Thy Sister's Blood

Friends on a haunted creek uncover ancient relations 

Stella Reeves wiped sleep from her eyes and sat up in bed. She frowned at the glowing numbers on her bedside alarm clock: 4:33. Working the mid-shift at the plant, she wasn’t accustomed to early morning wakeups. Was the neighbor’s cat in heat again? Or was it the sounds of her century old home settling that roused her from her deep dream? A sweet dream it was too…one she was sure to tell her girlfriends about on their trip.

The trip! She did a double-take at the clock and threw off her covers. Her feet hit the cold wooden floors as the phone rang.

“Hello.”

“Stella, we’re outside waiting for you. We’ve been ringing the doorbell for five minutes. Did you oversleep again?”

“I’m sorry, Josie. My stupid alarm didn’t go off again. Give me five minutes. I’m already packed…just need to dress and I’ll be down.”

“Hurry up, girl,” she snapped. “The river waits for no woman.”

The line clicked dead in her hand and Stella dressed hurriedly. She slipped into her new baby blue swimsuit first. Worn jean shorts and a T-shirt advertising her side hustle followed. It read “Stella’s Gems and Crystals” with her website emblazoned beneath a purple amethyst. A pair of red, white, and blue water shoes completed her outfit.

She ran a brush through her long hair (a shade often disparaged as dishwater blonde), grabbed her packed river bag, and hustled downstairs.

Thin, raven-haired Josie hopped out of the dark blue SUV’s front passenger door and stared down her nose at Stella. She stepped to the back of the vehicle and threw open the back hatch.

“It’s about time, Stella. Throw your stuff in back.”

Stella tossed in her gear, bit her lip, and climbed into the back seat. Don’t let on she’s getting to you, Stella, she thought.

Rowan, a red-haired woman in her mid-twenties turned in the driver’s seat and flashed her bright smile. Stella figured it was that smile that held all the guys in thrall, not her glorious auburn hair as she’d once thought. As lovely as Rowan was, her smile was her best feature, appropriate for someone making their living as a dentist. Everyone gravitated to Rowan, despite her keeping everyone, even Stella, at arm’s length.

“Hey, Rowan. Thanks for driving. I’ve been looking forward to this week since this time last year.”

“Yeah, we could tell by how you were waiting for us as planned.” Josie said.

“Chill, Josie,” Rowan said. “We’ll be down county in time to see the sunrise over the water. We won’t be dipping our paddles before daylight anyway—when the kayak rental place opens.”

“Tell us about the place we’re going, Rowan.”

“I think you’ll like it, Stella. It’s a little different than the places we’ve gone to in past years.”

“Different how?”

“Well for one thing, it’s the coastal plain, not the mountains. The river is slower, and there’s fewer river ‘challenges’ as Josie calls them. It will be a nice relaxing float. Plus, we should be able to catch a few fish, crabs and maybe an oyster or two to supplement that tasteless dehydrated stuff.” 

“Yuck, no slimy oysters for me thank you very much.” Josie said. “I wipe enough slime out of my kindergartners’ noses.”

“The joys of being a teacher, huh Josie?”

“Yeah, not so much…”

“Rowan, didn’t you say that is where your family’s from originally?” Stella asked.  

“Sure is, but not that I recall. Not really. We moved away before I started school, but we went back sometimes—when we still had family there.”

“Did your dad take you after your mom…” Stella started.

“Yes, he wanted us to know both sides of our family. There aren’t many Blackstones left in the area nowadays, but people remember the family name even if it’s not for the best of reasons.”

“Why is that? Were you a pre-school hoodlum?”

“No, not me, Josie, it was way before my time. There was a colonial ancestor who got herself into a spot of trouble down county.”

“What? Wait. I haven’t heard of this one. Give it up, Rowan.”

“Nope. Sorry, Josie, but that’ll be tonight’s campfire story…unless you guys are chicken? I know you’re not, Stella. Those tales never affect you. Without empirical evidence, you don’t believe in anything.”

“Wow, is this pick on Stella day? Hey, I’m just realistic, Rowan, but I do get a kick out of a good scary story.”

“That usually ends with you in a fit of giggles.”

“Well, I like them,” Josie said. “Spooky stories around the campfire are a tradition, and if memory serves, it’s you who hides in your sleeping bag during the scary ones, Rowan. Remember the guy with the hook for a hand…”

“One time…just one time and I’m branded for life.”

Read the full story in the book: 

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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.

Book Sunday November 24

 The Last Vestal Virgin

The Inspiration:

I was inspired to write Beloved Sacrifice which is based on a real-life curse that was imposed on my ancestors long ago in the village of Pacentro, Itlay. I listened to this story time and time again by my grandmother. Yes, it is based on the curse, but the rest of the story is fictional.

Back in July of 2013, my husband took me to Pacentro, and I had three strange events that occurred during my visit that let me know my ancestors were listening.

The most profound encounter was at the shrine of our lady where I took off my shoes and walked in the small pond beneath. I felt the energy that was there as small shocks ran through my feet up to me knees. It was a connection I will never forget.  The shrine is mentioned in the story as well.

The Book:

In a small Italian village, an ancient curse stirs to life.
When a fearless mama from the D’Amici family learns that a dark spell cast by a vengeful gypsy cult over a century ago still shadows her loved ones, she vows to break it — whatever the cost. With storms gathering and time running out, she'll need all her courage, cunning, and fiery spirit. Because when you mess with an Italian mama, you’re in for a reckoning like no other.

Will she break the curse before it's too late?

Enjoy this Supernatural Tale that is great for Young Adult readers through adult as it blends history with mystery. Many facts of Rome’s cult of the Vestal Virgins are mentioned throughout the book.

Enjoy an excerpt:

Julianna visits her mother at the nursing home, where she finds out about the curse:

Julianna stood in shock. She knew her family had its share of illness and woes but just attributed it to natural causes.

“I am shocked mother! You... the Strega? Why did you keep this secret for so long?”

“Some things are left to be told when the time is right. They are governed by the laws of synchronicity, my dear. All things have a place and a time.”

Juliana turned to face her mother. She was beginning to sound like some enlightened being.

“As you know, the raging fever left me with tremors most of my life. Your sister, Maribelle, has a severe heart condition and Bella was born blind in one eye. And we have Lorena, not being able to conceive. And you, Julianna, have had crippling migraines since you were a teenager.”

“But Faith...she has no ailments...none that we know of,” Julianna speculated.

“They can surface at any stage of her life.” “What about Trulia, Armando’s daughter?”

 “That is the thorn in our side, Julianna. Her mother was Mia Constantino, and her mother was Gema, the sister of Bibianna. Mia having Trulia at the age of fifty is another oddity. The bloodline was only cursed from the women that I bore and their offspring. Armando was saved.”

“Sweet Jesus, Mother! What was wrong with Armando?”

“When Mia married Armando, Bibianna had already been dead. However, Gema, being an enchantress, had placed a spell on their marriage. Armando never knew Mia was related to Bibianna. Gema, being very beautiful and cunning, lured a handsome Sicilian gypsy to make love to her several times until she became pregnant. That’s how she had Mia. She wanted to produce offspring to keep her special Romani cult alive while mixing the blood of the D’Amici heritage. Hence, we have Trulia, your niece. The curse was to be altered so the seventh child would be also under the enchantment.

“When Strega Carlita passed, I had taken over for her and learned how your great-grandmother Selena saved my life. I had wanted to save others also. I was only ten years old when I learned the craft. Lest you forget, Julianna, the curse that was placed so long ago by Bibianna would stick until a seventh daughter would be born into our family.”

“I remember you told me of how that dagger was used in a ceremony to save your life. My grandmother must have been so strong.”

 “She was one of the strongest women I know. Many women in the village were jealous of her beauty and were worried that they would lose their husbands to her. How ridiculous this was! My mother was much in love with my father. She had few friends in Pacentro because of this.”

Julianna locked eyes with Donatella. “So, if Faith is with child, there is a chance it may be a boy.”

“Take a look back, Julianna; the only boys that had been born to my side of the family were Lucca from great-great-grandmother Rosa Domenica, and he passed when he was ten years old. And then my brother Armando.”

“But if Faith has a girl the curse will end,” Julianna reminded.

Donatella hung her head and Julianna was feeling more shocking news was about to reveal itself. “Okay, so then I am assuming Trulia is safe, being Mia was her mother.”

“Yes, she has the Romani protection rite from her mother.”

“How long have you known all of this?”

“I only came to find out years ago when I was doing work on our family tree. It must have been about ten years ago. Being there were lots of Constantinos in Pacentro, I thought nothing of it until... I dug a little deeper.”

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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.

Past Life Regression

Reincarnation 

What Science Says:

The concept of reincarnation suggests that after death, a person may be born again in a new body. This idea has been present in various religious traditions for at least 3,000 years and has roots in even older cultures, including Shamanism, Druidism, Native American tribes, and Norse mythology.

Many people hold a spiritual belief that each undergoes a series of lifetimes to achieve personal and spiritual growth. Reincarnation is often associated with the concept of Karma, a Sanskrit term that reflects the principle of cause and effect.

It is said that a significant portion of the population believes in reincarnation and, by extension, may be open to exploring past life regression. Dr. Ian Stevenson conducted one of the most well-known studies on past life experiences, examining approximately 3,000 cases over forty years where children claimed to remember their past lives. Stevenson published numerous papers and 14 books on the topic, concluding that memories, emotions, and even physical characteristics like birthmarks could be carried from one life to another.

PLRT may not be suitable for everyone. Some people struggle to visualize in their mind’s eye, so PLRT may be less effective for them without a few hypnotherapy sessions first.

People who benefit most are often those who are open-minded or believe in the concept of past lives, or at least the possibility of them.

YouTube Channel That Caused Quite a Stir!

The title, “Seven-Year-Old Writes Gone With the Wind”, did attract many viewers, including myself. It was indeed most interesting. As a teacher, I had come across a few students who had me thinking that they were indeed old souls after having several conversations with them. My comment on the channel did raise some brows on my credibility as a teacher. We all have our own beliefs, and we need to honor them.

My Experience with PLR:

A trip to Pompeii in 2014 reaffirmed my suspicions when I received a severe shocking sensation in my right arm after touching a pedestal in one of the remains of the Vestal houses. We were on a guided tour, and the guide was a student studying ancient Roman history. She had witnessed my account and told me I had possibly made a connection with one of the Vestals.

That shocking feeling lasted a few hours and I was deeply concerned I would need medical attention but luckily it had faded.

When returning home to Grand Cayman, where we were living at the time I had found a therapist who did not advertise regression therapy as her service, being the island was most conservative, however, a friend had recommended her knowing I had a great interest in this. I’ve always felt drawn toward anything Ancient Roman, especially artifacts or news on new archeological findings. And now I was even more interested after my experience in Pompeii.

The Past Life Regression Session:

I entered the small office space of the therapist. It was dimly lit but I was able to see her framed degrees and a few accolades on the wall behind her desk.  I took a seat across from the middle-aged woman who was wearing thick black-framed glasses. After she had informed me of what the session would entail, I was told to lie down on a chaise that looked comfortable, which it was. I was beginning to feel a bit of anxiety, which she said was perfectly normal. Her voice was calming, so that did help quite a bit.

She began with subtle directions for breathing deep from my belly. Her voice was soft, and then she had me envision walking in a field of wildflowers with a scent of lilacs. I had no problem going there.  I could smell the pungent aroma and could feel a silky sensation as tall grass brushed against my legs. You see, it’s easy for empaths and sensitives to react. She told me to close my eyes and keep them closed as she was counting backward from ten.

Things got a bit more interesting with her questions:

When she got to one, she wanted me to breathe deeply again and then look at my feet as she asked me what I was wearing. I had on some type of strappy sandal that had ties that went up my calf. The soles of the sandals were flat and a bit flimsy.

“Now look at the ground around you. What do you see?”

I saw cobblestones that seemed to lead to a long path that resembled an old road.

“What are you wearing?”

I used my hands to run up and down my body and saw some type of beige tunic that resembled something one would have worn in ancient Roman times. It was gathered at my shoulder with a clasp that felt heavy. My arm was weighted down with something even heavier; I looked down to see I was carrying some sort of clay jug. It was empty.

The therapist was quiet for a bit. I assumed she was listening and trying to decipher all of this.

“Can you tell me if you hear anything— voices, sounds of some sort?”

I took a deep breath and I saw myself actually on that cobblestone path and heard voices calling out from behind me. I couldn’t make out the words but they were almost shouting.

This disturbed me as I turned around to see if I could tell where they were coming from when the ground beneath me shook, I dropped that red clay jug, and it shattered to the ground.

My pulse began to race, and I felt as if I were going to have an anxiety attack right there. My chest felt heavy with each rise and fall.

The therapist had instructed me to repeat deep breathing as she would count back from ten. On one, I would return to my present state.

Conclusions:

Upon opening my eyes, I saw the therapist sitting to my right with a pad and pen in hand. She instructed me to lie there as she wanted me to recount all of the details again. Then she read her notes from the tablet.

I was amazed at what she had told me because it was exactly what I’d encountered.

She asked me where I believed I was. I took another deep breath and the words just came out like velvet, I didn’t have to think twice. “I believe I was back in ancient Pompeii and possibly the day of the eruption.”

With a nod of her head, she agreed and told me I was probably correct. I had told her about my account in Pompeii, and she nodded again. She took my hand and helped me rise from the chaise making sure I wasn’t dizzy.

Once standing she asked me if I would want another session in the near future.

I told her I wanted to wait. I had to digest all of this. Everything was finally coming together.

One woman's experience

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.

Our Guest Author Today is C.R. King

Tombstone 

Tombstone is a very popular place for those of us who enjoy history, especially facts about Wyatt Earp and his brothers Virgil and Morgan; Add Doc Holiday for he was very close to the Earps.

We dwell on the most famous gunfight in the old West, the Gun Fight at the OK Corral. The above names fought part of the Cowboy faction and won. The word ‘Cowboy’ was used as an insult. History is covered up by those who want to hide things for many reasons, and it goes down as factual; that is, whatever was used to hide.  As a Historian, I want and work hard to uncover the truth as all 6 of my books do just that. The gunfight was not at the OK Corral but behind it.  From the Epitaph Newspaper published on April 27, 1881: 

“A reporter obtained some startling facts about the opium dens of Tombstone from a police officer about opium dens of Tombstone and their habitues. One den was on Allen above Sixth Street. The balance was [of dens] were on Third near Allen. All told, there were five or six of them, all kept by Chinamen and well patronized by American men and women. The women patrons are courtesans [ sic courtesans], who no doubt indulge in this dissipation to benumb their faculties and obliterate the memories of innocent, happy days that are past beyond recall. Statistics show an alarming increase in the opium habit throughout the country. The city authorities should look into this matter immediately.”

The Tucson Star of August 4, 1881, said at the end of an article: “There is no dodging the question. These opium dens are being carried on in open defiance to the law.” The article asked for the mayor to see that the city marshal take steps to have them wiped out.”

Butte, Montana had five dens when Morgan Earp was wearing the policeman’s badge. They had 3 dens. When Morgan resigned to join his brother in Tombstone but just before he handed in his badge, he discovered two hidden dens. Wherever there was a Chinese population, there were opium dens, over 50% were white men and female prostitutes.

Of my books, all 6 of them are well researched, and I have at least one item in each book that no one knew of until I published. I have three volumes of A Fraternity of Gunslingers: True Stories of Wild West Gunmen. Volume 3 has 22 stories. I will be ordering 20 paperbacks on this volume. I have more stories in my other books.  

C.R. King

C. R. 'Randy' Has worked in the Broadcast industry most of his adult life. A father of two beautiful daughters, now grown and a avid student of American History. He spent most of his life working, raising a family, involved in community affairs putting his one passion aside until a few years back. King has had in several articles published in historical journals and magazines but has had a desire to share his knowledge with the general public in a format that is a pleasing and easy to read without all of the end notes that his articles normally have but to include as much factual data without the mundane.

The Prodigal Daughter

A snippet from the story 

For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found. And they began to be merry.

Luke 15:24 KJV

February 12, 2081, Denver, Colorado, USA

Cassie lies on her bed waiting for her ‘showcase’ to start. She’s wearing her ‘display’ outfit, black spiked heels, thigh-high black lace stockings, black lace garter belt, black lace quarter cup bra, and black choker with a white cameo. While she waits for the get ready signal she has on her beat-up blue flannel shirt. It’s unbuttoned and hangs loosely about her petite body. Cassie’s long blonde hair cascades over her shoulders, spilling onto the bed.

She looks at the wall the camera is built into, the lens reflects the light from the room’s only lamp. Above it hangs her general discharge from the U.S. Army, an army that no longer exists. She reads the name emblazoned on the certificate, 3^rd Lieutenant Cassandra Lynn Anderson. Though it is nearly eight years ago that she was ‘bounced’ from the J.A.C.K.S. program to her it feels like a thousand.

She thinks back on those three days. The intimate horror of being mentally connected to a W.I.D.G.E.T.S. as it died haunts her every night. Colonel Gray was right, she didn’t belong there. At least his success during that campaign carried enough weight that they accepted the Colonel’s recommendation that she be assigned to a comfort unit instead of a labor battalion. Still, she wonders, Am I better off being used by these perverted men every night than being worked to death as a common laborer?

Cassie looks at the framed certificate next to her discharge, her Courtesan Diploma. She spent six months in courtesan training, at the top of the class in all subjects, but she excelled at all the activities requiring empathy. Erotic massage, intimate conversation, serving the client's needs, listening to their inner desires. Most importantly, she excelled at knowing when to be physical with a client, and when to just be there with him, or her.

When she completed her training, she was sent to this house, Isabella de Luna, of Denver.

For years the girls there entertained men in a somewhat dignified manner. They would meet the men, get to know them, and then take care of their desires. Though she still felt dirty when the night’s work ended at least there was a sense of propriety.

When the war with China ended that all changed.

Everyone was certain it would be a short war, but they always are. The sides were clearly divided, the USA, the UK, and UES against the Russian Consortium and China. After seven months they started talking about calling up all prior service, including candidates that were bounced out of programs like J.A.C.K.S. In month eight China pulled the rug out from under everyone. It seems that China’s Artificial Intelligence knocked out the AIs of the USA, the UK, the UES and the Russian Consortium. China stabbed the Russians in the back, seizing all of Siberia east of Lake Baikal. All those countries were defeated, leaving China the big winner.

The Chinese overran South Korea, Japan, The Philippines, Indonesia, New Guinea and Australia. They annexed Hawaii and California. And their secret ally, Canada, annexed Alaska, Maine, New Hampshire and Vermont.

They established an occupation government in each of the defeated countries. All former US military were taken into custody and interred in ‘reeducation’ camps.

Cassie found herself in one of those camps.

For the first two weeks, all the detainees were subjected to constant interrogation, sleep deprivation, and political indoctrination. During the second week, several prisoners cracked. Though the inmates were never allowed to be together in groups, they did pass each other when they were moved from room to room. It was then that Cassie encountered some of the broken.

Their eyes were filled with terror, some had tics, others were pale like all their blood had been drained from them. A few shook uncontrollably.

To her surprise, Cassie never felt that she was at the end of her rope. It was not that she wasn’t afraid, it was not that she wasn’t exhausted, it was not that she wasn’t in pain. She just knew she would be alright.

At the beginning of the third week, she caught the camp commander’s eye.

On Wednesday she got a decent dinner and they let her sleep that night. On Thursday she was allowed to shower, was fed a decent dinner, and allowed to sleep. On Friday She did not attend any ‘reeducation’ programs, instead, they left her in her cell. At noon she was served a light lunch. When she was finished the guards ordered her to shower. They watched her shower, to be sure she didn’t escape. After her shower, the guards gave her one of her courtesan dresses and told her to put it on. The guards watched her dress too.

Once she was in her dress the guards brought in the makeup manager from the house Isabella de Luna. He did her hair, applied some blush and eyeshadow, then some lipstick. When he had finished the guards took her to the commandant’s office.

At first, the camp commander was courteous to her. He offered her wine, which she accepted, then offered her hors-d’oeuvres, which she declined. She fell back on her courtesan training and experience to manage the encounter, and it seemed like it was working, but that didn’t last.

Suddenly he dragged Cassie off of the couch by her hair. The commandant ripped her dress, slapping her in the process. He tossed her back onto the couch, yanking her torn gown off leaving her naked. When he grabbed Cassie, she phased out. To her, it seemed like she was leaving her body to someplace outside of reality.

When she returned to reality Cassie was back in her cell, she was naked, lying under her blanket. Cassie tried to recall what happened the night before. She had the impression in her mind that she had had sex, that she had been raped, but her body didn’t feel like it. From all that she had read, her courtesan training, and from talking to the other girls that had played out their client's rape fantasies she should have been hurting and feeling humiliated. But she felt nothing, her whole body was contradicting what her mind was telling her.

Cassie dressed in her camp overalls and waited to be taken to indoctrination. The guards came, but they didn’t take her to ‘class’, instead they brought her breakfast. Later when they brought her lunch she overheard them saying the camp commander had hung himself the night before. They also discussed that they’ve been ordered not to harm her in any way. All of this made Cassie very confused.

In the middle of week four Cassie was processed out of the camp, even though they hadn’t broken her. Her records were updated indicating that she was loyal to the Chinese Communist Party, and she was transferred back to house Isabella de Luna, of Denver.

When she returned to the house Cassie was shocked to find it was under new ‘management’. It no longer followed the courtesan rules. There was no getting to know the client, no elegance, no propriety. Instead, the staff, whether male, female, or teen, were required to put on a lewd display for the potential clients. At the end of the performance, the potential clients would bid to possess that staff member for one hour. When that hour was up the staff member was required to shower and get prepared to ‘perform’ again.

Cassie was forced to learn a routine. She spent a week getting it down right. Tonight is her first time on the auction block.

While Cassie was adapting to the new ‘management’ she started to notice things she hadn’t before. There were several small things but the most important was she wasn’t aging.

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.

Book Sunday November 17

The Mystery at Love's Manor

Cozy Mystery

Emma Love never thought she'd return to her hometown after years away from her estranged family. But when her sister-in-law is kidnapped, Emma puts her life on hold to help an old flame, Deputy Sam Mattingley, solve the case and bring Gwen home. With a degree in Criminal Justice and part-time experience working at a detective agency, Emma's skills are tested.

As the layers of secrecy are peeled back, Emma realizes the mystery shrouding Love's Manor and her brother's marriage is more intricate than anyone could have fathomed. Can she navigate the convoluted trail of clues and locate Gwen before it's too late? And what of her long-suppressed feelings for Sam Mattingley…are they merely a product of nostalgia…or something more?

Pre-order the book on AMAZON

Chapter One

A feeling of dread squeezed my soul in its dark grip. I bolted upright in bed and searched the darkness for the source of my discomfort. Was it a sound, real or imagined? A consequence of my first week’s stay in a new home? I was chilled to the bone, and goosebumps rose on my flesh. Too many of my premonitions proved well founded to ignore…something was wrong. My thoughts went to my estranged family. Nana, in the sunset of life, was in a battle with the demon possessing her—Dementia. Her curse weighed heavily on my brother, Daniel, his wife, and their relationship. If something was as wrong as my churning gut indicated, was it Nana?

No, if Nana, Gwen would have called to let me know. Wiping the crud from the corners of my eyes, I crawled out of bed. Last night’s mystery novel fell from its hiding place between my flannel sheets. The day’s traumas and the two-hour drive to gather the last of my possessions from my old digs had overwhelmed my curiosity about the fictional “who-done-it.” My brother used to mock my choice of literature. I considered it professional reading.

I glanced out of my bedroom window. Raindrops slithered down the glass, and the filtered dawn cast its shadowed light. I wished the window faced east for the sunrise, like my childhood bedroom in the old house.

Nana is staying there now. It was the closest one to Daniel and Gwen’s bedroom. I hoped Nana would find more peace there than I had.

Sliding my feet into cheap imitation fur-lined slippers, I set the book on my nightstand and made my way to the kitchen, and the coffee pot. The old-fashioned percolator began its flirtatious dance, and the scent of the fresh ground coffee teased my nostrils.

I glanced around the room, noticing all the work that needed to be done. The condition of the place made it affordable for me. The paint was chipping from the walls, and the kitchen cabinets were stained with decades of accumulated grease. The sink’s constant drip kept time with the ticking of the kitchen clock, a throwback black cat with rolling eyes and a swishing tail. But it was home, and it was mine. Well, mine and Old Joseph’s—the name I gave to the source of falling objects and bumps in the night. What I only somewhat jokingly referred to as my resident ghost. I wasn’t sure I believed in ghosts, but I firmly believed in my vivid imagination.

The phone rang as I poured my first cup of the day, and my teeth clenched. I hated the sound, the nerve-rattling jangle, and the irrational call to immediate action it demanded. I wished the telemarketers would at least allow me to enjoy my morning coffee. Who else would call so early?

At the second ring, I felt an ice-cold trickle creep up my spine, like when Sammy Mattingley threw ice cubes down the back of my blouse. My hand trembled, hesitating to answer when I recognized the number. It was my brother, Daniel.

At the third ring, I wished he hadn’t discovered I was home. Last month, Gwen spotted me leaving the crappy hotel I used as my temporary local residence while I house-shopped. This phone call meant the cat was out of the bag. I felt disloyal anyway, not letting

Gwen in on my secret return, but Daniel? My ten years away hadn’t healed all the old wounds. Creating a new life and forging my independence provided a much-needed salve to my soul. Still, I wished he didn’t know.

By the fourth ring, I’d convinced myself his call was to bitch at me—feigning hurt for not telling him I was back. My finger brushed against the phone’s “ignore” button…but what if it was about Nana? And he was my brother…the DNA test said so.

I answered before the fifth jingle when the voicemail would kick in. Might as well get it over with—in case it was about Nana…

“Hello?”

“Emma, I need you at the house as soon as you can get here.”

“Daniel? How about ‘Good morning, Emma. Did you pass the test and get your license, Emma? I’m so glad you’re home safe and—’ ”

“Not now, Sis. Please get here as soon as you can. It’s important. I need you.”

“Is something wrong with Nana? Is she—” But the line was already dead. Typical of my brother. His needs came before anyone else’s.

Pouring coffee in a go-cup, I threw on a pair of well-broken-in jeans and a sweatshirt, hopping toward the door as I pulled on my soft rubber clogs—as fancy as I get to go to the family farm. They needed me, and from Daniel’s perspective at least, they needed me now. He must figure even the black sheep of the family is handy in bad times. I brushed my hair with one hand and backed my old soft-top Bronco down the driveway with the other.

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.

I'm Okay!

Choose your words wisely when texting a friend 

My dear friend, Eva, sent me an urgent text just as I drifted into sleep. My heart jolted in my chest as I picked up my phone and read her message: I’m in the ER. Call me.

She's alive. She must be hurt badly. Thoughts ran through my mind as I jumped out of bed and rushed to the door. With trembling fingers and a racing mind, I fumbled with my phone to find her number. But in my haste, it slipped from my grasp and bounced down the stairs with a clatter.

“Darn it!” I cursed, watching the phone tumble and slide across the steps before landing with a loud crash on the hardwood floor of the living room.

Frustrated and slightly panicked, I hurried down the stairs to retrieve my device. “Of all times for this to happen,” I grumbled under my breath. “Now I have to waste even more time by using the landline to call her.”

As I reached the bottom step and picked up my phone. "Are you okay, buddy?" I mumbled when the ping sound signaled a new text message: I’m okay!

A thought raced through my mind like a bolt of lightning. My phone just texted me!

I stood frozen in utter confusion staring at my phone when a long text arrived: Don't you break your neck rushing to the ER! I tripped over Sparky in the kitchen and broke my arm. I don’t have a ride home. Steve is in LA. Can you pick me up in about an hour?

“It was Eva!” I mumbled. “Both times! I’m not losing my mind.” I couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the absurdity of the situation.

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.

Snow Angels

 Winter fun

The drive home was slow, but Bruce didn't mind. The softly falling snow painted the world in a dreamy haze, covering every tiny branch on the trees and muffling the usual sounds of traffic. He rolled down his window, allowing the crisp winter air to fill his car, and breathed in deeply, savoring the quiet beauty around him.

"So beautiful," he murmured under his breath, mesmerized by the tranquility and serenity of the snow-covered landscape. The trees stood tall and proud, adorned in shimmering white with delicate icicles hanging from their branches. The bushes were transformed into round, fluffy shapes, looking like they were wearing cozy winter coats.

As he pulled into his driveway and got out of his car, a chorus of silver bell laughter greeted him. His daughter, Sammy, ran to give him a hug followed by a group of her first-grader friends. They all looked like little snowmen with their hats and mittens and rosy cheeks.

"Looks like your play date is going well," Bruce chuckled as he hugged Sammy tightly and took in the heartwarming sight of the bundled-up children playing in the snow. It was moments like this that made braving through the cold winter worth it.

"Yes, daddy, we're having so much fun!" little Sammy shouted; her voice filled with pure joy. Her mittens were covered in snow as she excitedly showed off the snowman they had built together.

Bruse smiled as he watched his daughter play. The winter sun cast a warm glow on the children's rosy cheeks and their laughter echoed through the snowy backyard.

As he looked up, he saw his wife Sarah walking toward him with a content smile on her face. He pulled her into a hug, feeling grateful for this moment of blissful family time.

But then he noticed Muffin, their beloved St. Bernard, sitting behind the sliding door longingly staring through the glass. "Aww...why didn't you let that poor dog come outside to play? Look at that sad face!" he pointed out to his wife.

Sarah sighed and explained, "I wanted to, but one of Sammy's little friends started crying as soon as she saw Muffin. She got scared by her size, so I had to leave her inside. Don't worry, we'll play with her after the parents pick up the kids. They should be here in about half an hour."

Bruce nodded understandingly but couldn't help feeling a twinge of sadness for their gentle giant who just wanted to join in on the fun with her family.

With a glance at the forlorn dog, Bruce joined the children in their winter wonderland. Giggles and shouts filled the crisp air as they rolled snow into balls, stacking them on top of each other to create a makeshift snowman with a carrot nose and flowerpot hat.

As the sun began to set, Sarah noticed how red-cheeked and tired the children had become. She dropped down onto the soft, powdery snow and spread her arms, creating a perfect snow angel. The children eagerly followed suit, flattening out the snow until there were a dozen snow angels scattered across the backyard.

Just as they were finishing up, cars started pulling into the driveway, signaling the end of their snowy playtime. Amidst excited shouts of thanks and goodbyes, the yard fell silent.

Sammy ran up to the door and let Muffin out, who wasted no time bounding over to Bruce and Sarah. The dog showered them with slobbery kisses before joining Sammy in rolling around in the remaining patches of untouched snow. They played chase and tug-of-war with Muffin's beloved blue toy bear until all three of them were panting and out of breath from laughter.

The cold air nipped at their faces as Sarah shouted for Sammy to come inside and have some hot cocoa. The trio made their way toward the warm, welcoming door, but when Sarah turned around to see if Muffin was following, the dog hesitated and headed off in a different direction.

"Let her stay a little longer. Maybe she needs to do her business," Bruce suggested, a slight smile on his lips. "She'll let us know when she's ready to come in."

After they changed into dry clothes and huddled by the fireplace, Bruce ventured to the sliding door with a steaming cup of cocoa in hand. As he peered outside, his eyes widened in amazement. "Sarah, Sammy!" he called out, trying not to startle them. "Come quickly!"

Panicked, Sarah rushed to the door and asked, "What's wrong?"

"Look!" Bruce whispered, pointing at Muffin who Buster from down the street with a nose rub. "Her friend came to play."

They watched as the best friends chased each other in the snow, and then Muffin plopped down onto her side and began moving her legs up and down, creating a snow angel. Buster sat beside her, watching intently before bursting into his own flurry of snow-kicking fun.

"Aww...they look so happy," Sarah gushed, her heart warming at the sight. 

Sammy smiled in delight. "Muffin is teaching Buster how to make snow angels!" 

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.

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.