Unsung Heroes

 They don't expect a reward or recognition

Unsung Heroes y Erika M Szabo

If people knew what the biker gang did and were not expecting any reward or recognition, these unsung heroes would be celebrated by many.

The deafening rumble of powerful engines echoed through the stillness of the night as the Panthers rode their Harleys through town toward their favorite bar. The moon, full and luminous, hung low in the sky, casting an eerie glow on the rugged faces of the riders. Their leather-clad bodies were silhouetted against the darkness, their tattoos and scars illuminated by the moon’s pale light.

With practiced ease, they killed the engines and dismounted their bikes. Raven, the gang’s robust leader, took off his helmet and shook his head. His long, jet-black hair swung to his back, covering the black panther painting on his leather jacket. “I’ll go through the back door,” he said, turning to his second in command, Jackal, his voice sounding deeper than a panther’s purr. “I need to talk to Pedro.”

Jackal let out a deep, guttural grunt. He was a tall, lanky man with dark hair and a scruffy beard. His voice was rough and strained, the result of a brutal bar fight that left his vocal cords permanently damaged. He hated speaking, the sound of his own voice reminding him of the painful incident. And he cringed at the thought of his friends jokingly telling others, “You should’ve seen the other guy!” The guilt of knowing that he had caused someone to lose his life in the fight weighed heavily on Jackal’s conscience. Although not his fault, the drunk man attacked him cutting his throat and he acted in defense, the man died hitting his head on the pool table when Jackal pushed him away. The memory still haunted him like a shadow that he could never escape.

Stubby, the compact and sturdy member of the gang, let out a deep exhalation. “I hope he has some good news for us,” he said, his voice laced with tension. “It’s been two days since we heard the Hyenas had crossed the border with a new shipment, and we still don’t know where their hiding place is.”

Raven let out a heavy sigh as he approached the corner of the building. Each step caused small pebbles to crunch under his sturdy boots.

As he peeked through the open back door, Raven spotted his informant hunched over the sink. He motioned to him discreetly, and Pedro nodded in response, quickly glancing around to ensure they were not being watched. With cautious movements, Pedro made his way toward the door, holding onto a large garbage bag.

Raven waited for him behind the garbage container. “Did you find out?” he asked the fidgety man.

Growing up in the vibrant streets of Mexico, Pedro was all too familiar with the dangerous activities of human trafficker gangs, called hyenas. His cousin had been pressuring him to join their gang since he was just a teenager, promising him a life of wealth and power. But when he met Maria, she showed him that there was another way out - a chance to escape poverty and break free from a life of crime. Together, they bravely crossed the treacherous border and made their way to a small town in America where they found jobs and rented an apartment in the bustling Latino community. Pedro kept his ears open and listened closely as drunkards at the local bar spoke about the dark dealings of the notorious gangs. He knew he had made the right choice by following Maria, and now he was determined to make a better life for both of them while helping others who didn’t see a way out.

“I heard that there is an abandoned house about five miles from here deep in the woods,” Pedro whispered, his eyes darting nervously toward the door. “I’m not sure if the gang is hiding there or not, but I know that the guy who talked about the house is their connection on the US side. He takes care of the sales. He was well liquored up on tequila and kept blubbering about the house and that the family who lived there a hundred years ago were killed.”

“It’s possible,” Raven mused, his voice low and gravelly. “Thanks for the information, Pedro. You’re one step closer to joining us.” He raised his fist for a bump, sealing their partnership with a resounding thud.

The stocky man’s face beaming with joy hurried back to the kitchen.

Raven entered the bar through the front door and found his gang at their usual table in the far corner. “We have a possible location. Finish your drinks and let’s get going.” Raven informed his comrades.

The five members of the Panthers understood the gravity and urgency of their mission - to rescue innocent teenagers and young children from the clutches of ruthless human traffickers, who sought to sell them as commodities for sexual exploitation.

With fierce determination in their eyes, they raced toward the abandoned house on the outskirts of town, their roaring engines leaving a trail of dust and adrenaline in their wake. Although people in town were used to their presence, and they never heard anything bad about them, the fear that something might happen always left them with unease when they heard the roaring engines.

The scent of gasoline and leather lingered in the air, adding to the intensity of their presence and the darkness seemed to part before them as if even nature itself knew not to stand in their way. As they reached the dirt road in the woods, Raven raised his hand in a commanding gesture, signaling for his comrades to halt.

With practiced ease, they killed the engines, dismounted their bikes, and hid them in the thick bushes.

“We go the last mile on foot,” Raven instructed his men. “No guns, until we’re forced to use them,” he said.

“Fists and knives,” Stubby added, and the group murmured in agreement.

They moved forward with silent, calculated steps. The air was heavy with anticipation and danger, each member acutely aware of the risk they were taking. As they crept closer, shadows seemed to dance around them, adding to the sense of danger.

With firm determination in their eyes and weapons at the ready, their hearts burned with righteous anger, knowing that they were the only hope for these helpless souls. Since they were honorably discharged from the armed forces six years ago, at first, they had a hard time adjusting to civilian life. Later, Raven and Jackle opened a car repair shop, Doc became a veterinarian. Pokerface, the always stoical looking yet highly emotional friend opened a Dojo and taught self-defense.

The air was thick with tension and adrenaline as they prepared to put an end to this heinous operation. They spotted a large van parked in the clearing as they cautiously approached the rundown house. Its black exterior blended with the night sky, but its chrome bumpers glistened in the moonlight. Crouching low, they peered from behind the vehicle to see a guard stationed by the door. His posture was tense as he held a sleek machine gun at the ready. In the flickering light streaming from a nearby window, they could hear faint sounds of children crying and men shouting from inside the house. The hair on their necks prickled with a sense of danger and urgency as they plotted their next move.

Jackal glanced at Raven, who gave a subtle nod of approval. The lanky man dropped to his hands and knees, moving with the grace and precision of a stalking animal. He slinked through the shadows, keeping his body low and silent as he crept towards the unsuspecting guard.

When he was within a few feet of the man, Stubby made a slight noise by tossing a small rock toward the corner of the house. The guard, startled by the sound, turned his head in that direction. Taking advantage of the distraction, Jackal sprang forward with lightning speed and wrapped his arms around the guard’s neck in a chokehold. With his other large hand covering the guard’s mouth and nose, he effectively silenced any potential screams for help.

Without hesitation, the rest of the bikers sprang into action. In a flurry of movement and precision, they made their way silently to the door. Doc, whose occupation as a veterinarian had provided him with some interesting skills, quickly punctured the guard’s neck with the needle attached to a syringe filled with a powerful animal tranquilizer. As his body went limp, Jackal eased him down against the wall while Stubby secured his wrists and ankles with strong duct tape. The operation had gone flawlessly so far, but they knew they still had to move quickly and quietly to ensure their actions inside just as smoothly.

Read the full story in the book: 

https://books2read.com/u/m27NQd

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. 

Eye of the Jaguar

 A story from the What If? Anthology

Martina Crestada focused her binoculars and looked down into the cenote, one of the sinkholes riddling the karst landscape of the Yucatan peninsula. The building storm clouds scuttled across the face of the moon making it flicker like a guttering candle.

“Philip, hold the flashlight still, this one isn’t filled with water and there’s a carved altar stone in the center.”

He balanced his flashlight on the cenote’s rim to steady it. Philip lived to make Martina happy. While he’d become fascinated with Mesoamerican history and lore, his love of Martina was the primary reason he’d majored in Mayan culture and the only reason he’d joined this archeological expedition.

“Martina, we’d best hurry, the clouds are building. I smell rain and we’re an hour from camp. It’s dangerous at night. Ocelots, jaguars, and wolves, oh my!”

Martina pointed her flashlight upward from under her chin ensuring Philip could see her look of disgust. “Don’t be a crybaby. I see an altar stone on the bottom. There’s writing, but I can’t read it. Red veins. Could be iron oxide. Maybe blood. How exciting! Philip, I hope they’re bloodstains!”

“I’ll record the GPS reading and tell the guide we’re ready to leave. We’ll come back tomorrow.”

 The guide screamed. He pointed at a jaguar skulking quietly as a gentle breeze and shouted “B’alam! B’alam!” The beast moved nearer the explorers and pinned them against the pit’s edge. Philip was unarmed, he had a flashlight, a pocketknife, and a pith helmet like the explorers wear in a Tarzan movie.  

The jaguar's eyes glowed like red coals. Philip froze in place. The cat charged without warning and Philip threw his helmet like a flying disk and hit the jaguar in the shoulder. He shoved Martina to one side and stepped backward away from the leaping cat. He struggled futilely for purchase on the crumbling pit edge. He fell into the cenote and the jaguar flew over his head and into the pit with him. They both screamed all the way down.

Philip woke up on the decayed leaves that dotted the altar stone. He felt his left arm. Shit, broken. Dark down here. Where’s my damn flashlight?”

Martina shouted, “Philip!”

“I’m alive. Broken, but alive.”

“I’ll send the guide for help.”

“Have them bring a harness. Pretty sure my arm is broken. I can’t climb out. The air is stale, and it stinks of rotten fruit.”

“Is the jaguar, or should I say, the B’alam, dead? We can practice speaking Mayan until help comes.”

Philip found his flashlight. The jaguar draped the altar stone like a praying supplicant. Chiseled images of cats, snakes, and wolves appeared and vanished with the sweeping of the flashlight’s beam. Philip crept slowly to the jaguar and gently touched its throat seeking a pulse.

The creature opened its eyes, snarled, and bit Philip’s arm. He tried to jerk away and cursed. “Christ, damn thing bit me. Probably has rabies!” He searched the altar with his free hand, the one attached to a broken arm. He caught a brief vision of an obsidian knife stored in a cubbyhole. He gritted his teeth against the pain, stretched for the knife, and stabbed the jaguar in the neck. The creature released his arm. He wiggled the knife until the glow in the beast’s eyes faded to darkness. Their blood mingled and flowed into the red-stained cracks atop the limestone altar. The stench of rotted fruit grew overpowering. Philip couldn’t breathe, he gasped, staggered back from the altar, his head spun, and he passed out.

The pain from the jaguar bite or his broken arm woke him. Flickering torchlight and rancid smoke filled the cenote. Several men, costumed in ancient Mayan ceremonial regalia, filled the cavern. He shouted for Martina. She didn’t answer, but above him, the pit’s edge was lined with women and children.

The quiet was frightening. It was like the silent moment in a horror film before all hell breaks loose. Philip remembered from a class on negotiation that the person who speaks first, loses. He couldn’t stand it. The people just stared at him.

Read the full story in the book: 

https://books2read.com/u/m27NQd

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. 

The Ominous Sound of Stiletto Heels

When she walked by, an icy chill filled the air

Sara, a sixteen-year-old brunette with an athletic physique, was a new student at Hillcrest Boarding School. She was unhappy to leave her friends behind, but her father insisted on moving her to a more prestigious school. “The last two years are most critical before continuing your education,” he said. “And Hillcrest is the finest. Nearly all of their students get into reputable universities.”

Her parents were impressed by Madame Chloe, the school principal, especially her mother who embraced her role as a socialite in high society circles. At their meeting, Madame Chloe dressed impeccably in expensive and fashionable name-brand outfits, and the way she presented herself and the school's achievements instantly won them over.

At first, Sara found the principal charming as well. However, as the conversation progressed, the way Madame Chloe’s eyes darted to her and scanned her entire body, made her uncomfortable. Despite the flashing of those dark brown eyes only lasting for a split second, Sara sensed something sinister behind the pleasant exterior of the woman’s lovely smile, pristine clothes, manicured nails, and flawless hairstyle.

Sara always listened to her gut feelings and begged her parents not to make her change schools, but her parents, visibly mesmerized by the principal’s performance, made their final decision despite Sara's weak objections. “You know nothing about life! Gut feelings are not reliable,” her mother shouted. “The school’s reputation is impeccable. You’re going to be a student there, and that's final.”

Sara gave in and hesitantly accepted her parents' decision and moved into her new school's dorm at Hillcrest. Knowing that every school has its social hierarchy, she thought she would need some time to fit in and catch up. However, it soon became apparent that this school was different from others.

There was no hierarchy among teachers or students. There were subordinates and only one top dog: the principal and history professor, Madame Chloe. Her authority and dominance were obvious as she walked in her signature bright red stiletto-heel shoes, her cold eyes darting from student to student. The sound of those heels in the hallways would quiet the students and even the fellow teachers. When she walked past, a chill filled the air. Her presence commanded fear and obedience from everyone around her. Sara couldn't help but wonder what it must be like to have that kind of authority and influence over so many people.

Madame Chloe ruled with an iron fist and Sara soon heard rumors that her physical fist brutally broke several bones over the years. Students had no one to report the physical abuse to, and unfortunately, by the time they were allowed to see their parents, their injuries had healed. Because of the school's reputation and the highly respected principal's words against the students, people dismissed the complaints as childish rumors. The injured students had no proof.

Although Sara had a hard time keeping her rebellious nature under control, she kept quiet while keeping her eyes and ears open. Until… about two weeks into the school year, she stood by her locker across from Madame Chloe's office when she saw her classmate, a petite blonde girl staggering out of the room. Vera sobbed pressing her hand to her side, visibly in pain.

Sara followed her into the bathroom, where two girls stood by the sink and hugged the crying girl.

“You’ll be alright,” Kate, a dark-skinned statuesque girl whispered, wiping Vera’s tears.

“I can’t take it anymore!” Vera cried. “This was the third time this week and she didn’t even tell me why I deserved such a harsh punishment. My leg is still bruised where she kicked me two days ago.” She rolled down her knee-high socks. She gasped and stood up, her face contorting in pain. She held her side. “I think she broke my ribs this time,” she sobbed.

Mary, a plump redhead, huffed. “She’s a cruel sadist! She yanked my hair so hard yesterday that she pulled out a strand and my scalp bled all afternoon. All because when the monster said, ‘eyes on your books’ I looked at Vera.”

“Why doesn't anyone do something about this?” Sara asked, closely watching the group's reaction.

“What can we do? We can’t prove anything,” Kate shrugged despairingly, tears flowing down her cheeks. “Nobody believes us, not even our parents.”

“What about the teachers?” Sara questioned.

Mary shook her curly hair. “They know what’s happening but are too scared to say anything. The only teacher who was brave enough to gather evidence against this monster disappeared before you got here.”

“What do you mean by disappeared? Did she leave school?” Sara asked. The three girls seemed to sense Sarah’s authoritative yet compassionate nature and opened up.

“Oh, no,” Kate shivered and said, “Miss Clara was in my room that night, taking pictures of my bruised ribs and listened to the tape I recorded on the small device she gave me. I hid the recorder in my underwear and turned it on when I was ordered to Madame Chloe’s room. She beat me so badly that day... the more I screamed and begged her to stop, the more she hit me. Just remembering her face, how much she enjoyed watching me wiggle in pain, and the obscenities coming out of her painted mouth, makes me nauseous.”

Read the full story in the book: 

https://books2read.com/u/m27NQd

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.

Our Song

We have our very own song 

In 2017, I started this blog with a group of fellow authors. We took turns posting about a variety of topics such as hobbies, travel, pets, cooking, reading, and writing. We even had contests and enjoyed ourselves. However, in 2019, the group fell apart, and everyone went their separate ways. I continued to post occasionally on my own, but it wasn't the same without the camaraderie, so I stopped updating the blog in 2022.

Ever since then, I have been writing and have successfully published a few books. About a year ago, I started the What If? Anthology Series with a new group of writers, and we recently released our fourth book.

It then occurred to me that I had forgotten about my blog, but upon checking the STATS after 2 years of inactivity, I was pleasantly surprised to see that it still had a strong following. People continue to visit and read the old posts.

After bringing it up to the anthology writer's group, some of us decided to resume the group project and publish one or two new blog posts every week.

~Erika M Szabo

What If? Anthology Series

Read about the series HERE

​When a collective of talented authors merge their literary skills and unleash their imaginations, a series is born to delight readers who crave thought-provoking stories and aren't afraid to ask the question, "What if?" With each turn of the page, readers are transported to fantastic worlds where anything is possible, and every twist and turn leaves them eagerly anticipating what will happen next. This collaboration of creative minds brings to life a captivating journey for those who dare to question the boundaries of reality and embrace the possibilities of the unknown.

The authors of the Anthology Series

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.

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.

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.

R. A. “Doc” Correa 

www.goldenboxbooks.com/ra-doc-correa.html 

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.

Martha Perez

https://marthaperez.info/

Martha Perez was born in raised in Los Angeles, CA. She now lives in West Covina, CA, with her husband Sal Andalon and their dogs Toby and Bella. She has a son, a daughter, and two granddaughters. Her hobbies include reading, writing, exercising, and taking long walks.

Shebat Legion

Her work can be found wherever fine books are sold.

Shebat Legion is an award-winning, internationally best-selling, consummate storyteller/producer/publisher whose quirky tales have appeared in numerous anthologies of various genres, and offerings of her work have been archived on the moon via The Lunar Codex associated with NASA.

Robert Allen Lupton

https://robertallenlupton.blogspot.com

Robert Allen Lupton is retired and lives in New Mexico. He has three novels, seven short story collections and three edited anthologies available in print and audio versions. Over 2000 of his Edgar Rice Burroughs themed drabbles and articles are located on erbzine.com

S.S. Bazinet

https://www.ssbazinet.com/

S. S. Bazinet is a multi-genre author who loves penning stories that inspire her readers. When writing, she keeps it real. Her characters often start off in very dicey situations. They make their mistakes, hopefully learn to correct course, and find a way to keep going when all seems lost.

Alan Zacher

https://www.goldenboxbooks.com/alan-zacher.html

I graduated from UCLA, studying Acting and Writing. Fifteen years after graduating from college, I returned to my hometown of St. Louis, Missouri, and began teaching English and stated writing.

S. M. Revolinski

https://www.goldenboxbooks.com/s-m-revolinski.html

A retired engineer. When not entertaining his grandchildren, he enjoys writing. Most of his stories are science fiction, connections between the supernatural and the real world – what if ‘this’ really happened? Breaking from Sci-Fi, his recent stories have been Westerns. The “Tales From Wyoming” is a collection of interconnected short stories of the Old West.

Toi Thomas

https://linktr.ee/toithomas

A self-proclaimed techie and foodie, Toi Thomas enjoys cooking, animals, geek culture, and collecting vinyl records. She writes clean, adult, multi-genre fiction as well as nonfiction, and picture books. Toi actively creates for and with her fans at The ToiBox of Words blog, her YouTube channel, and on Patreon.

E.V. Emmons

https://eclark46.wixsite.com/-evemmons

E.V. Emmons lives in Ontario. Author of the novels ETERNITY AWAITS, THE SINISTRATI, and the writer’s guide, ‘WRITE HERE, WRITE NOW!’ As a contributor to several anthologies, her work even made it to the Moon with the Lunar Codex Program aboard lander Odysseus in February 2024. Available on Amazon.

Karen Ovér

https://balletsandbogeys.weebly.com/golemwerks.html

Karen Ovér is back in Texas after more than a decade in New York City. Her latest works appear in the anthologies The Book of Carnacki, The Legion Press, Dark Yonder #6, and the forthcoming Arkham Institutions, available late 2024 from Dragon’s Roost Press.

James Harper

His work can be found wherever fine books are sold.

A transplanted native in a city full of them, James Harper is a bestselling horror writer living with his daughter in a suburb just north of Washington DC. His love of music is only rivaled by his passion for film, but both take a backseat when a Phillies game’s on.

Victoria Adams

https://victoriasreadingalcove.com   

Adams lives and works in the resplendent Pacific Northwest. She spends her time with her characters and a feline named Sir Linus. She has published two nonfiction titles and contributed to anthologies of fiction and poetry. Her exploration of the world and ideas, in general, can be found at victoriasreadingalcove.com.

Unexpected Trip

 Was it a dream or did she travel through time?

Pompeii

“Valeria . . . Valeria, can you hear me?” a strange voice echoed as the young woman struggled to open her eyes seeing two tall young girls possibly in their late teens dressed in white togas at her side. “She’s coming to,” said one of the girls.

“Where . . . where am I?”

“You are in the House of the Vestals, my dear. You passed out a short time ago as you were working out in the garden on your jug and hit your head on one of the pedestals. You know you were told to avoid being in the sun too long with your fair skin,” the first girl spoke.

“And who are you?”

Both girls looked at each other quizzically.

“I am Dalanya and this is Catania, your Vestal Sisters.” Dalanya took her hand and helped Valeria to sit up on the cot.

“I don’t remember any of this I tell you, the young woman claimed as she glanced around at her surroundings. Her eyes scanned the area that revealed tall pillars and large marble statues that led out to a massive courtyard with a huge fountain. “This has to be a dream! I mean—”

“Catania has sent for the Medicus. He should be here shortly,” Dalanya said as she laid her hand on the woman’s shoulder. “He’ll know what to do.”

An older man dressed in multicolored robes carrying a large satchel approached from the outside patio entering the small chamber. He had instructed Dalanya and Catania to inform him as to what had occurred.

“I know this young lady. She has simply fainted. I have treated her before for a similar condition. A vial of Posca is all she needs. She gets dehydrated easily. He pulled a small vial from his satchel and instructed her to drink, which she did.

She wiped her lips after chugging down the entire contents of the vial and gave the Medicus a skeptical look. “Exactly what’s in that?” She scrunched up her nose showing her distaste for the drink.

“It’s a mixture of vinegar, water, and herbs,” he said.

“My name is Ramethius, the Medicus and I believe you may also have a slight concussion from hitting your head.”

“Oh,” the woman uttered as he checked her eyes and head using a strange instrument from his bag that managed to clamp open her eyes.

“Her pupils are not dilated but she still may have a slight concussion,” he announced as he turned to the girls. “Best to keep an eye on her the rest of the day. Make sure you don’t let her sleep.”

“Why can’t she remember who she is? Dalanya asked.

“Well, she’s one of the oldest Vestals here, I mean—” Catania added. “Could be her age.”

“It may be a temporary case of amnesia. It should return in time,” Ramethius said as he secured his bag. “Now I must go as I’m needed at the House of Faun.”

Both Dalanya and Catania sat next to Valeria giving her words of comfort but most of all encouraging her to rest.

“Your artwork can wait, Sister,” Dalanya said, taking her hand. “You heard what the Medicus said.

“Rest . . . rest! I can’t rest!” She shot up. “I have to finish my piece for the art show for Aulius Restituto. It will be featured among some of the other fine pieces here in Pompeii then grace the main hall of the house of Vetti.”

The girls both looked at each other astounded. “Well then, I guess her amnesia has instantly returned,” Dalanya said.

“It was probably the mention of artwork that brought her back,” Catania said. “We both know how obsessive she is about that show she keeps talking about.”

Valeria tried to rise from her cot but both girls gently pushed her back to a lying position. “You will rest here for a few hours.”

Valeria reasoned she had to agree to the girls’ wishes but knew once they were out of sight, she’d plan to get back to painting her jug.

She watched the girls walk through the archway that led out to the lush gardens. I can only hope to see my beloved Marcus. I know he will be working in the kitchens today at the Vetti House. I long to feel his strong arms around me again. We’ve managed to keep this secret for some time now. Should we be caught- I’d be banned from the House of Vestals and he being a slave would be sentenced to death!

Valeria felt a slight dizziness sensation overtake her and decided to sit for a while until it had passed. I’ve got to finish that jug. Tomorrow is the show and I’ll crawl if I have to get it over there. She fiddled with her long black braid that hung to one side over her shoulder making sure the gold threads were securely in place that were weaved into the braid. A Vestal always had to look her best whenever she was out in the public eye.

“We both know what she’s up to,” Dalanya said as she and Catania walked through the garden.

“You mean that slave, Marcus that works over at the Vetti House?”

“Yes, Rumor has it she’s been sneaking off to see him.”

“It’s true, and if she’s caught, we both know the consequences both of them will face,” Dalanya said as she bent down to smell the flowery scent of a hearty lilac bush.

“You going to tell on her?” Catania asked.”

“No. I don’t think we need to be known as spies here. Besides she is close to being released from her service very soon. She can be with Marcus all she wants then.”

The ground shook with tremors and some of the larger garden pots had moved.

“Not that again!” Catania shouted. “This is the second time this week it’s happened.”

“Not to worry, it’s very common as you well know, Dalanya said trying to calm her friend.  That volcano has to release the pressure now and then, my friend. Now let’s head over to the Temple of Isis and make sure all is well over there.”

Valeria also felt the tremors as she tried to gain some steadiness to stand. “Great! Just what I need now,” she murmured.

Continue reading the story in the book:

https://books2read.com/u/m27NQd

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.

The Guest of Honor

 A short story by E.V. Emmons

A tale of two families: One family’s halcyon life is tragically disrupted, while another plans the perfect Halloween party. Evil is a point of view.

Life on a farm is hard and if not for family, it would be lonely too. We cherished life in the fields, breathing in the rich, loamy smell of the tilled and mounded earth. We celebrated the sun and rain alike because we understood that both nourished the land, and what was good for the soil was good for us.

Months in the sun had turned our skin leathery, but we wore it proudly as a mark of devotion to the fields. At night, we were content to sit under the moon and soak up the warm ambiance from the porch lights.

Some nights, the sky would rain stars, and we’d sit and marvel at the celestial light show. The cricket songs lulled us into an easy rest until sunup when we’d do it all again.

One day, we noticed that the warm summer air had cooled, and turned the maple trees flanking the lane from green to shades of gold and red. In the orchard, the apples were ripe and round and shone like rubies. The animals feasted at their troughs, munching the dried corn. Abundance surrounded us, and we were thankful. All that remained was to relax and celebrate autumn and the coming winter, or so we thought. We had no way of knowing the horrors that lay ahead.

They came just before dark. One by one, with knives digging into our skin, they plucked us from our beds. Large, powerful hands crushed to our faces kept us silent. We squirmed and fought, hoping to get free of their vice-like arms.

Father, with his thick and burly body, wriggled loose. 

“Get ‘im, boys!” One man hollered. “Show that fool who’s boss.” 

In seconds, they had Father pinned to the driveway, the pea gravel crushed into his cheek. Jeering and laughing, the three men took turns at his belly and sides with their steel-toed boots, and when that weren’t enough to keep Father still, a crushing blow to the head stilled him forever. Pale, hard crumbs and guts oozed from the ruined flesh amid a rising fog of limestone dust. 

“Load ‘em up. Let’s get outta here,” one of them barked.

The thick burlap bags they shoved over us kept us paralyzed as they slung us into the back of the heavy-duty farm truck. They slammed the creaky gate shut and bolted it tight. Darkness smothered the truck bed, which smelled like rotten beets, manure, and cabbage. 

Mother lay slumped atop a thin bed of straw, her body shaking under the burlap. After gathering the small ones close, we huddled beside her, hoping that somehow, we’d be of comfort to each other.

My insides quaked. With Father murdered and left behind to rot in the sun, what would become of us? He deserved so much more than to be brutalized and left for dead. He would never know a proper burial, a return to the earth he so loved. Visions of crows picking at his corpse and tugging at his entrails haunted me in the darkness.

Read the full story

In the What If #4 Halloween Edition Anthology

https://books2read.com/u/mq5qNO