Lorraine chats with authors and reads stories
A Group of Authors Writing Stories for Your Entertainment
Showing posts with label #whatifanthology. Show all posts
Showing posts with label #whatifanthology. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 19, 2025
Wednesday, January 15, 2025
Lost in the Woods #OurAuthorGang
A short story by Erika M Szabo
A young police officer enters the woods to find a missing woman, but it takes all her mental strength to deal with what she finds.
The headlights of the police vehicle cut through the gloom,
creating ripples of shadow and light through the trees. Officer Angela Devon, a
tall, athletic woman in her late twenties pulled up behind the silver car. With
the headlights off, it was parked on the side of the winding road that ran
through the middle of the dense forest.
“This is Officer Devon, pulling up at the location now,” she
spoke into her radio, peering through the windshield. “There is a car here, and
according to the GPS locator, the call came from two hundred yards away in the
woods.” She said, hoping it was just a prank call made by bored teenagers, but
until she knew for sure, she wouldn’t leave. Not if there was even the slightest
possibility that someone was in trouble.
“Copy that,” the dispatcher’s voice crackled through the
receiver, followed by a short burst of static. “I’ll be on standby if you need backup.
Over.”
Angela cut the engine and turned off the headlights. She
leaned back against the headrest with a sigh. Without the headlights on, the
forest seemed to be closing in on her in the eerie light of the full moon,
darkness spilling out through the branches.
She grabbed the flashlight from the glove compartment,
switched it on, and then pushed open the driver’s side door and climbed out
slamming the car door closed behind her. The large bluish-white beam flooded
the trees in front of her, creating ghostly shadows in her peripheral vision.
She really did not want to be there, but she was the
only officer on duty who had been able to answer the call. Her partner’s wife
went into labor, and nobody was available to take his place for the night
shift. In their small town, way up in the mountains, and a small department
with only a handful of officers, it wasn’t unusual for the officers to answer
calls alone.
“Let’s just get this over with,” Angela muttered under her
breath.
The 911 call that had come in had been an odd one, to say
the least. A woman crying for help, saying she was being followed by someone
she couldn’t see. In the background, the operator could hear footsteps thudding
in the distance, and heavy breathing, but that was all. The phone went silent
before she could give a location, but they had managed to trace the area where
the call had been made. In the forest by a country road a few miles from town,
the caller identified herself as Bella Mason, a twenty-four-year-old clerk at
the local hotel. Why would a young woman be out here alone, in the middle of
the night? Perhaps meeting someone in secret, Angela thought, and
only hoped she’d lost her phone, and whoever found it made the prank call,
rather than being anything serious.
Hefting her flashlight into the other hand, she made sure
she had her radio, taser, and Glock within reach and stepped into the forest.
Given that the location had been out of town, and it had
taken twenty minutes to get there, Angela had no idea where the woman might be.
She was only one person, and she wouldn’t be able to search the entire forest
on her own, but she would do her best to follow any tracks that she could find.
She wouldn’t leave until she was confident nothing bad had taken place.
Twigs and underbrush crunched under her feet as she moved between
the trees, shining her flashlight in a wide arc. Bugs flitted around her,
attracted by the glow, but she paid them no mind, other than occasionally
brushing a mosquito off her cheek. Despite the cool night, it was humid beneath
the canopy of trees, and a bead of sweat trickled down the back of her neck,
making the collar of her uniform stick to her skin.
The woman on the phone had raggedly gasped out ‘Bella Mason’
when the operator had asked for her name, so that’s what Angela began to call
out, her voice echoing through the forest.
“Bella Mason! I’m a police officer responding to your 911
call.”
She winced when the sound bounced between the trees, the
echo growing strange and distorted. She didn’t like the thought of attracting
the attention of anyone—or anything—that might be hiding in the shadows, but
there was no other way she could go about it. She had to hope that Bella heard
her somehow and could give Angela a clue as to where she was.
Seriously though, what was she doing out here in the
middle of the night?
“Bella! Bella, are you out here?” She continued to call out
as she traversed through the trees, brushing branches and silky moth wings out
of her face. “Bella! It’s the police. I’m here to help.”
Nearing the approximate spot where the call came from, the
deeper into the forest she went, the quieter it got. She could no longer hear
the sound of small rodents and insects scurrying in the undergrowth, or nightbirds
ruffling their feathers high up in the trees. Even the wind had fallen still,
no longer rustling the leaves. There was only her own labored breathing, and
the soft crunch of her boots against the fallen twigs on the ground.
It was almost like walking in the graveyard at night.
Everything was so still, so quiet. Angela felt nervous about disturbing the
silence, but she quickly shook that thought away. She was there to answer a
distress call, which meant she had a job to do.
She cleared her throat and wiped away the perspiration that
beaded her forehead. “Bella! If you can hear me, please answer.”
As the echo faded into silence, Angela thought she heard the
faint sound of footsteps behind her. Soft, spongy, like someone walking
barefoot in the sand.
She turned, swinging her flashlight in the direction of the
noise. “Bella? Is that you?”
She saw a fleeting shadow by a wide tree from the corner of
her eye, and Angela felt a shiver of fear twisting her stomach. If it was
Bella, she would have answered. Had I merely imagined it? “Who’s there?”
She croaked out the words, and suddenly, her mouth and throat felt dry. She
swallowed hard and felt the flashlight slipping from the sweat that was
accumulating in her palms.
Get a grip, there’s nobody out here but me and perhaps
Bella, if it’s not a prank. And don’t be a scaredy cat. Your eyes just played a
trick on you with that shadow.
When it was clear there was nobody there, Angela turned
around and continued walking, though now the darkness and fluctuation of light
from her flashlight was making her disoriented, and she couldn’t remember which
way the road was.
Continue reading in the Anthology
Monday, December 23, 2024
I Love You Forever
Can their love endure?
Nicole, battling cancer, finds hope with Noah.
Will they overcome life's challenges and keep their vow to love forever?
Nicole Storm
Grandpa Buck had always been my rock, teaching me to
believe in myself and see the world as conquerable. I longed to be that little
girl again, sitting on his lap, soaking in his wisdom and stories. Life felt
simpler back then.
He filled my world with love and lessons, showing me
kindness even towards the unkind and instilling a love for life's simple
pleasures like books, cooking, hiking, and stargazing in the snow.
I’m all grown-up now… and alone. I worked as a hairstylist
in a place called Hair and Flare. I enjoyed my job. Talking to people took
skill and patience, and I was good at making them look their best. It was
satisfying.
When Grandpa Buck fell ill two years ago, I feared the
worst, especially given his age. I sat by his hospital bed, holding his hand as
he slipped away, leaving a void in my heart that nothing could fill. He was my
everything, the only one who loved me unconditionally. My own mother didn’t
want me. She was a wild cat, as Grandpa used to say… and then one day she
overdosed. That had been a hard time for Grandpa and me, but we were there for
each other.
Grandpa Buck had left me a cabin in Big Bear. I loved living
here. I cherished every moment in the cabin, a place filled with memories of the
only person who ever showed me love.
Life can play jokes sometimes. I found out I had breast
cancer a few weeks ago. The chemotherapy wasn’t easy. I felt drained and sick,
barely able to move around.
I bought a lovely brown wig and headed to dinner at the
village. I was tired almost all the time. It was starting to snow, and I put my
arms up in the air and swirled. My boots sank in the snow, making me lose my
balance, and I fell hard, knocking myself out. Someone poked me on the side of
my back. My eyes opened to a handsome man smiling, and then the embarrassment
happened… I felt the cold air on my bald head.
“Are you all right?” the cute guy said.
“Yes, I'm fine.”
“Wait… here… is this your wig?”
“Give me that!” I snatched it and placed it on my bald head.
“I think it’s backwards.” He smiled.
I was mortified. My face was beet red as he helped me up. I
thanked him, put on my wig the right way, and slowly approached the restaurant.
I ordered a glass of wine, hoping to dull the chaos and awkwardness.
Then, the handsome man walked in and kissed the waitress on
the cheek. Too bad he was taken. He took a seat at my table. The man was
full of surprises, and his baby blue eyes watched my every move.
“Hi, I didn't tell you my name. It's Noah Campbell.”
“Nice name. My name is Nicole Storm.” I shyly said.
He kept smiling, and he ordered a beer. We started to get
acquainted, and finally, Noah walked me home. I couldn't believe he was
spending time with someone like me. At the door, he hugged me and asked if I
wanted to go for coffee in the morning. I said yes of course.
The next morning, we met at Starbucks, drank extra hot
coffee and ate blueberry muffins, and talked.
“This is really nice, Noah. But why me?” I asked.
“Because you are lovely. Don't you believe in being in the
right place at the right time?” he answered.
That night, before I went to bed, I wrote in my journal
about what a great day I had. I wanted Noah to like me.
Months passed swiftly, like a gust of wind. My hair, though
short, was slowly regaining its length, and I had returned to work after
enduring the ravages of chemotherapy, which had taken a toll on my body,
causing me to lose a lot of weight. Despite the lingering effects, I was
feeling better each day.
Noah had been a constant presence in my life during this
time. Despite his demanding schedule as a paramedic, he made time to visit me.
Witnessing the pain and tragedies in his line of work had motivated him to
pursue a career dedicated to saving lives. His dedication and compassion
touched me deeply, and I found myself falling for him, though it stirred a
sense of fear within me.
When he wasn’t around, or he didn’t call, I missed him, and
my anxiety soared. But when I caught sight of him, my heart fluttered with
anticipation, even though we hadn't even shared a kiss yet! I wondered if he
only saw me as a friend. I have to be careful. After all, I was battling cancer
and undergoing chemotherapy. Rushing into things wasn't an option. But still, I
couldn't deny the allure of his tall, tanned body and piercing blue eyes.
Noah and I had our regular Friday night dinner. I wore a red
dress and a wig because my hair was short and thin. I felt shy about my looks,
but Noah didn't seem to mind. We went to Captain's Anchorage, a cozy and
romantic restaurant. We had wine, talked, and held hands. With him by my side,
I felt like the prettiest woman in the world, and it seemed like no other women
mattered.
“Nicole, we're moving fast, but I love you. I don't want to
waste any time. I'm going to Africa for two months. Can we spend tonight
together and get married when I return? Will you marry me?”
“Yes!” I exclaimed, filled with joy.
We embraced and walked to my place. He spent the night, and
we made sweet love. Everything was happening quickly, but with Noah leaving on
Monday, I knew life was too short to hesitate.
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.
Monday, December 16, 2024
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.
Monday, December 9, 2024
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.
Monday, December 2, 2024
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.
Thursday, November 14, 2024
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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.
Monday, November 11, 2024
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.
Thursday, October 3, 2024
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
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)