Book Sunday

 Today's recommendation is a science fiction-space opera

Read a chapter

Rapier

by R.A. "Doc" Correa

Prologue

“Shit, I’m going to be late!”

     Kathy hops out of the bathroom of her tiny flat, pulling up her pantyhose. She looks at them as she does. “Damn, I’ve got a run in them,” she growls at the streak on her right thigh. Maybe no one will notice. You’d think that with all this new technology, being able to travel among the stars, that someone could invent pantyhose that don’t run. She frowns at the thought. Kathy adjusts her skirt so the patch she sewed will be covered by her coat.

     Kathy looks in the mirror. Her dark-brown hair has a graying streak by her right temple, but her deep brown eyes are still bright and full of life despite everything. Everything—space battles, raids, sword fights—and all this time trying to raise a young girl among battle-hardened raiders. It’s amazing that all my hair isn’t gray.

     Her white blouse is fraying in places, so to keep it covered, Kathy puts on the leather bustier he gave her. It still fits like the first time she wore it. Her figure hasn’t changed much at all, even after having a baby.

     For a moment she thinks of him, a tear forms in her eye. Kathy rubs his wedding ring, which she wears on her ring finger. “No time for this!” she admonishes herself. Still, she can’t help seeing the dark-brown eyes, salt-and-pepper mustache, graying hair, and devilish smile—a smile Kathy sees every night in her dreams.

     Kathy looks around her flat. It’s small and sparsely furnished, barely enough room for the three of them, and she can’t even afford this. Still, it’s better than the cells the Americans kept her and the others in. The bastards, how dare they. There was a deal, a deal that has given them the edge in the current war, and they didn’t even try to keep their end of it.

     Since her “rescue” (that’s how the Americans touted it in the media when they released her, Cindy, and little James—the Americans rescued them from pirates), she’s been trying to get by. The brothers gifted her almost all their loot. It was washed very clean by it being passed through numerous corporations, off-planet banks, and other entities. But the Earth government, particularly the Americans, has kept it from being released to her, claiming it was the ill-gotten gain from piracy. Piracy, that’s almost funny; it didn’t seem like piracy at the time. Somehow it seemed like justice. Justice for those that were abandoned, justice for those who were senselessly slaughtered, justice for those enslaved.

     The truth is, the Americans don’t want it known what happened to the people they wouldn’t fight for, and the Chinese definitely don’t want the truth of what they’ve done to come out. They know more colonies will join the war against them.

     Oscar looks lazily at her from the table.

     “If you don’t have anything helpful to say, don’t say anything,” she says to the cat. He just rolls over, keeping his eyes on her and answers, Meow.

     “Thanks,” she replies mockingly. Oscar responds with his usual indifference. Kathy hears the cab honk for her and rushes out the door with her bag and coat. She waves bye to little James and shouts, “Thanks, Mrs. Fuji. I love you, James.”

     “Good luck, Kathy!” Mrs. Fuji shouts in reply. Little James waves and says, “Bye, Mommy.”

     “The Galactic Geographic building,” she tells the driver as she enters the cab. “Yes, ma’am,” the cabby replies as he swiftly cuts into traffic.

     The cab drops Kathy Masters off in front of the Galactic Geographic building. It’s been over eleven years since the last time she was here. It looks the same as it did the first time she saw it. But she is definitely not the same as when she first was here.

     She enters the lobby, walks to the lift, and pushes the call button.

     The last time Kathy was here, it was just her. A twenty-year-old gifted photographer being offered the chance of a lifetime, to photograph the creatures of a newly discovered planet before full colonization begins. Now it’s Kathy, her son James, and Cindy.

     The lift doors open. She enters and punches the button for the thirteenth floor. Her thoughts continue.

     Cindy, her adopted daughter, a very brash and creative sixteen-year-old. The two of them have been together since she was five, but she’s definitely not five now. They’ve been back on Earth for just over two years, and she’s proven to be quite a handful. Five times now, Kathy’s been called to school because she’s been fighting. Not the silly girl fights most high school girls have, no. She’s been kicking the butts of the boys in school, specifically the jocks. She likes fighting wrestlers and football players the most. One time, Kathy entered the principal’s office to find she had beaten and tied up three eighty-kilo linemen.

     And the capers she’s pulled off—a floating gambling ring at school, the fake-diamond scam, and her favorite, the Gibb switch. That one nearly got her arrested by the Feds. Yet whenever Kathy looks at her, she still sees the frightened five-year-old she shared a cell in the brig of the Rapier with—the young girl she raised among a crew of the roughest raiders in human space. Their princess, their daughter, their lovely child that they entrusted to Kathy to teach how to be a woman.

     The lift door opens, and Kathy steps out into the hallway.

     Kathy has tried to work as a photographer since she returned, but no one will hire her. They all look at her with the same expression, but it’s their eyes that tell the truth of what they are thinking. She’s a pirate, a thief, and a cutthroat. They all fear her. Good, she likes it that way. Who needs them anyway?

     But her heart hasn’t been in it. Still with the Feds holding her money, she’s broke. She can’t take care of little James, Cindy, and herself this way. So she’s decided to play her last card. The pics. I sure hope this is the time the gods spoke of, please let it be.

     Kathy walks into the Galactic Geographic offices, walks up to the receptionist, and announces, “Kathy Masters for Mr. Baker.”

     “One moment, Miss Masters,” the receptionist says coldly. Kathy can hear it in her voice, pirate. She can go to hell!

     The pictures, they’re all Kathy has left from those nine years. As difficult as they were, Kathy and Cindy think of them as the best of their lives, and she misses them. She misses all of them—especially him, Commodore Black.

     The receptionist says, “He’s ready for you, Miss Masters.” She points down the hall. It’s there again in her voice, pirate. But she’s not just any pirate—no, indeed. She’s the pirate that caused the war. She survived to tell part of the story—that and what was recovered with her was all it took. And now the colonies of seventeen nations are at war with the Chinese, and it’s been the most bloody of conflicts.

     Kathy knocks on the door. A man opens it. “Come in, Kathy. Please have a seat. How long has it been?”

     “Eleven years,” she replies. “Yes, I remember. I gave you the assignment for Beta 3 Epsilon. That was the beginning of your adventures.”

     “Yes, yes, it was,” Kathy says.

     “Well, what can I do for you?” She looks at him and can tell he plans to blow her off, just like the others. But she hasn’t shown him the pictures yet. Pictures and vids of life as a privateer, a life she never expected, a life unknown here on Earth.

     “I know it’s not your usual fare, Steve, but I have an exclusive for you. One I know your readers will eat up.” “Really, and what would that be?”

     “The exclusive story of my nine years on the Rapier. Logs, journals, and pics, plus vids.”

     “Pics of everyone?” he asks.

     “Yes, everyone.”

     “Even him?”

     “Him who?”

     “You know, him.”

     “Why can’t you people say his name?”

     “I don’t think that’s important.”

     “His name is Black. Commodore James Ulysses Black!” She is nearly shouting. “And he was the most decent man I ever knew!”

     “Yes, of course he was. But he was a pirate, the most infamous pirate captain since the Spanish Main.”

     “He was a husband, a father, and a good, decent man,” she snaps back. Steve Baker says nothing. Silence hangs between him and her for several moments. Then he says, “I really don’t think I can help you.”

     “You haven’t seen the pictures.”

     He looks at her a moment. “Okay, let’s see them.”

     Her holographic display projects a screen between her and Steve. She starts going through the pictures of life on the Rapier. Tears build up in her eyes. Kathy never realized how many pictures had Cindy in them—Cindy in the pilot’s seat of the Rapier with Captain Gibb at her side, Cindy in engineering learning about antimatter reactors, Cindy flying the shuttle under the instruction of Captain Rawls and Commodore Black teaching her the art of the sword.

     “That’s him?” Steve asks.

     “Yes,” she replies sadly.

     “He doesn’t look all that dangerous. Flamboyant to be sure. Stern certainly and yet grandfatherly, but not dangerous.”

     Kathy whispers, “Looks can be deceiving.”

     The next pic is Cindy and Kathy looking out the observation dome, watching the great whales near Pi Delta Epsilon. They look like the great whales of Earth, “swimming” in the gas clouds like it were water. The look of awe was on their faces. Steve stops.

     “You actually saw these?”

     “Yes, yes, we did. As a matter of fact, we swam with them, Steve.”

     “Swam with them?” Steve asks. Kathy brings up the next pic. Cindy sits atop the “whale” as Commodore Black swims beside them. “Yes, Steve, we swam with them.”

     Then the elusive “Dire Wolves” of Pi Beta 2. Cindy, in this pic a precocious twelve, sits atop one of the great predators with Commodore Black and Captain Gibb standing beside them.

     Steve whistles, “Your daughter really rode one of these?”

     “Yes,” she replies. “Actually, we all did.” Kathy brings up the next pic. Cindy, Captain Gibb, and Commodore Black race across the plain on the backs of wolves with the whole pack running around them.

     “People don’t believe they exist.”

     “They do.”

     “We’ll have to verify these aren’t manipulated.”

     “Of course,” she says.

     Then the next pic. “What are those?” he says truly surprised.

     “Those are gods,” she says to him.

     “Gods?” he asks.

     “Yes, the gods of the aquatic natives of Safe Port.”

     “We’ve been on Safe Port for eighty years now. No one has seen anything like this.”

     Kathy looks at the picture—she, Cindy, and Captain Gibb are in their deep suits, floating before the massive god of the nanchiks, the squidheads of Safe Port. The next pic shows the god sitting on its dais, with Cindy, Captain Gibb, and Commodore Black standing before it. The one after that shows the city of the gods as they approach it. She softly says, “No one has dived in the right place or deep enough to see them.”

     He thinks hard.

     “There’s more, you know,” Kathy tells him.

     “Okay, okay. I’ll pay you two hundred thousand plus half a percent of net sales, but that’s for the whole story.”

     “Of course,” she replies.

     Steve turns on his transcription bot then asks, “So how did it begin?”

     “Begin?” she mumbles. Kathy looks at him and says, “It began right here. It began when you offered me the job, gave me the tickets, and drove me to the shuttle port.”

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.

Oyster Wars

 History with a tasty oyster chowder recipe

Having written the blog post about Southern Maryland’s favorite seafood, the blue crab, I thought it appropriate to add another about our beloved bivalve, the oyster! I often wonder who the first brave soul was who shucked an oyster and thought, “That sure looks tasty.” Whoever they were, foodies everywhere owe them a debt of gratitude!

 Many folks are aware of the oyster's supposed aphrodisiac properties. Most know of its culinary delights, whether in an oyster stew, fried, scalded, or through fancy Oyster Rockefeller; the tasty morsels never fail to surprise the uninitiated.

Few know the entire political history of our humble seafood delicacy or the tragedies that required presidential intercession—the Oyster Wars.  Southern Maryland, and across the Potomac River near Colonial Beach, Virginia, was the epicenter of the Maryland/Virginia “Oyster Wars.” Fighting for limited resources, the combatants included oyster pirates, state authorities, and legal watermen. Most sources give the dates of these hostilities as beginning in 1865 and ending in 1962 when President John F. Kennedy signed the "Potomac Fisheries Bill.” This act established a bi-state commission to oversee the Potomac River. Even before this time, however, violent and competitive friction existed along the Potomac and Chesapeake waterways.

The demand for oyster harvesting exploded after the Civil War, with the Chesapeake Bay and its tributaries accounting for nearly fifty percent of the world's supply. This led to droves of New England fishermen encroaching on the southern waters after their oyster beds were depleted. Clandestine raids on the bay in the dark of night became the new norm. From a harvest high of 15 million bushels in the mid-1880s, the number dropped by a third in five short years.

   The wars manifested in three waves of tragedy bloodying Virginia and Southern Maryland’s waters. The conflict came to a head on April 17th, 1959, when a Maryland police boat fired upon a Virginia poacher’s oyster boat when it attempted to evade them. One of the oyster boat occupants (Berkeley Muse) yelled, “I’m hit,” and slumped over the boat’s culling board. The firing continued, and the boat’s captain, Harvey King, was hit in the leg. Rushing to shore, Muse died before the ambulance arrived. There was tremendous public outcry after the incident. This led to the disarming of the police force and eventually to John F. Kennedy’s Potomac Fisheries Commission. These actions effectively ended the bloody Oyster Wars.

OYSTER CHOWDER

INGREDIENTS

2 medium potatoes (diced)

2 pints Oysters (in their liquid)

2 ½ tablespoons Butter (unsalted)

1 medium onion (diced)

1 cup Heavy Cream

2 cups Milk

½ teaspoon Thyme

Old Bay Seasoning to taste (don’t skimp!)

 

DIRECTIONS

1. Place a sieve over a small bowl and pour the oysters through. Discard solids (grit or shell pieces) and save liquor.

2. Melt the butter in a saucepan over medium heat. Add the onions and potatoes, stirring for 2-3 minutes until they are slightly softened.

3. Turn the heat down to medium-low and add the strained oyster liquor, milk, cream, Old Bay seasoning, thyme, salt, and pepper. Heat slowly until it simmers.  Do not boil, or the milk will curdle.

4. Add the oysters to the broth and simmer for 2-3 minutes until the edges curl. You want the oysters to be tender. Overcooking will make them rubbery.

6. Enjoy!

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.

Meet Author David W. Thompson

 David W. Thompson

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

David is 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.

David is a multiple award-winning author, an Army veteran, and a graduate of UMUC (now UMGC). He claims his first writing efforts were "Dick and Jane" fan fiction when he was a child- no doubt with a unique twist. As a multi-genre writer, he's been awarded membership in the HWA--Horror Writers' Association, the MWA--Mystery Writers of America, and the SFWA -- Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers Association. He lives in picturesque southern Maryland, blessed with nearby family and dear old friends.

After his family and cheesecake, reading was his first love. It was a gateway to the people, cultures, and ideas he would never experience otherwise. Writing was a natural extension of this "out-of-body" experience, as his characters acted as tour guides to their worlds and possibilities. He hopes to honestly convey the stories they've whispered in his ears.

When he isn't writing, Dave enjoys time with his family, kayaking (flat water, please), fishing, hiking, archery, gardening, winemaking, and pursuing his other "creative passion"- woodcarving.

Occasionally twisted...always honest and original!

Happy December Holidays

 Holidays celebrated in December

December, the chilling winter month, is known for its festive parties and celebrations. Some of these events are steeped in solemn tradition, while others focus on lighthearted merriment. Each holiday offers a unique perspective on various cultures, histories, and religions.

Since 1900, the first night of Hanukkah and Christmas fell on December 25 four times.

They Commemorate Different Historical Moments.

Christmas is the celebration of the birth of Jesus. The church in Rome began formally celebrating Christmas on December 25 in 336, during the reign of the emperor Constantine. As Constantine had made Christianity the effective religion of the empire, some have speculated that choosing this date had the political motive of weakening the established pagan celebrations. The date was not widely accepted in the Eastern Empire, where January 6 had been favored, for another half-century, and Christmas did not become a major Christian festival until the 9th century.

Hanukkah became a holiday on the Jewish calendar in 139 BCE, when the miracle of the oil occurred, and the Jews celebrated. The rabbis then proclaimed that these eight days should become an annual holiday1. Hanukkah means “dedication” in Hebrew, and the holiday marks the rededication of the Temple in Jerusalem in the 2nd century BC, after a small group of Jewish fighters liberated it from occupying foreign forces. With the tiny supply of ritually pure oil that they found in the temple, they lit the menorah — and it stayed lit for eight days

Christmas falls every year on December 25 of the solar calendar. 

Hanukkah also falls on the 25th of the month — but of the Hebrew month of Kislev, which is determined by the lunar calendar. As a result, Hanukkah falls on a different date each year on the secular calendar.

They’re Celebrated Differently:

Hanukkah is celebrated by lighting candles, giving gifts and eating fried foods. Going to synagogue is not actually an important part of Hanukkah. There are special blessings incorporated into regular services during the days of Hanukkah, but there is no special Hanukkah service. 

Christmas celebrations include going to Christmas Mass, enjoying a hearty dinner, and opening presents left under a Christmas tree.

St. Nicholas Day

St. Nicholas Day is a popular holiday celebrated in several European nations during the month of December. It commemorates the life of St. Nicholas of Myra, who inspired the figure of Santa Claus and Father Christmas. Known for his selflessness and kindness towards children and those less fortunate, he gave away all of his wealth to help others. The holiday falls on December 6th, the day he passed away in 343 A.D. Festivities including parades, feasting, exchanging gifts, and participating in festivals are common ways to honor this beloved saint.

Our Lady of Guadalupe

The Virgin of Guadalupe is a title given to the Blessed Virgin Mary in the Catholic faith, and it is associated with a supposed appearance by her and a highly revered image that resides in the Minor Basilica of Our Lady of Guadalupe in Mexico City.

Kwanzaa

Kwanzaa, derived from the Swahili phrase “First Fruits,” is rooted in traditional African harvest celebrations and embodies values such as family ties and togetherness. This meaningful holiday takes place from December 26 to January 1, where countless African Americans don unique attire, adorn their homes with produce, and illuminate a kinara candle holder.

Three Kings Day

The final day of the Twelve Days of Christmas is known as the Epiphany, or Three Kings Day. It marks the day when the three wise men first laid eyes on baby Jesus and presented him with gifts. In Spain, this day is also celebrated as a second Christmas, with children receiving presents from the three kings. In Puerto Rico, it is customary for children to leave a box with hay under their beds in hopes that the kings will bring them good presents. Meanwhile, in France, a delectable King cake is baked and traditionally contains a hidden coin, jewel, or toy inside.

Epiphany holiday

Theophany, also known as Denha, Little Christmas, or Three Kings' Day, is a Christian holiday that commemorates the moment when God revealed himself in human form as Jesus Christ.

Winter Solstice

On December 21, the Winter Solstice marks the shortest day of the year. Across the globe, people come together to commemorate this event with various festivals and celebrations. In ancient times, bonfires and candles were lit as a way to welcome back the sun during this dark time of year.

St. Lucia Day

In celebration of this third-century martyr on December 13th, numerous girls in Sweden don long white dresses adorned with red belts and a crown of lit candles atop their heads. They wake their families up by singing traditional songs and serving them coffee along with twisted saffron buns known as "Lucia cats."

New Year

On the seventh day of Christmastide, which falls on 31 December in the Gregorian calendar, people around the world celebrate New Year's Eve. This is a time for social gatherings where friends and family come together to eat, drink, dance, and watch or set off fireworks to welcome the new year. In Ecuador, it is a tradition to dress up a straw man with old clothes and make a list of all their faults. At midnight, they burn the straw man as a symbolic way to let go of their shortcomings and start fresh in the new year.

Ōmisoka

New Year’s Eve, is considered the second-most important day in Japanese tradition as it is the final day of the old year and the eve of New Year’s Day, the most important day of the year. Families gather on Ōmisoka for one last time in the old year to have a bowl of toshikoshi-soba or toshikoshi-udon, a tradition based on eating the long noodles to cross over from one year to the next.

Chinese New Year

Children dress in new clothes to celebrate and people carry lanterns and join in a huge parade led by a silk dragon, the Chinese symbol of strength. According to legend, the dragon hibernates most of the year, so people throw firecrackers to keep the dragon awake.

Eid Al-Fitr and Eid Al-Adha.

Eid Al-Fitr is celebrated at the end of Ramadan (a month of fasting during daylight hours), and Muslims usually give zakat (charity) on the occasion which begins after the new moon sighting for the beginning of the month of Shawal.

Happy Holidays!

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.

Book Sunday

Legends of the mountains 

During my many hikes into the Superstition Mountains, I’ve always felt there was some otherworldly presence there as well as my husband had.

It wasn’t until I worked on the Sacaton Reservation for a year that I was fortunate to hear many of the legends that came out of the area from a few of the parents.

There is a reason they are called the Superstition Mountains, with all of the stories that have emerged from this mystical mountain range in Apache Junction, Arizona. Tales include a secret underground government lab, shapeshifters, alien crafts that come out of the ridge, Geronimo appearing and then disappearing into the mountain, and, of course, the famous Jacob Waltz Gold Mine.

Many explorers were said to have mysteriously vanished when they had intentions of finding the gold. 

I bring many of these legends to life in the novel.

Mysteries of the Red Coyote Inn

This award-winning Young Adult Supernatural Tale can be enjoyed by all ages!

ON AMAZON

The Red Coyote Inn may look like a charming desert getaway, but its history tells a different story: ghostly encounters, strange accidents, and whispers of supernatural creatures. Nestled along Arizona’s Apache Trail near the mysterious Superstition Mountains—home to the legendary Lost Dutchman Mine—the inn sits atop an energy vortex said to fuel its eerie activity. The guests are almost as unusual as the inn itself, but none are prepared for what lies beneath its enigmatic facade.

For 15-year-old Dean Banks, inheriting the Red Coyote Inn with his family isn’t just strange—it’s life-changing. Dean discovers he’s the heir to an ancient Apache gift of supernatural power, chosen to guard the mine’s secrets from those who seek its riches. But this gift feels more like a curse as Dean wrestles with newfound abilities, from superhuman strength to mystical defenses, all while grappling with the fear of hurting someone he loves.

Dean talks with Robert, the old miner~ (an excerpt)

As Dean rode into the desert, he noticed his senses were in high gear. He could see, hear, and feel everything with extreme acuteness. He could smell the dirt and feel the air around him. He was able to pick up the energies of the desert creatures and communicate with them. He felt as though he was one with the land. As he pulled up to the entrance to the cave, he could see Robert’s old dirt bike parked outside. Robert was sitting on a large rock with his old miner’s cap on.

“Sorry I’m so late,” Dean said. “We had some trouble at the inn again.”
“It is what it is,” Robert said. “Your grandpa and I had many talks like this.”
Dean sat speechless for a moment, then stood up and faced Robert with amazement.

“You knew Grandpa!” he wailed. “I just had the feeling there was something there.”

“Yes, Dean, we were good friends for many years.”


“Then you must know about all the trouble he had at the Red Coyote,” Dean said.

“I know more about you and your grandpa than probably anyone else.”

Dean was all ears as Robert began to reveal some amazing details.

“See that talisman pendant around your neck? That goes way back to the beginning of one of the local Apache tribes,” he said. “It was given to your grandpa when he was born. It’s a protection amulet said to be infused with great powers, and that thunderbird is a very powerful figure.”

Dean held the pendant in his hand as his mind raced back to the many times it had saved him from danger.

Dean turned to Robert and pleaded for some answers. “Robert, please, I need your help. I think you have some answers for me.”

“Okay, boy, here we go,” Robert said. “Your grandpa was hoping he would make it until your sixteenth birthday, but it was his time to go. He wanted to be the one to tell you the truth.”

Dean’s blood ran cold – quite a change from his usual hot surges. His face went pale, and his stomach churned. “Please, Robert, I can’t take it,” he said, standing and raising his hands in the air. “Let me know what on earth is happening to me!”

“Exactly, my boy,” the old miner said, ‘on earth’ is quite a good choice of words for your current situation. It’s the ancient secrets that lie right below us... they are the cause of everything you’ve been going through. I feel very privileged to give you some of the answers you’ve been waiting for – however, I can’t tell you everything right now. I’ve got some fresh iced tea in these canteens. Let’s have a tea party, so to speak,” he chuckled. “Usually, this occasion would call for some hard liquor, but I swore off the stuff years ago.”

“Tell me, why is everyone waiting for my birthday?” Dean asked.

“That’s the time when the gift is to be acknowledged,” he said. “That will be a ‘rite of passage’ – the Apache blood is on your mom’s side. Your Grandpa Powell’s great-great-grandma was Yolanda Peralta, and you, my boy, were born to be the ‘Chosen One’, or the ‘Gate Keeper’ of the gold here in this mountain.”

“So, my mom does know about all this history?” Dean asked.

“Yes, she does,” said Robert in a solemn voice. “Your sister doesn’t know any of it, though. Your mom thought she was too young to understand.”

“And my father?”.

“Well, that’s another story,” Robert said. “You’ll need to confront your mother on that one.”

“Is that why I had the vision of the ‘red coyote’?”

“Now you know that story, don’t you, Dean? Remember the last time we talked, I told you how Yolanda and Juha would start a bloodline of offspring who would produce a special boy in the future?”

“Juha was a great warrior back in the 1800s,” he said. “He had the powers to shape-shift, heal, and speak with the gods. He and Yolanda belonged to the Chiricahua tribe, which was very powerful at that time.”

Dean sat there, mesmerized by Robert’s words.

“When the Elders spoke to Juha and Yolanda, they were told one of their descendants would be the one many were waiting for, but it might take many moons for this to come to pass. This is no ordinary gold mine, Dean. I told you already that it was discovered in 1140 AD by the Salado Indians and was blessed by a high priest from the tribe.

“The vein is supposed to run from Weaver’s Needle out through the mountains and under the ground for miles,” he continued. “Gold seekers as far back as the Spanish conquistador Francisco Vasquez de Coronado and his men came through here searching for the Seven Cities of Gold.”

“I remember studying about that in my history class,” Dean added.

“Legend says some of his men were found beheaded,” Robert said. “Only a hundred of his men survived the trip. He then went back to Mexico on what is now known as the Santa Fe Trail.”

“Beheaded!” Dean cried; his eyes as big as saucers.

“So, you can see, there’s something here that is way beyond our control,” Robert confessed. “Do your research on this area, and you’ll find that many have gone in search of the gold, but few have returned to tell their stories.”

“Does it have something to do with that vortex?” Dean asked.


“Well, let’s say that has quite a lot to do with it,” Robert replied.

“So, it’s like the Bermuda Triangle?” Dean asked. He thought this would possibly explain all the electrical trouble at the inn. Now, this is making some sense.


“You’ll learn so much more as you gain more understanding of your powers.”


“Some very weird things have been happening to me already,” Dean said. “It kind of all began when we left Apple Valley, and I thought I saw the face of an Indian warrior in my window.”

“That was probably a vision of Juha, Dean. He has always been with you.”

“I also have dreams about a hawk flying at night, and I wake up feeling as if I were the hawk,” Dean said, with alarm in his voice. “I’ve seen the ‘red coyote’, and I was mysteriously led to the real Lost Dutchman Mine!”

“You’ll see things more clearly in time,” Robert said.


“Why does someone have to be the ‘Guardian’ of the mine?” Dean asked.


“Okay, let me tell you what I know. Many eons ago, when the Salado Tribe was here, they discovered the gold vein and became aware of the spiritual powers it possessed. They knew the mine was the power source of life and, thus -sacred ground. That is why the ‘Great Spirit’ entrusted them to protect that power source from ever being disturbed. That’s why it was blessed by one of their priests,” he explained. “You have many powers, Dean, ones you are just becoming aware of, just as Juha did. Your powers will be revealed to you as time goes on.”

Lorraine Carey

https://authorlorrainecarey.blogspot.com/

Lorraine Carey is not only a paranormal enthusiast but has had many unexplained events in her lifetime and has used these as a focal point in her fiction novels.  As a veteran teacher, Lorraine began to write for Young Adults hoping to inspire young readers. Now residing in Florida, since retirement has given her more time to write when the spirits are willing.

Christmas Tradition

 Don't eat the Christmas candy! 

In the softly illuminated living room, Margaret settled into her cherished armchair, a sense of melancholy washing over her. The once lively home, filled with holiday cheer, now echoed with emptiness in the absence of her daughter and grandchildren who resided thousands of miles away in sunny California. With a new baby on the way, Margaret understood why they couldn't make the cross-country journey to New York for their traditional holiday visit. Since Anna's relocation to the vibrant City of Angels, Margaret found solace elusive in her solitude after losing her husband. Despite Anna's persistent suggestions to sell the house and join them out west, Margaret remained steadfast in her attachment to her childhood home and the tight-knit community she had always known. "I'll stay put until I can manage on my own. Let's revisit this when the time comes," she reassured Anna during their frequent conversations.

For weeks Margaret's heart brimmed with anticipation as she meticulously planned her trip to Los Angeles, but fate had other plans. A blood clot in her leg had dashed those hopes and her doctor forbade her to make the long flight.

Margaret’s thoughts drifted back to the Christmas days of her youth. She let out a wistful sigh as she gazed at the beautiful Christmas tree, adorned with cherished ornaments she had saved over the years. Those days are but distant memories now, she thought, her gaze filled with longing. The crackling fire cast a warm glow over the room, illuminating photographs on the walls that captured moments of her life.

Memories flooded Margaret's mind, a bittersweet mixture of joy and pain. She thought back to her carefree childhood, filled with laughter and play, and the fateful day she met Paul in high school. They were inseparable from then on, their love growing stronger each passing day. Their wedding day was filled with hope, followed by the precious moment when they welcomed their only daughter, Anna, into the world. But life can be cruel sometimes, and Paul was taken too soon, leaving a void in Margaret's heart that could never be filled. And then, Anna finished medical school and moved away, got married, and started her own family. Through it all, there were ups and downs, but Margaret treasured the moments of pure happiness they shared. A single tear escaped her eye as she reminisced.

Every corner of the room seemed to whisper memories of past holiday celebrations, now fading into nostalgia as she sat there by herself. We can’t be together, but what if… she played with an idea. What if I made a video for them and told them stories about Christmases when I was young? I think little Bobby and Ella would enjoy watching the video. They always liked my stories. Oh, I love them so much!

She closed her eyes and breathed in the familiar scent of pine, she was grateful for the memories that filled her heart with joy and warmth on this quiet night. She leaned back in her comfortable chair, turned the video recording on, and began telling the story of one Sweet Christmas.

***

“I love you all so much and miss all of you, but because we can’t be together this year, I thought I’d tell you a story about a sweet Christmas when I was Ellas’s age. Now don’t you get any ideas, I learned my lesson and I’m going to tell you about it. When I was a young child… Bobby stop rolling your eyes. Yes, I was young once, too. So, the annual tradition of decorating the Christmas tree was a cherished family event when I was growing up. The crisp winter air tinged with the smell of pine and the crackle of firewood wafted through the cozy living room, where our family gathered. The sweet melodies of beloved Christmas carols drifted from the stereo, enveloping us in a warm blanket of holiday cheer. As I carefully strung together pieces of popcorn to create garlands, my fingers became sticky from the buttery kernels, but I didn’t mind. It was all part of the joy and magic of the season. My mother handed me handfuls of vibrant-colored paper and shiny foil, inviting me to unleash my creativity and craft my own unique ornaments to adorn the tree.

My dad’s steady hand carefully dipped the smooth, round walnuts into a shimmering pool of gold and silver paint, creating a dazzling display of holiday decorations. The light caught the metallic sheen, transforming the plain nutshells into ornaments fit for royalty. Meanwhile, my mom delicately hung the special candy on the tree branches, following the Hungarian tradition. These small bonbons were only made for Christmas, each one meticulously crafted with vibrant colors and intricate designs. As I watched them work together, the air was filled with the sweet scent of freshly baked cookies and warm spices. Each bonbon held a unique flavor - rich chocolate, smooth vanilla, fragrant marzipan, creamy chestnut, tangy fruit jelly, or sweet caramel - teasing the little devil in my mind to steal one or two of them.

As we worked together, the room was filled with warmth, laughter, and lively conversation, creating a cozy atmosphere that only added to the magic of the holiday season. We carefully cut and folded delicate white paper into intricate snowflakes, each one unique in its design. With careful precision, we hung them on branches of the tree, adding a touch of whimsy and enchantment to our masterpiece. The soft glow from the twinkling lights danced across our faces as my parents and grandparents shared stories and memories. Time seemed to stand still as we basked in the love and joy of this precious family moment.

We weren’t supposed to eat the Christmas candy until we opened the presents Christmas morning, but I was about five years old when I noticed my dad sneaking into the dining room on Christmas Eve while mom was taking a bath. I watched my dad, and I couldn’t resist following him, curious about what he was up to. Peeking around the corner, I saw him carefully unwrapping a piece of candy, his fingers smoothing out the crinkled paper until it looked as good as new.

Once Dad settled down in front of the TV, I couldn’t resist the temptation any longer. Sneaking into the dining room and at that moment, my childish mind rationalized my actions: if Dad could eat them early, why couldn’t I? And so, I indulged in the forbidden sweetness, feeling both guilty and exhilarated at the same time.

As the sun rose on Christmas morning, I could feel the exhaustion weighing me down. The usual excitement of opening presents was lost on me as I struggled to keep my eyes open. I had tossed and turned all night, unable to find a comfortable position in my bed. Even Dad seemed to be struggling, his yawns frequent and deep.

After we had opened the presents, Mom’s voice was like a small jingle bell in the quiet room. ‘Now we can taste the delicious Christmas candy.’ She reached up to pluck one from the tree, but her fingers sunk into the empty wrapping paper. With a frown, she continued to search through the branches until she found a few that still held the special bonbons.

My mother’s eyes widened in amusement as she looked at our guilty faces. The corners of her mouth turned up in a smile, and soon she burst out laughing. ‘I suppose you two didn’t catch much sleep last night, and now struggling to keep your eyes open!’ She shook her head fondly before continuing, ‘Well, it seems you’ve learned your lesson. Maybe next year, we’re going to savor the Christmas candy together.’

After that year, it became an unspoken tradition between my dad and me to sneak a few pieces of candy off the tree whenever we had a chance. The glimmering lights and shiny ornaments would distract the other family members, giving us just enough time to pluck a few of the desired treats from the branches. But as tempting as the sugary treats were, we never again indulged in such an excess to avoid spoiling the magic of our Christmas mornings. Looking back, it’s a sweet memory - both figuratively and literally - that I will always hold dear in my heart. Merry Christmas to all, and I hope to see you soon.”

Margaret pressed the stop button and emailed the recording to Anna. She sighed. I’m getting old and I have too much time on my hands to think about the past and the aches and pains of my old body. I think it’s about time to make plans to sell the house and spend the time I have left with my family.

Her phone buzzed announcing a video call request. It’s Anna, she rejoiced and quickly touched the accept icon.

“Hi, Mom, Merry Christmas,” Anna said with a cheerful smile.

“Merry Christmas, Mom,” her handsome husband’s voice sounded from the background and his face appeared on the screen leaning over Anna’s shoulder.

Anna turned the phone back to herself. “We just watched the…”

Bobby’s head popped up hugging his mother’s shoulder, cutting her off in mid-sentence, “Hi, Grandma!” he yelled. “You were a naughty girl when you were little,” he laughed.

Margaret giggled, “Yes, but I learned my lesson.”

Bobby laughed. “Yup, I had once…” he stopped and looked at his mother realizing he said too much.

“What? What did you do?” Anna asked with a playful twinkle in her eyes.

“I… I know you told me not to, but Steve and I ate a bunch of chocolate on Halloween before we got home, and we couldn’t sleep all night.” He confessed.

Margaret chuckled. “So, you learned your lesson, too.”

Bobby bowed his head and shivered. “I did. It was awful.”

Ella pushed her brother aside, looking into the camera on her mother’s phone. “We just finished putting the special Christmas candy on our tree. Wanna see it?”

“Of course,” Margaret said.

Ella took the phone and walked to the decorated tree. “See? We hung all the candy you sent us, but Mom didn’t let us eat any yet.”

Anna took the phone from Ella. “We can eat one tonight to continue the Christmas tradition. Go, unwrap one each, and bring me one too.”

Margaret stood up and hobbled to her tree. “I’m going to eat this one filled with hazelnut cream,” she lifted the candy to the camera.

And they all carefully unwrapped the bonbons, smoothed the paper wrappings, and hung them back on the tree.

***

Margaret discontinued the video call and sighed. I miss them so much! I’m getting old and I have too much time on my hands to think about the past and the aches and pains of my old body. I think it’s about time to live in the present again and make plans to sell the house and spend the time I have left with my family.

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.