute after she’d paid the girl the ten pounds.

Felicity had lost all hope and was unsure which way and to who to turn to next. Her hands trembled as she opened her only letter that morning – a five thousand pound cheque from her parents. Her guardian angels.

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.

Campfire Stories 7 #OurAuthorGang

 A campfire story by Lorraine Carey

Bound by the Board

Amelia Petrillo’s twenty-first birthday was supposed to be a cozy night with her best friends—Mia, Emily, and Grace—celebrating over homemade pizza and decadent chocolate cake. But as they gathered around the backyard firepit, the flames crackling against the cold March air, an unease settled between them.

The night felt… off.

After Amelia’s father left for his night shift, the girls swapped eerie tales, their breath misting in the cold. Linda, Amelia’s mother, joined them, as she had joined in on numerous celebratory occasions with her daughter’s friends.

“Amelia, tell that story,” Mia prodded. “You know the one.”

Amelia hesitated, then smirked. “Oh, you mean the Ouija night?” She cast a glance at her mother, whose lips tightened, displaying her disapproval. “It was two days before Halloween, remember? We sat in my kitchen, fingers on the planchette—”

“It moved on its own!” Emily interrupted, eyes wide.

Grace whispered, “It spelled out John.”

“And he said he was dead,” Amelia finished. “He said he died in a car crash. Hit a tree.”

The fire popped, sending a swirl of embers skyward. Linda’s knuckles whitened around her coffee mug. She vividly recalled that night when she was a part of that Quiji session, herself being no stranger to using divination tools. A breeze slithered through the trees, carrying whispers. Just the wind, Linda told herself.

Mia’s voice wavered. “The candles flickered wildly, like something… breathed on them.”

“I thought they were cool. Your mother lit them to add to the ambiance,” Emily said.

“Yes, we had made contact,” Grace murmured.

“And then it started to use cuss words,” Emily added, pulling her sweater tighter around her.

Linda set down her mug. “That’s why I burned and buried that board.” Her voice was tight, urgent. “That thing was evil. Do you know where I buried it? No grass has ever grown there. Not once.” She pointed to the bare patch of dirt in the yard, blackened even under moonlight.

Amelia shivered. “I know you did what you thought was right, Mom, but I wish we had asked more questions.”

Linda’s eyes darkened. “You shouldn’t wish for that. You never know who or what you are summoning.”

The subject changed to gifts, but tension lingered like unseen hands pressing on their shoulders.

Cheers were heard as Amelia pulled out a sparkling pair of faux emerald earrings from Grace.

Emily’s white sweater with pearl buttons also won praise as Amelia held it up against herself, and everyone commented on how beautiful she’d look in it.

As Amelia unwrapped Mia’s gift, the fire seemed to hush itself. The crackling dulled. Shadows deepened.

She lifted the lid of the large white box.

A new Ouija board!

Linda’s breath hitched. “Not in this house.”

“I thought… maybe we should finish what we started,” Mia whispered “I mean, maybe what happened that night was just a fluke?”

Linda’s gaze was sharp. “A fluke? I think not! Too many people end up having bad luck or even possessions after fooling around innocently with these things. Those boards are not to be messed with. ”

The party dwindled. The fire dimmed. Linda knew what she had to do—she would destroy the board in the morning.

The night air grew colder, and the girls knew it was time to leave.

But at 2 a.m., Amelia sat awake. The board had beckoned her.

She crept downstairs, heart pounding,  as she sat at the kitchen table staring at the board.

Her fingers shook as they rested on the planchette. Just one question, she thought-just one.

“Who am I speaking to?”

The planchette jerked.

J-O-H-N.

Amelia’s blood ran cold.

“You again! What do you want?”

The planchette dragged her fingers.

D-A-V-I-D.

A sharp inhale. “Is David here?”

D-A-V-I-D. J-O-H-N.

Two of them?

She couldn’t believe she had contacted two spirits.

Her fingers tingled. The board hummed beneath her touch.

“Who are you, David? What do you want?”

The planchette raced across the board:

Need to be with my friend. I forgive him. John still blames himself. It wasn’t his fault.

The air thickened, heavy as drowning.

“Where did this happen?”

O-L-D O-A-K. N-E-L-S-O-N-S M-A-R-K-E-T.

Amelia’s heart stopped. She knew that tree; she knew that market. She’d shopped there with her mother when she was a little girl. The old market had been closed for years now, but the huge tree was still there. She knew what she needed to do.

Shaking, she grabbed a trowel, dug up the old burnt board, and drove into the darkness of the night with both boards set on the passenger side of the car.

At the gnarled oak, she buried both boards beneath its roots. A sudden wind kicked up stirring the leaves.

And in the hush of the night—

She heard a faint whisper.

“Thank you.”

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.

Book Sunday #OurAuthorGang

 A short story collection by David W. Thompson

ON AMAZON

How dark do you like it? Brace yourself for a journey back in time to face a Native American Wendigo! Or let the creatures hidden in the dark woods stir your blood. Fairies are sweet, gentle creatures...right? Perhaps the terrors of day to day life are enough. (You'll find them here too.) 'Possum Stew is the sure cure to quench your thirst for dark adventure. Are you brave enough to turn the page? Don't turn off the lights!

'Possum Stew is a collection of short stories from multi-award winning paranormal and dark fiction author David W. Thompson. Beginning with the New Year, it follows the seasons through all the major holidays. From dark tales inspired by ancient mythology to those flavored with cutting edge technology, they'll provide dark fiction treats that are impossible to forget or put down. How much spectral spice do you desire? You'll find it here. Why wait? Begin your adventure today!

Read a short story from the book

Eternal

“There you are, Ben. I’ve looked all over for you. Where have you been?”

“I had some early morning chores to do, Nina. Thank you for the coffee.” Benjamin sat at his customary seat at the kitchen table, facing the front door and at Nina’s side.

“You’ve always been such a busy man, running here and there and back again. Come sit with me. Do you remember what tomorrow is?”

“Indeed, I do. In all our years together, have I ever forgotten? It’s a doubly special day—Valentine’s Day and our anniversary.”

“How many years has it been since I let you talk me into being your wife.?”

“As I recall, I didn’t have to twist your arm so much. Fifty-two years—neither of us had a single grey hair in our heads back then. Before the kids and diapers. Soccer games and choir practice, then in a flash, the graduations, and it was like we started all over, you and I.”

“It was also before that terrible scare last year. I thought I’d lose you, Ben.”

“Let’s not dwell on that. We have too many good memories to share. I was thinking the other day, do you remember what your father said to you after I asked him for your hand?”

“Do I! The girls and I still laugh over that. He said, ‘Now I like your young man, Nina, so don’t misunderstand me, but his prospects aren’t so good. I don’t think he can care for you as you deserve, and he couldn’t love you any more than I do.’”

“You did hold your father’s heart in your hands. So, have I?”

“Have you what?”

“Cared for you and loved you?”

“You silly old fool. We’ve hit a rough patch or two, as everyone does, but you’ve made my life a very happy one, my love. But I wonder about you. I don’t see you as much as I used to. My memory isn’t what it was, but some days I don’t see you at all until we cuddle in bed at night. Do you still love me, as old and wrinkled as I’ve become?”

“You are as lovely as the day I met you, Nina. More so, given all we’ve shared. There’s no one I’d rather spend my time with, and there will never be another you.”

“Where do you go then, when you leave the house? Tell me there isn’t someone else?”

“Never. Remember when I was in the Navy and spent so many months on that ship? I’d get so disheartened when I didn’t get a letter from you, sometimes for a whole week. I was terribly afraid you’d forgotten me or found someone else. Then the day would come and the clerk would hand me a dozen or more letters. It was like Christmas for me, a letter for every day I was gone. You never missed a day writing me. I’d hole up on my bunk and read your thoughts, savoring every word. So, know this, dear Nina, wherever I am, you are never far from my thoughts.”

“I remember those days, but they aren’t in my happy memories file. My heart ached for you so. We were no more than newlyweds, and I cried myself to sleep every night. Why did they have to take you away from me? It didn’t seem fair.”

“Then I came home on another Valentine’s Day, and again we started over.”

“Started over? I felt like I was in a time warp, and you were still courting me. You brought me flowers after work every week. You worked at Smitty’s Garage then. He told me once you were the best mechanic he’d ever had, as long as he could keep your mind from wandering back home to be with me.”

“Smitty said that? The old rascal, telling my secrets.”

“You were still working there when Cathy was born. That was before Smitty had his heart attack.”

“I was scared to death I’d be a miserable father, but you seemed to know exactly what to do. You took to motherhood like a fish to water.”

“Except I got so fat.”

“Yes. I heard that for months. If anything, you were even more beautiful. People say that women have a “glow” when in the family way, but with you, it lasted so much longer. In fact, I can still see it.”

“You old flirt. Do you remember our date night on our 25^th anniversary? We went to see the movies at that new theatre that opened up. I can’t remember what we saw, but it was popular at the time. You took me by the hand and led me up to the front row, and you knew I hated sitting up so close. The theatre was packed, so I thought you hadn’t noticed the empty seats a few rows back. The previews were showing, and you stopped in the middle of the aisle. Then you went down on one knee and asked me to marry you again.”

“And the most important part—you said yes. It didn’t take me twenty-five years to know I had that in common with your dad. You also hold my heart, Nina. I will always be here as long as you want and need me.”

“I’ll always need you, but I must tell you something, Ben.”

 “I thought we were sticking with happy memories, my love.”

“I know, and…perhaps I shouldn’t, but the secret is weighing on me. There was time, a man…”

Ben stared into her fawn brown eyes as his own misted over.

“No, nothing happened. It was when you were so sick. The doctors said you weren’t going to make it, and I couldn’t accept that. I spent hours in the hospital chapel, praying for a miracle…and once I met this man there. His name was Frank Page, and his wife passed away that night. I tried to comfort him in his pain. Days later, he visited me in your hospital room. You were sedated and I doubt you recall?”

Benjamin shook his head.

“Well, after that first visit, Frank returned a few days later. He asked me to have a coffee with him in the cafeteria. You were asleep with the morphine, and I didn’t see the harm in it, so I went.”

Ben looked down at his cup of coffee and took a sip to avoid her eyes. It tasted bitter, and he pushed it away.

“Frank was very attentive and very interested in how you were doing. I had no one else to talk to after Flo moved away, and he was there, ready to listen. This went on for a few weeks. He’d stop at the hospital every few days to talk with me. He’d ask how you were. Some mornings, we’d have coffee together. Then, when you got out of the hospital, I didn’t think any more about it…about him. But one night last week, he showed up here at the house.”

Ben cleared his throat and rubbed his forehead. “What happened, Nina?”

“He said he knew you were gone and that I might enjoy his company. Then he…he kissed me, Ben. I didn’t see it coming, and I slapped his face! I don’t know if I’d misunderstood his intentions the whole time or if I’d somehow led him on. I feel terrible, Ben. I can’t sleep at night for thinking about it. You’re my everything. I told Mr. Page he needed to leave this house, and I never wanted to see him again.”

Tears fell from her beautiful eyes, and Ben’s heart melted at the sight.

“Dear wife, it was a misunderstanding and no more than that. I know how faithful you are. I trust you with my love and my soul. Do not linger another minute on this…unless Mr. Page pushes it, then I’ll have to take measures.”

Nina stood and skirted the table's edge to take her husband in her arms. “God knows I love you.”

“I love you too, sweet Nina.”

“Never leave me?” she asked.

“I promise.”

Nina wiped at her eyes and looked down at Ben. “I swear, though, dearest, you’ve wasted away since you were sick. You weigh less than nothing. Let me fix you something to eat. We need to fatten you up.” She wiped the remaining tears from her eyes and kissed his forehead.

“Did I tell you that Cathy is stopping by later this morning? She said she has something she wants to talk to me about.”

“Ah, some girl talk.”

“I suppose so.”

Nina went to the refrigerator to begin their breakfast. She pulled out the container of eggs and the special brand of sausage that Benjamin favored. As she set the table, a knock came from the door.

“I bet that’s Cathy now, early as usual.”

“I’ll give you girls your privacy then,” Ben said.

Nina turned to smile at him, but he was already gone.

“Mornin,’ Mom,” Cathy yelled from the door. “I know I’m early, but I have some things to catch up on around the house later. What have you been up to?” She stepped into the kitchen, and her eyes swept the room.

“Oh, your father and I were chatting. Tomorrow’s our anniversary, you know.”

“Jesus, Mom. Two place settings at the table. Who’s the second one for?”

“Don’t be silly, Catherine. It’s for your father, of course.”

“Mom, when are you going to stop this? You know Dad is gone.”

“Nonsense, I was talking to him a moment ago. Benjamin, come say hello to your daughter!” Nina stared at the spot her husband left moments before, then continued. “I guess he’s out in his work shed. But I told him about that man, Cathy. I couldn’t keep it a secret any longer. I’d felt sorry for him because he was grieving for his wife, but that gave him no right to take such liberties. Your father is such a kind and considerate man. He understood.”

“Dad’s gone, Mom. We buried him last year. God, I hate to see you like this. You need to get out of this house some and move on with your life. You’re still healthy and independent. You should go out with Mr. Page sometime, to have a companion your own age. Mr. Page told me he’s worried about you.”

“He needn’t. I felt sorry for him but won’t have anything more to do with him.”

“Dad wouldn’t want you going on like this, Mom. You know he wouldn’t.”

“He said he’ll always be here as long as I need him, and I’ll always need him, Cathy.”

Cathy shook her head and changed the subject to more mundane matters. Nina advised her of the sale running at the grocery. Cathy shared her concern about her daughter’s report card. Nina spoke of the new flower seed she ordered to plant in the Spring. When there was little else to discuss, Cathy took her leave.

“Mom, you should talk to someone about your “visits” with Dad. There’s a doctor in town that some of my friends rave about…”

***

Nina watched her daughter’s car pull out of the drive and returned to preparing breakfast. When she cracked an egg in the frying pan, she felt his arms wrap around her.

“She’ll never understand, Ben.”

“Maybe someday.”

“I love you, Benjamin Mills. Forever.”

“I love you, too.”

“Do you remember that time…”

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.

Poetry Day 2 at #OurAuthorGang

 Enjoy a poem by Dawn Treacher

Winter Sunlight 

Snow sodden skies and a brisk bitter breeze,
make snowdrops shiver,
and fallen leaves turn crisp.
 
Heavy flakes dance and swirl,
Obliterating near and far,
under an ominous silence until nighttime falls.
 
But with the first birdsong of morning,
and the rise of the sun,
a warmth steals over the shimmering stillness.
 
It creeps between branches,
throwing spidery shadows,
painting the pastures with a peach tinted glow,
and placing blushes on the bracken.
 
In that glorious moment,
sometimes so fleeting and rare,
it can melt away our sadness,
and brighten our soul.

Dawn Treacher

www.dawntreacher.com

Dawn Treacher is based in North Yorkshire, England. She writes in both adult crime fiction and children's middle grade fantasy adventures. She is also an illustrator of children's fiction, an artist and plush artist. She runs both a writing critique group and a creative writing group and goes into schools to promote storytelling.

Happy Valentines Day from #OurAuthorGang

 Love is in the air

Every year on February 14th, Valentine's Day arrives to remind us to celebrate love and cherish our loved ones. Although we show our love in different ways every day, this day calls for something extra special.

Happy Valentine’s Day to everyone! May this day overflow with all the love your heart can hold. Sending warm hugs and best wishes to you all!

Will You Be My Valentine?

A short story by Erika M Szabo

During recess, Ashley, the new girl in school with curly auburn hair and sparkling hazel eyes, sat alone on a wooden bench in the corner of the playground, deeply engrossed in her book. The playground was alive with the laughter and shouts of children. Brian and Scott stood near the bench, concealed by the wide trunk of a tree.

Brian, a lanky fourteen-year-old boy nervously fingered a Valentine's Day card. "I want to give it to her, but..." his voice wavered, uncertainty hanging in the air like a fragile thread.

"Save yourself the embarrassment," Scott, his confident classmate with tousled blond hair and a nervous glint in his eyes, exclaimed. "Nathan said he gave her a card, but she's just... She's so stuck-up. Look!" he pointed at the bench. "Nathan wasn't the only one giving her a card. There's stack of cards on the bench and she didn't even open."

His words hung in the cool breeze, leaving Brian puzzled. "What?" he asked, his voice tinged with surprise as his eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "She seems to be nice."

"Nathan said she just gave him a cold stare that made him feel pathetic," came the reply, each word painting a vivid picture of the icy exchange.

“Nathan is a brute,” Brian said. “Maybe he was rude to her.”

“Maybe,” Scott shrugged, looking down at his shoes and kicking a small rock. "This whole Valentine thing is so stupid, anyway."

"Yeah," Brian signed, stealing a glance at Ashley. He had a soft spot for her, a fondness that had grown over the weeks since he first saw her, but now his courage seemed to seep away. 

"I'm gonna go to the gym. You coming?" Scott asked.

"Nah, I'll be at the library until next class." 

Scott walked toward the entrance and disappeared through the glass door. Feeling deflated, Brian stood there for a minute and started walking too, though he couldn't resist stealing furtive glances back at Ashley who was still sitting on the bench, reading her book.

Should I? But what if she… but if I didn’t, I may never know. And I like her… a lot. Brian thought, trying to decide what to do. "Don't be a coward! You can do this!" he encouraged himself whispering under his breath. He started walking and every step as he approached the bench on legs that felt like jelly. His heart thudded in his chest, each beat echoing in his ears. "Hi Ashley," he managed to say, extending a carefully chosen Valentine's card with a trembling hand. "Will you..." his mutating voice cracked. Blushing, he cleared his throat and blurted, "Will you be my Valentine?"

Ashley glanced up from the pages of her book, her face lighting up with a warm, inviting smile that seemed to chase away the winter chill. "Happy Valentine's Day, Brian," she replied, her voice as gentle as the soft breeze. She closed her book with a gentle thud and gestured to the spot beside her on the bench, patting it lightly. "Would you like to sit with me?"

As Brian clumsily sat down, the stack of Valentine's cards scattered on the ground. The top one fell open and Brian's lips curled into a smirk. Valentine's is stupid, huh? He thought, reading Scott's name next to a hand-drawn red heart inside the card.

Enjoy the video and song created by Erika M Szabo

Happy Valentine's Day from the blog authors

In the soft glow of candlelight,

Love is blooming, everything feels right.

Hearts are beating like a sweet refrain,	Whispers of affection dance like summer rain.	From friends to lovers, near and far,
Tonight we celebrate who we truly are.	With every smile and every embrace,	It’s the magic of love that time can't erase.

Video Day 2 at #OurAuthorGang

 Lorraine chats with authors and reads stories

Lorraine's chat with author Erika M Szabo

Lorraine Carey https://authorlorrainecarey.blogspot.com/

Erika M Szabo https://authorerikamszabo.com

Lorraine reads a story from What If? Anthology #3

 

Flash Fiction Challenge 2 #OurAuthorGang

 Challenge accepted by Dawn Treacher

Flash fiction is a concise form of prose storytelling consisting of self-contained stories that may also be referred to as sudden fiction, short-short stories, micro-fiction, or micro-stories. This particular genre is highly regarded by renowned English writers for its ability to convey profound insights and timeless human emotions within a few short paragraphs.

Dawn's challenge was to write a flash fiction story of less than 500 words, based on this picture:

Waiting

By Dawn Treacher

Time. Place. It didn’t matter. I wouldn’t look behind me, spot faces in a crowd, add locks to my door or change my daily patterns. He or she was coming. If it wasn’t today then it would be tomorrow or the day after that. I only had myself to blame, I could point to a dysfunctional upbringing, but who around here didn’t have that. I could argue temptation overcame my better judgement, but I’ve never weighed risks against consequences. Life was the here and now. I grabbed opportunities, excelled in consumption of all illicit forms, revelled in civil disobedience if the goal tempted me. Only this time I did something worse. I gambled with my soul. Now a bullet had my name on, if not all that I held dear as collateral too.

I’d not lived long enough to have kids who’d miss me. I’d not have won any recommendations in any job for I never held one down more than a few months anyway. I had no certificates to frame upon my wall. Hell, I had no real place I could call home. I slipped from hostel to hostel, slept on couches in return for favours. I’d walked the streets at night when it was too cold to huddle down in a doorway. Of late, I’d earned enough to rent a room, it was little more than that. But I didn’t want to die. Not this way. I wasn’t one for ambition or goal setting, I had no great desire to strike off a bucket list of sorts either. But when you dabble with evil, well they don’t forget and they sure don’t forgive.

The street was quiet for a Wednesday night. Those that walked the pavements paid me no attention. I kept my hands in my pockets, my eyes straight ahead. In the beginning I was scared, but not any longer. When death seems certain there is no longer anything to fear. Fear is the unknown. Once you know your fate, you have time to plan, time to think.

An assassin costs money and evil has deep pockets. One shot would be all it took. But you see, I had nothing to lose, yet everything to gain. And maybe luck would be on my side. In a city that rarely slept and where eyes watched all and everything, the deed would need to be clean. No blunders. No living witness. No mess to clean up. Evil may have hearts as dark as the devil himself but those who gave the orders, bore the brunt of exposure, well, they didn’t want to be known when blood was spilled in their name.

So when I saw him walk out of the shadows, I led him into the open, walked straight towards him. I faced death, looked down the barrel of a gun. I raised my hands skywards, shouting out the words.

“O.Neilly, I saw, I coveted and I stole. May my death be your sin.”

Eyes may have seen, ears may have listened, but the bullet was silent. The rhetoric gone.

Dawn Treacher

www.dawntreacher.com

Dawn Treacher is based in North Yorkshire, England. She writes in both adult crime fiction and children's middle grade fantasy adventures. She is also an illustrator of children's fiction, an artist and plush artist. She runs both a writing critique group and a creative writing group and goes into schools to promote storytelling.

Campfire Stories 6 #OurAuthorGang

 A short story by Eva Bielby

 

“Here, Dad! “Dad, STOP! Right here, please!” Chloe urged.

Her father’s foot hit the brake and the car came to a grinding halt.

“Here? Are you sure, darling? Why here?”

“See over there?” Chloe waved her hand to indicate the stunning scenery. “There’s a gorgeous little stream over there, woods pretty close by, which will be handy for twigs and branches for firewood. Plus, it’s not too far from the road.”

Elaine and Jenny, her friends, opened the rear passenger doors and climbed out. After kissing her father goodbye, Chloe joined them and they pulled the tent, sleeping bags, and backpacks from the boot.

Chloe’s father lowered the driver’s side window for a few final words.

“Your Dad will be picking you up late afternoon tomorrow, Elaine. Is that right?”

“Yes! He’ll be here for us, Mr Jackson. Don’t worry.” Elaine reassured him.

“Please be careful when lighting fires. Have you got fully charged pho…?”

“Yes, Dad. And a solar charger. We’re seventeen, not five. Stop stressing… and go.” Chloe butted in. She turned her back on the car rolling her eyes as her father pulled away.

“Bloody Hell! We’ve grabbed the fourth sleeping bag. We’ll have to take it with us now. Never mind.” Chloe cursed.

“Damn. I sure wish Charlie was with us, though. What a time for her to pick up that stomach bug.”

The other girls muttered in agreement. Together they picked up the baggage and set off to haul it twenty yards back down the road and through a well-worn gap in the hawthorn hedge. Making their way across the field, they occasionally stumbled with the heavy load, the terrain being so uneven.

“Hey, Elaine, how is your Dad going to find us tomorrow? He doesn’t know where we are.”

“He’ll find us, trust me. He’s put one of those tracker apps on my phone. We tried it out a couple of days ago. It works.”

Half an hour later, they’d located an ideal spot by the stream, the tent was up (despite their hysterical laughter) and had ventured into the woods to collect suitable dry material for the campfire.

Back at camp, they sat and devoured the sandwiches and snacks which Chloe’s Mum thoughtfully and lovingly prepared for them. Chloe recalled the conversation.

“It’ll save you doing too much in the way of cooking!”

“Other than breakfast, we won’t be cooking, Mum.”

“Then what will you eat?”

“Snacks, nibbles, cookies and things. It won’t hurt us to miss a cooked meal or two, will it? We’ve got sausages, eggs and bacon ready in the cool-box.”

They lit the fire at eight pm. It was mid-May and though the days were very warm, the temperatures could plunge dramatically in the early evening. The girls shivered as they took turns to add more twigs to the already glowing tinder.

“Oh look, there’s a girl heading this way,” said Elaine, pointing her finger. “I wonder where she’s going…”

Chloe and Jenny turned to look. The girl headed towards them. When she was twenty five yards away, the stranger waved at them. They returned the gesture.

“Hi!” Elaine shouted. “What are you doing out here, walking alone?”

“Hello. I’m just heading home. I live in Doulton, four miles away. It’s a small village.”

Now close up, the girl watched on as they continued to feed what was fast becoming a roaring fire. She looked to be of a similar age to the rest of them and quickly became involved in their continuous chit-chat. Elaine in particular, found the girl endearing,

“Are your parents expecting you home soon? If not, you’re welcome to stay for the night. We have a spare sleeping bag. We sit around the fire and tell spooky tales after dark. We have to guess whether the stories are true or false.”

“My parents won’t be expecting me home until tomorrow. I’d enjoy that very much. Thank you. I suppose I’d better introduce myself properly. I’m Sharon.”

Once the full round of introductions were complete, the girls settled around the fire until darkness closed in. Twigs were drawn to decide who would be the first to start the tales.

Jenny went first and her story of how she was abducted by aliens as a five year old came in for plenty of scorn and derision from the others as they all declared the tale “FALSE!”

Chloe was up next and regaled the girls with her story of a haunted bedroom in a local nursing home. The stream of old ladies who had resided in that particular room, all reported to staff that any pink items were constantly flung around or smashed in their absence. As her audience gawped at her, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, Chloe claimed the ghost story to be true.

The girls waited in anticipation for Sharon’s contribution to the evening. She glanced around at their faces and began her narrative.

“Okay! Three years ago there was a girl killed in a motorbike accident about five hundred yards back on that stretch of road over there. Her boyfriend survived the accident, though he suffered multiple injuries. He now spends his life in a wheelchair.

Apparently, Steve, the boyfriend, remembers losing control of the bike around a fairly sharp bend. It veered off the road and crashed into an oak tree. Immediately before impact, he tilted his body to the side. That’s why one leg was smashed up against the tree. He also recalls trying to brake but his bike seemed to be accelerating. Seventy miles per hour he said. Anyway, she lost her life and Steve hardly has much to say to anyone these days.”

“Oh God! How terribly sad.” remarked Elaine. “But is that it, Sharon?”

“No. There’s more. The girl had confided in her friends about her relationship with Steve. She told them she heard several rumours doing the rounds through friends of friends, his workmates and so on, that Steve was seeing another girl. Also, she related that he’d acted ‘cool’ towards her and skipped several dates. He’d call and make various pathetic excuses for being unable to see her.”

Chloe was incensed.

“Oh, yes! Standard practice for a guy who’s cheating. Poor girl. Sorry! Carry on, Sharon.”

“That’s alright, Chloe. So, one of the girl’s friends, Jo, happened to know that on the night of the accident, the girl planned to catch a bus from Doulton to Hemmersley, which she did. She was hoping to find Steve exactly where he said he would be – out with his mates in their usual hangout. Steve was there, not only with his buddies, but with a blonde. Her arms were draped around Steve’s shoulders. Anyway, she tackled him about his cheating, and was broken-hearted. Her sobs eventually died down and she allowed him to comfort her. He told his friends that he was taking her home on his motorbike. They watched on as the pair climbed on the bike and sped off. The female he had been with, also witnessed the upsetting scene and rapidly disappeared, in what the lads called ‘a stonking mood’.

And…and that’s it really, girls. You already know how it ends. It’s true. She…she lived in my village.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

Sharon’s sad story somewhat dampened the mood, but as the last embers of the fire died out, Elaine told an extremely far-fetched and rather rude story about the wicked fairies and gnomes who lived in her father’s orchard. The other girls were thrilled and were still falling about with laughter long after they climbed into their sleeping bags, Elaine still attempting to convince them that it was true!

On waking the following morning, Sharon bade them all goodbye and resumed her homeward journey after turning down their offer of breakfast. It was a glorious warm and sunny day so the girls launched themselves into the stream, paddling in the shallows and swimming in the deeper parts. After partaking of their snacks around lunchtime, they packed up the tent and other paraphernalia before traipsing through the woodland. Five o’clock came all too soon and Elaine’s father arrived to collect them from the roadside. It had been their first night of freedom – alone without parents.

Three Days Later

Chloe, Jenny and Elaine left college early. They had no lectures that afternoon so they ventured into town. Both Jenny and Elaine needed a new study book. Chloe had already purchased a copy. In the bookshop she sauntered away to peruse the paranormal section and soon joined the girls at the checkout queue.

“Hey! Look what I’ve found, girls. It’s the latest – Volume Four of North Yorkshire Spooky Stories.”

“You and your damn ghost stories! You’ll become one eventually! Jenny laughed.

Next stop was the coffee shop. Jenny and Elaine chatted as they sipped their Cappuccinos. Chloe’s head however, was already buried in her new book as she flipped over the pages, totally oblivious to her friends.

“Oh. My. God.” exclaimed Chloe. “Listen. Listen. There’s a story about a girl, well, a ghost really. She haunts a stretch of road between Hemmersley and Doulton hitch-hiking when there’s a lone motorcyclist. As they approach the bend the riders report her hand gripped tight over theirs to open up the throttle. Quite a few of them. They’ve been lucky each time in gaining back control and avoiding an accident. This must be the girl Sharon told us about.”

Jenny stood.

“Come on! Quick! Let’s get to the library before it closes.”

They abandoned their coffees and bolted from the bookstore and down the high street.

“Why Jenny?” shouted Elaine as she panted, trying to keep up.

“You’ll see!” Jenny shouted back over her shoulder.

Ten minutes later they were ensconced around one of the library’s PCs with Jenny’s fingers flying over the keyboard. A website appeared on screen for the Daily Yorks and Jenny clicked on the tab for Archives. She typed ‘Motorbike Accidents’ in the search bar and ‘2-4 years’ for the dates. It didn’t take long before a headline appeared GIRL KILLED IN MOTORBIKE SMASH – BOYFRIEND SURVIVES. Alongside the story was a picture – a picture of Sharon. The article went on to give her name, Sharon Cook and that of Steve – Steven Howie.

“It’s her! It’s Sharon!”

“But…but she was real…wasn’t she?” Elaine stammered.

“She…she was going home,” whispered Jenny.

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.