Phantasma (Series)

YA paranormal romance. A little on the dark side.

 

Book 1

Book Blurb:

Alphie Brewster attends school, has friends, and a loving family. She’s even taken an interest in the hot new neighbor. It’s the normal life of your average eighteen-year-old. There’s only one problem. Alphie isn’t normal. She’s anything but. You see, Alphie’s got this problem. She’s always tired, is plagued with vivid nightmares, and can’t remember her past.

After Alphie stumbles upon a necklace that once belonged to her grandfather, and unintentionally opens a portal that sends a ghostly figure hurtling out at her from her bedroom mirror, she finds herself faced with another problem. A six foot four inch tall eccentric spook, named Noer, who fills her with fire while draining her energy as if she were a Duracell Battery.

With Noer constantly making her go all weak in the knees, Alphie wants nothing more than to be rid of both him and the necklace. Especially, since the sexy neighbor, Cary, has taken a fancy to her. And that’s not all. With both spook and Cary fighting for her attentions, Alphie starts to remember things. Things that she wished would stay buried. Then Alphie visits Noer’s home in Limbo, and things start to get even weirder.

                                                                   

If that all isn’t complicated enough, a vicious stranger comes looking for the necklace. And this stranger will do anything to get it. Within this chaos, will Alphie be able to come to terms with her past in order to save her family? Or will she become just another lost soul without a body?

  

Sneak Peek:

Let this be a dream! My mind screamed. Let me wake up! I chanted the words in my mind, but I knew I wasn’t sleeping. The nightmare was very much real. My eyes and nose were all too aware of this fact. My body knew too, that’s why it was flat lining.

Next to me, the figure continued to breathe, his rancid breath caressing my ear while the smell burned a fiery path through my nostrils. Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer, and slowly – oh so painfully slow – I turned my head to look upon the face of, what I was sure was, a nightmare made flesh.

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Excerpt

Chapter One

“Hey, freaky girl,” my sister, Robyn, called from the garage, “How was school?”

“Same as it is every day.” I leaned my bike against the interior wall of the garage and straightened my skirt. The back had a habit of wadding up when riding my bike.

“You tired?”

I scrunched up my shoulders. “Meh. Not really.” I cocked my head at her. “I guess the pills are working.”

“That’s good to hear.” She grinned mischievously. “Should I sing for you now or later?”

I cringed. “Please don’t.” I plopped my backpack on the freezer and unzipped it. Handing my sister a gift bag, I said, “Danielle got me barrettes.”

My sister examined them. Each barrette had a big glittery heart. One was white, the other black. “Cute.” She handed them back.

“So you got me a gift?” I asked, hopeful. Birthdays had once been a big family ordeal, but that was when my dad was still here. He’d been the birthday guru. Instead of waking up to the song “Celebrate,” and my dad dancing around the room before he escorted me downstairs for my traditional birthday breakfast of frosted brownies, I’d woken up to the endless, shrill beeping of my alarm, my room depressingly empty of birthday cheer.

“Of course I got you a gift,” Robyn said digging through boxes of old junk which was mostly clothing and other items my father had left. “What price should we put on this stuff?”

“Huh?” I asked. “Why are you getting this stuff out?”

“Mom’s decided we’re going to have a garage sale tomorrow. She’s ordered us to sort through this and put on price stickers.”

“Seriously?” I asked in disbelief. After five long years, my mother had decided to get rid of everything.

“So, what’s up with the moving van at the Weir’s?”

“Someone finally bought it.”

How long was I at school? I suddenly felt a lot like Rip Van Winkle waking up after a twenty year sleep to see that everything around me had changed and not in a good way. Maybe I had fallen asleep after all. “When did this happen?”

“Don’t know.” She pulled on her ponytail. “It’s about time someone bought it. How long since they put it on the market? Two years?”

I shrugged, not wanting to remember the downfall of childhood friendships. “So why is Mom deciding to have this impromptu garage sale? On my birthday, I might add.”

Robyn took a breath. “Another debt collector called this morning.”

“What is it this time, a loan or credit card?”

“A card,” she said and paused for a moment to let me know something important was coming. “It’s in your name.”

“How much?”

“Two thousand.”

I couldn’t say it shocked me. I couldn’t even say I was angry. Those emotions had run through me so often, I’d become numb. “Happy Birthday to me.”

“I know, right? Dad’s a total a-hole!”

“I thought mom had most of the debt paid off?”

My sister huffed. “She did. This one’s new. It looks like he’s at it again. Clearly the whole rehab rumor was a lie.”

Sighing, I shook my head. I’d long since given up on believing anything his buddies said. “He’s moved to California.” “He’s gotten a job in real estate.” “He’s in jail in Detroit.” “He’s in rehab somewhere upstate.” Five years and no one knew where or what he was doing. With this new debt, he was most certainly off somewhere gambling.

“Anyway, this whole credit card business has Mom on an ‘I hate the Brewsters’ kick. The crying stage is so over. Now it’s the revenge stage.”

I looked at the boxes again, skeptical. “Can we make any money selling this junk? I mean if Dad didn’t pawn it, obviously it’s not worth much.” My breath caught as my eyes traveled over the assortment of oddities that had belonged to my grandfather. “We’re not selling Papa’s stuff too, are we?”

“Mom said everything must go.” Rob was unloading a box, this particular one ranging from taxidermy crows to straw voodoo dolls. “Let’s not talk about it. You know what happens if you get upset. And trust me I already spent all morning arguing with her. It’s final. Let’s just finish this. Tell me what price we should put on this crap?”

I shrugged. “How should I know?”

“You’re the one into all this gothic crap, Alphie.” She made a face as she pulled a damaged mouse out of the box. “Papa was sure into some freakish stuff. What was his deal with buying stuffed dead animals?” She swung the mouse around by its tail before dropping it on the table.

“That’s not one of his,” I said with a satisfied smirk. “That’s just a dead mouse.”

Not believing me, Rob bent down to inspect the rodent she’d just tossed onto the table, and from her horror stricken face, I could tell she knew that I was right.

“Oh God!” She squealed and ran into the opened door to the laundry room to wash her hands. “I hope I don’t get some disease. That’s so gross.”

I followed her to the door. “Well what did you expect? That stuff’s been in the attic for a while. And stop calling me a goth. I’m not gothic; I’m just cynical and pissed at the world.”

“Okay, so you’re emo or whatever,” she said and pumped more soap onto her hands.

I ground my teeth together. “I’m not emo either! Just because I like heavy metal doesn’t make me a goth or emo. I don’t even wear that much black!” Subconsciously I pulled at the skin on my arms.

My sister rolled her eyes, not missing the action. “Calm down, I’m only teasing. You should probably go change.” She pointed a red sudsy finger at my Price Academy uniform.

I shoved past her into the house. “Fine. But I’m not happy about this.” I looked over my shoulder at her, my lip jutted out in a pout. “I shouldn’t have to do this. It’s my birthday!”

“While you’re up there, go through your old junk,” she called after me.

In my bedroom I threw my uniform in my laundry basket and snatched up an old pair of holey jeans and an old Billy Idol shirt that I usually wore when I lazed about the house. Checking myself out in the mirror, I sighed. I figured I’d look different being eighteen. That maybe I’d finally feel comfortable in my own skin. That maybe when I looked in the mirror, I’d be happy with what I saw. I didn’t know what I’d been hoping for… maybe to look more like Robyn.

Robyn was curvy with a chest that I’d habitually caught men drooling over. I wasn’t curvy at all and my breasts weren’t anything to ogle over. I laughed. Did I expect them to grow overnight?

We were both tall, though she was taller, but only by a few centimeters. Her body was well proportioned, a beautiful hilly meadow, whereas mine was stick-like and flat like a plateau. Maybe that was an over exaggeration. I did have curves; they just weren’t nearly as prominent as my sister’s.

Did I mention she’d gotten my mom’s deep blue eyes, while fate had cursed me with the brown Brewster eyes? We both got my mother’s blonde hair at least. But unlike mine, hers and Mom’s were lighter. Robyn had also kept her hair long and styled in loose curls. My sister was stunning. And I was no match for her.

Robyn even got the prettier name. What the hell kind of name was Alphie? It wasn’t me. I’d never liked it, and could never accept it as my own. The name sounded more masculine than feminine. Clearly, my parents had flipped a coin to decide who got to name us. Since my mother obviously named Robyn, two years later my dad got to name me. Either my dad’s favorite character was Alfalfa from The Little Rascals or he had some strange obsession with the plant. Whatever the reason, my dad sucked at choosing names.

I pulled my shirt down over my tummy and glared at my unchanged reflection. My name was yet another reason for the popular girls to tease me. Well tease was too polite a word. What they did was more full-blown ridicule.

Having had enough of the birthday blues, I opened my closet. I had a separate armoire that I used for clothing, so the closet was mostly storage space. It was jammed, packed full of boxes and plastic tubs.

I set to work emptying the closet, discovering toys I never remembered playing with. Unlike most kids, I had no memories of my early childhood. Anything before the age of seven had buried itself so deep within my mind that I had no idea how to extract it. I’d long given up trying. They were gone, that’s all there was to it. Memory loss was just one more side effect of my condition. Maybe my memories hadn’t been that memorable, I thought, as I tossed aside a dingy stuffed zebra.

Next I pulled out a shoebox that I’d wedged inside my old dollhouse. Tucking the lid underneath the box, I looked inside. An assortment of jewelry; brooches, rings, and necklaces sat on top of a few vintage kerchiefs. I picked up a brooch, my grandmother’s name engraved on the back. Obviously I’d been a thief when I was a child. Maybe it was hereditary.

I rifled through the expensive contents, a slight tug in my chest. What would Papa think of me, if he knew I’d stolen these items from his house? I turned my face down, worried that he could see me.

Digging through the box, my gaze landed on a necklace. I picked it up by the chain, the large pendant swaying hypnotically in front of my face. It was bronze; the back flat, smooth, and reflective. On the front, the artisan had carved a face covered in leaves, its eyes closed. Embedded in the wide forehead was a large red jewel. A third eye.

A vision of my grandfather’s angry face rose up to greet me. I’d gotten in trouble for playing with it. No… Dad had been the one he’d yelled at for letting me play with it. The memory was hazy, like a forgotten dream. Had I been napping when he’d found me with it?

“Do you know what she’s done,” he’d growled.

“It’s only a necklace,” my father had said, returning his attention to the TV.

The memory faded as the pendant slowed to a stop. I scrunched up my face trying to pull it back from the hidden depths of my mind; but it was gone, sinking back into obscurity.

My childhood fascination lingering, I grabbed the chain with both hands pulling it down over my head and hid the pendant beneath my shirt. It came to rest heavily between my breasts. Knowing how much my grandfather treasured it, I couldn’t bear the idea of someone buying it. Debt or no debt, I was keeping it.

After carting all my toys and old clothes downstairs, I went back inside for the shoebox and my clothes basket. It was Friday and my turn to do the laundry. When I got to the laundry room, my sister was rifling through my toys. At the sound of my footsteps on the hardwood floor, she stood up. “What’s in the shoebox?”

I sat my clothes basket on the washer and opened the box. “Holy crap!” She dug through the box and picked up my grandmother’s wedding ring, her eyes reading the inscription. “These were Grandma’s.”

“Yeah.”

“Why do you have it?” my sister asked, her eyes narrowing.

“When Papa was in the hospital, Dad took me treasure hunting,” I said giving her a knowing look, “I must have known what he was going to do, so I hid them.” I could only assume that’s what happened because I couldn’t remember how or why I’d taken them.

She whistled. “I wonder how much it’s all worth.”

I shook my head and shrugged. I’d rescued them from my dad’s greedy clutches only to have to sell it all six years later. It didn’t seem fair. “At least it’ll help pay off his debts,” I said with fake reassurance.

My sister carted the box back into the house, setting it safely on the counter. “Do you need to take a pill before we get to work?” She asked returning to the laundry room.

I sighed heavily, tired of the relentless fussing. “I’m fine.” I picked up a box, kicking the glass paneled door all the way open. It hit the dryer with a thud, making me cringe. Turning, I caught Robyn’s scolding look. “Sorry.”

Robyn followed me through the door. “What about the mouse?”

“What about it?”

“Aren’t you going to get rid of it?” Rob asked, staying as far away from the table as possible.

“Why do I have to get rid of it?” I knew what she was going to say. “Because I’m a goth and corpses are my thing right?”

“Exactly.” She grinned, trying to mask her fear. My sister hated mice. Dead mice even more so.

I growled under my breath. “What about you, Rob? I’m only eighteen. You’re older. A college student. According to society’s standards, you’re an adult. You should be the one to get rid of it.”

“Yes, but I’m a girl. And don’t call me Rob. I hate that.”

I smiled cruelly. “And what am I?”

Her eyebrows lowered and she stuck out her bottom lip. “I know. But you do have short hair, so you’re literally screaming with testosterone.”

I rolled my eyes. “Wow thanks for the compliment.”

Subconsciously, I ran my hands through my pixie cut strawberry blonde hair, causing my long fringe to stick out every which way. I couldn’t help running my hand all the way back to my neck as if to touch hair no longer there. I wondered if I were experiencing the whole phantom limb thing, but with my hair. It had been months now since I’d recklessly entered the salon. What had I been expecting, that with my hair gone, I’d finally be able to find myself? As if I’d been hiding this whole time beneath my golden locks?

I sighed and looked down at my beat-up Converse. I knew that my sister’s testosterone jab was mostly a joke. We’d grown up playfully insulting and fighting each other. But her recent cheap shot stung.

I absentmindedly pressed the toe of my shoe into the cement floor and twisted it back and forth as if I were trying to put out a fire. “So I really have to clean it up?” I wasn’t about to admit that I was as grossed out about it as she was.

“I’ll tell you what.” She grabbed an old tennis racket and tossed it to me. “You get rid of it and I’ll order us a pizza for dinner. Mom’s working late, again.”

“On my birthday?” Of course I should have been expecting that. After dad ditched us, mom had to take extra shifts at work to help pay the bills. So it was to be pizza and just me and Robyn. Happy freaking Birthday to me! “You buying?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’m buying.”

“Fine,” I said giving in. “But I get to choose the toppings.”

She nodded. I held the racket in my hands and squared my shoulders. It was only a dead mouse. If anything, I should feel sorry for it. It had died alone, trapped in a box full of preserved carcasses.

Scooping up the tiny body, I held the racket as far away from my body as possible and made my way to the side yard, where a small wooded area separated our house from the Weir’s.

I didn’t know what to do with the mouse. I thought about burying him at first, but my sister would only scoff and make jokes. It wasn’t like the mouse was a pet. On the other hand, it didn’t seem right to throw him into the woods.

Over by the barn, there was a small hole in the ground that Rob (sorry, Robyn) had once twisted her ankle in when she and I were playing badminton together in the backyard.

It took me a bit, but I finally managed to find the hole and gently dropped the mouse inside. Next to the driveway were a few palm sized rocks. I chose the prettiest one and set it over the hole. It was the best I could do short of filling the hole with dirt.

While standing over the makeshift grave, I wondered if Papa could see us from wherever he was, and if he wasn’t pissed that we were selling his morbid collection, though it wasn’t like he could use them now anyway. Besides, Great-Aunt Jami had already sold the normal stuff, including his house.

I wouldn’t blame him if he was angry. I’m sure I’d feel the same way to see my relatives tossing out my precious belongings instead of treasuring them. I smiled at the thought of my progeny rifling through my T-shirt collection and becoming horrified by the grotesque images stamped on them. Who would want to keep any of my crap?

I hadn’t known I was crying until the tears trickled past my nose and I sniffled. It wasn’t fair. But Papa was dead. He’d been dead six years. He’d been bad there at the end, confused, mumbling, and could barely recognize any of us.

“Hey, Papa, it’s me, Alphie.”

“You’re not Alphie.”

After a while, he’d finally remembered me, but he’d still seemed so upset, like everyone was lying to him. Papa and I were always so close and it hurt that he hadn’t recognized me. Especially since that was the last time. He’d passed away later that evening thinking that I hadn’t come to see him. That I’d sent in my double.

I hated doing this to him now. But, my sister and I were alive, and in need of money. I wiped at the tears and prayed my dad was rotting in prison somewhere.

A twig snapped and my head shot toward the woods. My breath caught. A large cloud had moved over the sun covering the already dim woods in darkness. For a second I thought someone was watching me, but then the sun came out and the shadows pulled back revealing nothing but trees.

Chapter Two

“Hey Alphie, are you finished with the last rites yet or are you thinking of joining that rat in death?”

I wasn’t sure how long I’d been standing there. But my eyes had started to burn, and I blinked giving them some much needed moisture. I took one last look at the tiny mouse grave. It would decay soon and then there’d be nothing left of that little mouse. It’d be truly and completely gone, just like Grandma and Grandpa. Death was so final.

“I’m coming,” I yelled before turning around. Why did Robyn think I had an obsession with death? Again, it was always about the goth stuff. According to TV, goths did nothing but ponder death all the time. I guess Robyn was right about that, death was an obsession of mine. Except my obsession was the total opposite of the goths. They revered death. I had an irrational fear of it. Too bad I couldn’t forget those memories.

I hurried through the back door of the garage and tossed the racket into a box in the corner. Looking around at all the work still needing finished, I sighed. “How are we ever going to be ready for the garage sale tomorrow? We’ve barely gotten anything done.”

“I know,” Robyn answered as she did her own eye sweep of the garage. “But if we don’t, we’ll be stuck listening to Mom bitch about it later.” She wandered over to the inner door to the house. “Maybe it’ll go faster if we listen to some music.”

My face lit up at that and I headed toward her. There was nothing like some screaming vocals to get me hyped up.

“Just stop right there.” Rob blocked the door. “We aren’t going to listen to your crap. Since I’m buying dinner, I get to pick the music. I’m in an eighties mood.”

I grinned and let her go inside. At least there were some common interests we shared and eighties music was one of them. If I couldn’t listen to heavy metal, then I’d gladly settle for some Human League or Talking Heads. Anything eighties at all, and I’d be happy.

My sister came back with her laptop and a set of computer speakers. After setting everything up on the top of the freezer, she cranked the music and we got to work. We spent the entire afternoon sorting and pricing while we did our best impersonations of Duran Duran and Guns N’ Roses. When “November Rain” came on, my sister snatched up the broom and, using it as a guitar, did her best impersonation of Slash. I grabbed the other tennis racket – the one that didn’t have dead mouse guts on it – and used the handle as my microphone as I sang along with Axel Rose.

When she wanted to, my sister could be friendly instead of her normal overprotective mother hen like self. But those moments were happening less often. In truth they hardly occurred at all anymore.

We were still performing when a guy popped around the corner of the house. As he stepped out of the yard and onto the driveway, I froze mid-song. Behind me, I heard the broom clatter to the floor. Robyn coughed and hit pause.

He stopped at the entrance, a sheepish grin on his face. Being the one nearest to the entrance, he directed his smile at me. I tightened my hold on the racket and prayed my cheeks would stop burning.

“Sorry to interrupt your – uh – performance.”

Robyn coughed again and moved to stand next to me. “Who are you?” Her hands were on hips doing her best “look at me” pose.

His gaze left me and fixed onto my sister. “I’m Cary. You’re new neighbor.”

Robyn kept her eyes on Cary, intrigued. She pointed to me “That’s Alphie.” She held out her hand to him and flashed her best smile. “I’m Robyn.” He shook her hand quickly.

With his eyes preoccupied with my sister, I gave him the once-over. He looked laid-back in his faded long sleeve T-shirt and jeans. From the way his clothes hugged his body, he was nothing but muscle. I wasn’t going to lie to myself, he was attractive. And then I saw his eyes sweep over Robyn’s breast making me dislike him instantly.

He appeared to be in his early twenties and only an inch or two taller than my sister and me. His hair was a shaggy blonde color, which the fall breeze kept blowing into his face. He had soft green eyes, a slightly crooked nose, and a friendly smile. And even when he directed that smile at me, I still didn’t like him.

He brushed his hair back from his face. He seemed shy, almost like he wanted to say something but couldn’t figure out how.

“Was there something you wanted?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

His green eyed gaze studied me and I could feel my cheeks burning again. “I just thought I’d stop by and introduce myself. Also, I was hoping one of you could tell me what day trash pick-up is on? We’ve got a lot of boxes and stuff we need to get rid of.”

“Saturday mornings,” Robyn said and sent a glare in my direction. My rudeness didn’t amuse her.

“You guys preparing for a sale or something?” He asked, his eyes sweeping about the cluttered garage.

Robyn took a step closer to him invading his personal bubble. “Yeah. So are you moved in yet?” He took an involuntary step back putting a little distance between them. And she thought I was the rude one?

“Almost. It’s been a hectic day.”

“Are you from around here?” She touched his arm.

“No, we moved here from out west.” He broke contact and moved around the cluttered garage, his gaze nosily falling onto the boxes. “Nevada.”

“Why move here? I mean Nevada is a much better place than our tiny little town,” Robyn said, following him. “It must be nice being able to wear summer clothes all yearlong.”

I got the feeling he didn’t like all the questions, but he smiled. “My father’s a professor and was offered a job here.” He shrugged. “I like small towns. And summer is overrated. So do you girls attend the university?” He looked over at me and smiled.

Robyn was quick to pull his attention back to her. “I just started my second year.”

“What about you?” He took a step toward me.

I opened my mouth to answer, but Robyn stepped between us. “Oh Alphie’s not old enough for college. She’s still in high school.”

“Really?” he asked not believing her. “How old are you Alphie?”

My stomach flipped over the way he said my name and I instantly forgot that I didn’t like him. I didn’t even realize he had asked me a second time until Robyn answered for me. “She’s eighteen.”

“Today’s my birthday.” I mentally punched myself. Why had I said that?

“Happy Birthday.” He grinned at me and I had to look away to keep myself from blushing yet again.

“How old are you?” Robyn asked turning the conversation back to him.

“Twenty-one.”

Robyn grinned. “I’ll be twenty-one next month.”

“I see,” he said and stepped out onto the driveway. “Well, I better get going. It was nice meeting you.”

“Let me know if you ever want to be shown the sites,” my sister said, her voice full of unspoken innuendo.

“Maybe I’ll take you up on that offer sometime,” he said and walked down the driveway.

I stood there watching him until he disappeared around the corner. I couldn’t be sure, but it had seemed that his gaze had lingered on me when he’d said that, as if I were the one who did the offering and not Robyn.

When Robyn was sure he was gone she fanned herself. “Now that was one gorgeous man.”

Turning my back on her, I busied myself with turning the music back on. I didn’t want her to know that I agreed with her. And I didn’t like that at all. Nor did I like how confused he’d made me feel. Was I crazy or could he be interested in me? I shook my head. He was just teasing me. That’s what guys did. They always teased the girls with the lowest self-esteems. Or at least that’s what I’d learned in my first three years of high school.

We went back to work, diligently sorting and pricing, as the music rippled through the garage keeping us energized. But when evening fell, even the awesome eighties’ beats no longer inspired us and we finally called it quits.

Robyn plopped down on the seat of the picnic table we’d stored in the garage once fall had arrived. “I think we’ve done enough.” Robyn propped her legs up on the bench and leaned back on her hands.

“Shall we get that pizza now?” I rubbed my tummy as it rumbled. “I’m starving and want to see what you got me.”

“Then let’s head on in. Tomorrow’s going to be one long crappy day. I hope we can make some money.”

Saying nothing, I closed the garage door and turned off the light. Personally, I didn’t care whether we made money or not.

As I followed my sister into the house, I silently wished that no one would even show up tomorrow. Something about selling the possessions of a dead relative just didn’t sit well with me. It all felt horribly wrong.

****

Something was sitting on my chest! The weight of its body pressed me down into the mattress, forcing the air out of my lungs. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. My heart thumped wildly, banging against my constricted rib cage. Terror ran its icy fingers up my spine. My body tingled, but remained frozen in place. My head spun as it fought for control.

Opening my eyes to the darkness, I saw her. One leg lying bent in front of her, while she held the knee of the other against her chest. She leaned forward and, with her butt grinding into my sternum, rested her foot above my shoulder. Red eyes glowered at me, a fire burning within their depths.

“Give it back,” she rasped. I tried to speak and couldn’t. “It’s my body!”

I blinked; her face was now a breath away from mine. Her cherry blonde bangs tickled my eyes. Our eyes. She was me. But I wasn’t her.

“It doesn’t belong to you. It never did. Now give it back!” Her hands gripped my throat, squeezing.

****

That Saturday morning I woke up at five, – a good three hours before the sunrise – took a shower, and pulled on my new newspaper-themed leggings that my sister had given me last night. I cast my gaze to the bed, where the nightmare still lingered like a ghost. I shuddered. It was a recurring nightmare and I should have been used to it. I shuddered once more. I doubted I ever would.

I snuck down to the garage to fetch my bicycle. When I opened the garage door, a chilly October wind scurried in to greet me. Shivering, I straightened the baggy ski cap covering my wet hair.

Then I went about rolling up the six poster boards with the sale information written in my sister’s delicate handwriting and put them into my backpack along with a staple gun. The posters stuck out too far to close the bag and I worried that they would fall out before I could post them.

I zipped up my leather jacket, double-checked to make sure I’d tucked my medical ID safely inside my wallet, and started to peddle down the street.

The neighborhood was eerily quiet. Nothing stirred. Everyone still tucked warmly in their beds. I peddled past the houses, the wind singing past me like a funeral dirge as the leaves on the trees gave in to the sadness and slowly fluttered to the ground. It was like watching a million suicides, each leaf falling to its death. Rotten bodies crunched beneath my tires as the wind continued its death wail.

It took me a good hour to staple the signs around our small town. When I’d finally stapled the last one to the wooden electrical pole at the entrance to McDonald’s, I was starving.

I popped a pill in my mouth on the walk back to my bike and guzzled it down with the last drop of my soda. The sale was to start at eight and it was now after seven. I’d have to race home and wake up my sister – she wasn’t much of a morning person – so we could prepare a money box and get some of the goods set up on card tables in the driveway. Mom would probably already be gone. She was a nurse and worked all the freaking time. We hardly ever saw her and when we did, she was mostly catching up on sleep. And on those few occasions when she happened to be awake, she was in full on nag mode.

When I turned onto my street, the sun was above the horizon making its slow ascent. It took me twenty minutes and a near miss of her fist in my face, but I finally managed to get Rob up and in the shower. While she took her hour-long shower, I went downstairs and readied the garage sale.

When I’d set out the tables, counted the change in the money box, my sister – looking like a catalog model in her designer jacket with her hair meticulously styled and her face painted up as if she were going on a date – sunk down into a fabric folding chair and started in. “Why didn’t you wake me up earlier? I could have helped you with the signs.”

“You mean baby-sit me.”

“It’s only been a few days. This medicine might be like all the others. It isn’t safe for you to ride your bike.”

I considered punching her or at least telling her off. Instead I clamped my teeth together and glared. “I’m not some weak, irresponsible child,” I hissed between my teeth.

“I didn’t say you were,” she replied with mock innocence.

“Whatever,” I said and plopped down into the other chair. “I’m a big girl now. I can handle it.”

“Yeah well, you should have woken me up to tell me you were going out.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Did you take your medicine?”

“Yes.”

“Do you feel tired at all?”

I sighed. “A little, but I’m fine.” I leaned forward to check the empty street. “Do you think anyone will even show?”

“Probably. I mean it’s October and we’ve got all this Halloween crap.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I said glancing at all of Papa’s stuff. “I wouldn’t call it Halloweeny per se, but rather an assortment of oddities.”

“Ah, but the customers don’t need to know that, do they?” My sister said giving me a knowing look. “Plus he’s got all those scary carved funkins or whatever they’re called. Carved pumpkins are totally Halloween. And the stuffed crow.” Rob pointed to the taxidermy table. “People will eat this stuff up. I mean look at that mini coffin? I’m surprised you haven’t carted some of this stuff up to your room yet.”

I scoffed. “Look, I may be into the whole punk scene but that doesn’t mean I’m interested in this stuff. For the last time, I’m not a goth. And neither was Papa. He was just… eccentric.”

Rob shrugged. “Whatever. But I bet you won’t make it through the day without wanting to keep something.”

My hand touched the pendant safely hidden beneath my shirt. “I bet I can,” I said, sure of myself. Besides, I’d already taken something.

“Whatever,” she said again. “We’ll just see.”

****

We’d had no customers all morning. Feeling my usual symptoms, I dozed off and on in my chair. It was better to nap than risk total collapse later. Though it had been months since my last collapse, I was still wary and didn’t want to take any chances.

It wasn’t until around lunchtime that my sister nudged me awake because people had finally started to show up. Just as my sister had predicted, Papa’s stuff sold at an unbelievable rate. One man bought Papa’s skulls – he thought they were fake and we didn’t bother correcting him – and the mini coffin, while a mother and daughter bought the candles and the iron candelabras.

I no longer saw the funkins so I assumed Rob had sold those while I was sleeping. The taxidermy table still stood untouched along with Papa’s books on the occult.

While Rob and I wolfed down a few slices of our leftover pizza, a woman in her thirties, wearing a Wicked Witch of the West T-shirt, snatched up all the books, his mortar and pestle, as well as all his colored glass bottles.

I wrote down all her purchases in my notebook before taking her money. After placing her purchases in the mesh bag she’d brought with her, she left. While she walked back to her car, I took a quick stroll around the driveway to stretch my legs.

The pendant banged against my chest with every step I took. It wasn’t that heavy and yet the chain had begun to dig into the skin on the back of my neck. I’d always felt heavy as if gravity had singled me out, pressing me down like a bully on the playground. However, ever since I put on the necklace, it was as if invisible hands were pushing me down. The memory from earlier arose once more. Its broken fragments scattered like a puzzle.

The sound of a clock ticking. A little girl lying on the floor, a coloring book opened in front of her. Opening my eyes. A dream. Then there was Papa holding me in his arms. He was saying something. Yelling. Screaming. I was screaming. And Dad was watching TV, oblivious to everything except the football game.

As I wracked my brain for the missing pieces, I had this sinking feeling that there was more to that memory, more to this pendant, but I just couldn’t figure out what.

Sing for Me

My new novel. As the title suggests the book is a modern loosely based tale of Phantom of the Opera.

Now available for Kindle: Amazon.com

 

Available in paperback: Createspace

Check it out at: Goodreads

 

Book Blurb:

 

 

 

CHLOE HASKELL, a university student and runaway diva, is determined to never sing again. After escaping a life in the spot light, she wants only to have a normal life. But when an old flame comes to town, Chloe must decide if she’s willing to forget the past in order to fall in love with the man who broke her heart.

 

RHYS RYTHER, a Broadway composer, has been hired as a substitute professor at the university. There, he’s surprised to learn that his ex girlfriend, the girl he left without an explanation, is a student at the same university. What’s even more surprising is that he still has feelings her.

 

When Chloe unintentionally gets cast in the school’s production of The Phantom of the Opera, unexplained events start to happen. She sees shadows everywhere. A ghost haunts her dreams. And someone is watching her. But is it all in her mind or has a dead man come back to claim her?

 

As Chloe and Rhys get closer, he learns that she’s been keeping a secret. It’s a secret so dark that could very well tear them apart. And when the impossible happens, can Rhys overcome Chloe’s dark past in order to save her from an even darker future?

 

Interested? Read an EXCERPT

 

 

 

Prologue

The audience rose, their hands clapping in a eurhythmic cadence. It had been another successful show. And as always, they had loved her. This should have pleased the young performer as she bowed before them on stage, but it did not. It only meant that yet another performance was at an end, and the long night was about to begin.

And the nights, belonged to him.

Her heart slammed against her ribcage, each beat slower than the next. A gradual slow down as anxiety pumped through her system. Thump… thump… thump. It slowed to the point where the clapping became exploding fireworks. Or gun fire. Each pop exploded inside her chest. She was a deer being hunted. And as she stood there, her hand inside his, she wondered if the next pop would hit its target, taking her down. She prayed it would.

It was fight or fly, neither of which was possible, not when he had a hold of her so tightly. She caught a glance of him from the corner of her eye. His masked face a brilliant silver that glittered in the light. A Venetian rendition of the famous theatrical mask depicting comedy. Underneath, would be another mask. How many he wore, she couldn’t be sure. Beneath them, would be his handsome face. But that too he wore like one of his paper masks. And he wore this face so well that no one except her knew of the vileness of his soul.

The masked magician released her as he waved one gloved hand in front of his face. The silver mask disappeared as a purple and red one hung it is place.

The audience cheered, some even whistled. He bowed once more, a graceful dip of his head. And to further ignite the audience he grabbed her, swung her around, and against him.

With her back pressed into his chest, she swayed in succumbing desire. His mouth caressed her open palm, while her eyes stared in silent horror at his mask. Trepidation for the coming night washed over her in sheets of freezing rain. Her body shivered against his and she closed her eyes.

The sounds erupting from the audience told her they were enjoying every minute of her enraptured doom.

If only they knew. Perhaps they wouldn’t be so giving in their applause. They didn’t know the man beneath the masks, not like she did. They didn’t know that tonight and almost every night, she’d become his slave.

Locked away in her dressing room, she was a prisoner inside the theatre. He’d forbidden her from leaving. It’d made it impossible to do so.

While she stayed locked up he’d make love to her with his voice, expecting the same from her in return. He’d kiss her cheeks, her hair, her fingers, and weep at her feet. He would hold her in his arms and she would sing. Her voice would fill the room with dreams of love and passion. Her perfect soprano’s voice was her mask that she used to hide the terror that ravaged her soul.

The curtain fell and the cast escaped to their smaller dressing rooms to change and head for home. Away from the others, she walked to her own dressing room lavishly bedecked with stunning bouquets of roses and carnations awash in hues of red and pink. The smell of them overpoweringly strong as their silken petals perfumed the air. It was the familiar stench of a funeral home. She felt dead. Her room was her coffin. And the magician was Death.

Sitting down at her small vanity table, she brushed her hair. Unlike the rest of the cast, she wasn’t allowed to remove her costume. He loved seeing her in the Renaissance style wedding gown. She wore it in the last scene when the innocent maiden married the evil magician. It was the gown that he insisted she wear on the day of their actual wedding.

The wooden brush fell onto the marble top vanity before bouncing off and hitting the floor. She covered her face in her trembling hands and struggled to keep her tears from spilling forth.

He hated to see her cry. And her tears would only send him into a deranged fit. He’d demand to know why she didn’t love him. He’d throw things. Break things. And when there was nothing else to destroy, he’d grab her roughly and force her to admit her love for him. Sometimes he’d threaten to hurt all those that were dear to her.

She’d been foolish enough to disobey him once, and it’d cost her dearly. She didn’t dare make the same mistake again. Grabbing a tissue, she dabbed it at her eyes and took a few calming breaths.

She still had time. An hour at the most. Then everyone would leave. The theatre lights would be turned off, their overheated bulbs allowed to cool off for the night. As the red carpeted walls slowly absorbed all remaining echoes of tonight’s performance until they were silently locked away behind the walls, that’s when he’d come for her and say those words that made her shiver in dread.

She picked up her hair brush and studied herself in the mirror. It would be so easy to break it. Just fling the brush against the glass and watch it shatter. No one would likely hear. All she need do was to pick up one of those jagged pieces. One quick thrust through the heart and it’d all be over. No more forced nightly rendezvous. No more pain or fear.

Escape. It was what she wanted more than anything. And perhaps death was the only way. She raised her hand, the brush held tightly in her fist. Just do it. Break the mirror, and end it.

She sat there for some time battling her indecision, her hand poised ready to hurtle the brush. When the door knob turned, she sighed, laid the brush gently on the table, squared her shoulders, and let her face become a mask.

When he came into the room, the words, “Sing for me, mon ange,” pouring from his lips, she rose from the table and stood. Her green eyes gazing into his amber ones, she saw nothing but her own resignation. And knowing he had won, she opened her mouth and sang an ethereal melody of despair.

 

Chapter One

The trail that led to the old cemetery had once been made of gravel, but as the years trickled by, rain and the elements had done their worst until the trail was mostly dirt with a few small rocks scattered here and there. It was located just at the back of the Delta Gamma sorority house at the end of Greek Avenue.

The cemetery was well known to the students at the university as being the perfect spot for the daring party goers who were tired of the same old boring house parties. It was also a great place to make out, if you were easily turned on by death.

Most recently it had become the starting place of the school’s yearly zombie parade. Student’s, dressed like the walking dead, would rise up from behind tombstones to begin their slow and staggering walk toward downtown, grabbing and playfully biting any and all onlookers. Other than that, the cemetery, for the most part, sat quietly within the wooded terrain of central Indiana.

Well at least it was thought to be quiet unless you were a member of Delta Gamma.

If given a chance they’d tell it differently. To the girls of Delta Gamma, the large abandoned church that stood nestled in the midst of the graves was haunted. And should you scoff at this ridiculous notion, they’d strongly insist that on nights when the moon was full, its rays casting down upon the church, the stained glass would reflect the light in such a way that to any onlooker it would appear as though the light came from within the church instead of from without.

If you stayed to watch, shadows could be seen rising up to fill the pews as ghostly voices filled the night. Their voices rising and falling with the dark melody of the organ that remained inside.

Chloe Haskell tried not to think about the supposed spirits haunting the place as she made her way down the path. The surrounding trees broke up the September light until it was nothing more than a scattering of tiny Tinkerbelles flickering upon the ground.

It was warm today, but not nearly as humid as it had been. A slight breeze fought its way between the opaque trees, its breathy chill prickling Chloe’s arms. Chloe rubbed them briskly and was glad she’d decided to wear jeans, unlike her friend Heather who shivered inside her short cutoffs and sweater.

This past week, the evenings had gotten much cooler as fall approached. Its crisp breath puffing away the last remnants of summer – which judging by the few scatterings of yellow of leaves was not far off.

As she watched her other friend, Jett, walking ahead, his long legged strides making it impossible for her to keep up, Chloe sighed. What was she doing out here?

It was only a few days before fall classes, and Chloe hadn’t even bought her books or school supplies yet. What was wrong with her? She normally wasn’t such a procrastinator. But recently, she’d just kept letting her friends drag her off to dinners, movies, karaoke, and even laser tag, which she’d failed miserably at after a group of elementary school students had cornered her. Each kid shooting like crazy making her vest vibrate so much she thought it’d never stop.

Well she shouldn’t blame her procrastinating habits on her friends. Most of those activities had been her idea, all except for karaoke and laser tag. Like laser tag, but without the guns and still including the vibrating, – for some reason the bass on the machines were always cranked to the roof – she hadn’t enjoyed karaoke either.

Singing in front of others just wasn’t her forte, so instead she’d spent that long night silently listening to her friends sing their own renditions of ABBA, Guns N Roses, and even a Journey song or two.

Now it was Saturday and getting ever so close to Monday and instead of heading over to the university bookstore she’d agreed to a picnic dinner and to spend the evening hanging out in the spooky old cemetery. What had she been thinking? Chloe hated ghosts and anything else that did the whole proverbial bump in the night thing.   

Being twenty, she was old enough to stop believing in ghosts and zombies. However, the mere idea of them still had her scampering through the apartment at night. Wasn’t that how she’d accidently broken the lamp? That would teach Heather not to buy modern lamps with shades that resembled a human head when the lights were off. Given her sometimes skittish nature, why the heck had Chloe agreed to this little fiasco?

Besides, Monday classes would start, and she’d have no books. Why hadn’t she realized, until now, that the bookstore wasn’t open on Sundays? To make matters worse, she couldn’t even remember what classes she’d signed up for or their days and times. Seriously, what was wrong with her? Certainly she wasn’t suffering from a case of Senioritis, not this soon, not after only one year of college. Her freshman status was hardly over, and if she hoped to graduate, she’d have about three more years of this.

The thought of three more years should have excited her, but instead it left her feeling empty. She couldn’t think of one thing that made her want to continue her schooling.

If only she could decide on a major, then maybe her outlook would change. But as it stood now, she’d spent an entire year dissatisfied and disinterested in almost every class she’d taken.

She’d spent her first year cramming an assortment of different courses into her schedule. From Art to interior design and from literature to folklore, she’d planned on staying within a creative field of study. Having no interest in the math or sciences, she’d stayed far away from them. She knew though that she’d eventually have to take them if she wanted to graduate.  

While her art class had been interesting, she’d ended up failing miserably as she’d painfully discovered she’d had no talent whatsoever with brush or color. She couldn’t even use the computer mouse and Photoshop.

And when it came to decorating a single room using three assigned colors, she’d been totally lost. Her own sense of color was worse than that of the colorblind. No, she should rephrase that. Even the colorblind could decorate a room better than she could. What was she supposed to have done with orange, purple, and green? In the end her room had ended up looking like a large rotting pumpkin spewing out purple and green slime.

At least literature and folklore had proven to be both enjoyable and easy. She’d done well in those classes. And while she’d enjoyed them, she wasn’t sure she wanted to pursue a career in them either.

Why was finding the perfect career so hard? Maybe it was because she’d already had the perfect career, and given it up? It had been her dream ever since she’d been little. Even though she’d wanted to quit, needed to quit, it was still hard giving it up.

Chloe shook her head, now wasn’t the time to dig up the past. Nor was it time for her to worry about her future. She still had plenty of time to find another field of study. It was just one of those days where her emotions ran a little too high. Everyone had days like that. When their spirits and minds were out of sorts, and life seemed to have little to no meaning.

She’d soon get over it. Though, now that she thought about it, she’d been experiencing way too many of these melancholy days.

It didn’t help that her closest friend was leaving the state because she wanted to spend the last month of her pregnancy with her parents in Ohio. Chloe wasn’t sure that Josie’s husband had liked the idea, but in the end he’d agreed. Josie had been ecstatic when she’d told Chloe the news. And even though she was happy for her friend, Chloe didn’t know how she’d be able to cope without her.

Josie was both confidant and savior. Not to mention, the woman had been her constant companion for the past year. Without Josie, Chloe might not even be here today.

Unconsciously Chloe touched the right side of her stomach between her ribs and her navel. Had it not been for Josie….No! She mustn’t think about it. It was all in the past. She needed to forget about it and get on with her life. But how could she do that when she couldn’t even figure out her future?

If you don’t cheer up, I’ll have you treated for depression! Chloe inwardly berated herself.

Chloe wished she could talk to Josie but her friend was busy packing, and was probably in no mood to hear Chloe complain about her lack of interest in school. She was twenty for pity’s sake! She was young and shouldn’t be in any hurry to figure out her life. And yet she continued to act as though she were some middle aged woman suffering from a mid life crisis.

I guess that’s what starting a career at the age of seventeen then quitting at nineteen will do to a person. She thought and shifted the heavy cooler into her other hand.

She needed to stop worrying. There was still plenty of time to figure it all out. Telling herself that today was the last day she’d allow herself to wallow in self-pity, Chloe tightened her hold on the cooler and tried to catch up with her friends. Her small and quick strides were no match for their long ones.

Usually she didn’t mind her height, but today as she tried to lug the heavy cooler, while practically jogging, she cursed her short legs.

“I wonder how much farther it’ll be until we get there?” Heather asked. Her grocery sack of bottled soda and plastic utensils rattling as she walked beside Jett.

Her roommate, Heather, was a chestnut haired Amazon standing about three inches taller than Chloe. Though at five feet three inches, every woman seemed like an Amazon to her. And Jett who was taller than both Chloe and Heather, reminded her of a slender Viking with his shaggy blonde hair.

As the two of them walked side by side, their sun tanned skin a perfect match, Chloe thought they looked like models, or the ultimate power couple. They were both attractive drama majors who reminded Chloe of every famous dating couple.

“It shouldn’t be too much farther.” Jett said.

“Well at the rate we’re going it will be dark before we get there.” Heather looked back at Chloe and frowned. “Why are you walking so slow?”

“Am I?” Chloe panted. “Cause it feels like I’m jogging.”

Jett slowed to a stop and Heather followed suit giving time for Chloe to catch up.

“Here,” Jett said and grabbed the heavy cooler out of her hands. “I’ll carry it for a while.”

“It’s okay. I can carry it.” Chloe said and tried to grab the cooler but Jett swung it out of her reach. When he continued to hold it out of her reach, Chloe frowned and stuck out her bottom lip. “Then at least let me carry the lanterns.”

Chloe badgered Jett until he gave in and handed Chloe the two electric lanterns before they started walking again. And soon, Jett and Heather were back in the lead, leaving Chloe to scurry behind them.

Watching them together made her feel as though she were eavesdropping on their date. Heather had a major crush on Jett and, as far as Chloe knew, he had no idea. This was the biggest reason Chloe had agreed to go on this picnic of Heather’s.

Earlier that morning, while Heather whined about her love for Jett over her cereal, Chloe had encouraged Heather to confess, which had resulted in Heather’s idea for a late night ghost hunt in the cemetery. And how did Chloe fit into all this? She’d asked Heather while buttering her toast only to be told that Jett would never agree to go if it were just the two of them.

So here she was, wasting another day torn between regret and childish fear. But on the bright side, she was happy that Heather was going to spill the beans. Chloe thought that Jett and Heather would be great together. Not to mention it would make Chloe’s days a lot less stressful not having to listen to her roommate moaning over her own cowardice.

Having shared an apartment for a year, Chloe had regrettably learned that Heather’s favorite pastime was whining and complaining over, well pretty much, everything.

Chloe prayed that when Heather confessed, Jett would be happy and confess that he felt the same. Otherwise, Chloe would be forced to suffer through the pain of Heather’s broken heart.

A little further on, the path careened to the right and the trees opened up revealing the large overgrown cemetery. As Chloe got closer, she could see just how old the place was.

Weeds hid cracked and faded tombstones, while untended shrubbery embraced burial crypts with their prickly limbs. Here and there tombstones were leaning or had fallen back onto the grass. Some tombstones stood broken, their missing pieces nowhere in sight.

Had the pieces been cleared away or stolen? Perhaps the ground had swallowed them up. Moss grew on many turning the once pretty limestone dark green and brown. It was as if the ground were actually trying to rise up and engulf the place.

Even the church’s stone walls stood covered in moss and climbing ivy. A few vines grew in and out of a partially broken window near the rotting front door. The stained glass windows that Delta Gamma believed to glow in the night were blackened by grime and soot. Chloe wondered if there had been a fire at one time or if it were caused by the prolonged use of a large fireplace.

In the middle of the cemetery near the church there was a statue of a woman, probably of the Virgin Mary. But that was only a guess because the head was missing. It had probably been broken off in an act of violent thievery. Somewhere, someone probably had a stone female head sitting on their coffee table. The perfect conversation started.

On the other side of the front door, a little ways down, was another statue. This one was an angel dressed in thick robes and wavy hair. Its palms were up, arms bent, and head bowed as if asking for God’s blessings or forgiveness.

As Chloe wandered through the cemetery, her eyes trailed sadly along the illegible epitaphs, until a tiny bit of violet caught her eye. Bending down, Chloe parted a few weeds and saw a tiny purple flower struggling to grow amid the overpowering weeds near the head of a tombstone.

The words on the headstone were faint but legible.

Here lies Mary Elizabeth dear child and forever angel.

1921-1926

It was a child’s grave. Mary Elizabeth had been only five years old when she’d died. She’d been loved once. Now she lay forgotten. Her parents long dead. Even the earth seemed to have forgotten or no longer cared. Instead it was trying to conceal this place, and this child.

Biting the inside of her cheek, Chloe wondered if anyone ever came here to visit the dead. The place was so old that all and any close relatives were probably all gone as well. It must be horrible lying there under dirt and rock forever lost without a soul to visit or care.

As she stared at the tombstone, Chloe was reminded of another grave equally abandoned. Would it be as overgrown as this one? She hoped not. Her father didn’t deserve that.

It had been almost four years since she’d last visited her father’s grave. And the guilt was almost too much for her to stand. She’d just turned sixteen when he’d finally succumbed to lung cancer. Right before he’d passed away her father had made her promise that she’d visit his grave often so that he’d never feel alone.

Chloe tugged at the weeds in front of Mary Elizabeth’s grave ripping them out of the ground. Is this how your grave looks daddy?

Tears welled in her eyes and threatened to spill down her cheeks at any moment. How could she have spent these past few years not even thinking about her father or that there was no one to visit him?

Unlike here, the cemetery in New York would have a lawn crew to take care of the grounds. But even still, he, like this poor baby, must be so lonely.

Chloe ripped at another weed, trying to allow that tiny little flower to get some sunlight. It wouldn’t be so bad if her mother visited, but Chloe knew the woman was much too busy with her own life to visit her dead husband.

Reaching out, Chloe touched the headstone as if it were her father’s. Daddy, I’ll be back to visit you someday. Please don’t give up on me. 

“Chloe what are you doing?”

Chloe quickly wiped at her eyes before looking up at Heather and Jett. Realizing she still held a clump of weeds in her hand, she tossed them aside and stood up. As she did so, she brushed the dirt from her jeans. “It was just too sad seeing this little flower fighting to survive among all these weeds.” She pointed at the headstone as if to better explain. “A baby is buried here.”

“Right, so if you’re done landscaping let’s go eat. I’m starving.” Heather said and rubbed her flat stomach.

Jett patted Chloe’s shoulder as if to say you’re crazy but I understand.

“Since Chloe cleared a nice little spot, shall we set up here?” Heather asked and sat her bag down on the ground.

“Not on her grave!” Chloe snatched the bag up. “We can’t eat our lunch here. It’s not appropriate.”

“Chloe’s right.” Jett said and took the bag out of her hand. “There’s a log just outside the gates there beneath the trees, why don’t we eat there?”

Chloe nodded and gave Jett an appreciative smile, grateful that he at least had some respect for the dead.

Heather on the other hand just shrugged and headed for the trees.

Chloe followed her over to the log as Jett brought up the rear. She’d been nervous about coming here afraid that the place would be creepy. But now as she gazed back at the desolate place, its inhabitants lonely and forgotten, Chloe felt an overwhelming sadness, for her father, and for everyone else that time forgot.

As she helped her friends lay out the blanket and food, Chloe didn’t feel in the mood to go ghost hunting. She was such an idiot. How could she have agreed to any of this? It was bordering on blasphemy. Nobody ever thought about the actual people buried in this cemetery. To most of the students this place was full of nothing but rotting corpses rising from the grave to feast on the living and spirits that oozed plasma.

Before she bit into her sandwich, Chloe said a prayer for the souls of all those people who at one time had lived, loved, and lost, and that they would forgive her. She added the last part for her father in the hopes that God would pass on the message.

 

Chapter Two

“So I am taking music composition.” Heather said wadding up her subway sandwich wrapper and opening her small bag of potato chips.

 “Is that with Professor Davis? He’s great. I had him for music comp. and theory.” Jett said and opened his bottle of iced tea to take a drink.

 “Davis? No, I’m pretty sure my schedule said something else.” Heather was silent a moment trying to think.

 Chloe wadded up her own trash and tossed it inside the empty cooler and started cleaning up her friends’ discarded wrappers only half listening to her friends, when Heather said a name she recognized. Chloe’s hand stopped an inch away from Heather’s banana peel.

“What did you say?”

“I said I’m pretty sure my comp professor is some guy named Ryther.”

“William Ryther? That can’t be right. He and Josie are going out of town.” Chloe frowned at her friends’ confused expressions. “That’s Josie’s husband. I thought I told you that.” She turned to Jett, “You’ve probably heard of him, Jett, he’s a pretty famous Broadway producer.”

“You don’t mean Bill Ryther? Heck yeah, I’ve heard of him. I didn’t know he was living here though.” He nodded his head, his body abuzz with excitement. “Wow, so him and Josie huh? That’s pretty cool. When they get back, do you think you could introduce me? I mean maybe after graduation he’d let me audition for him.”

“I can try.” Chloe said trying to be polite. Bill didn’t really like her, so Josie had kept their friendship secret. In fact, Chloe wasn’t all that sure that Bill even knew she was here attending school. “But I’m not entirely sure when they’ll be back. They’re heading over to Ohio so that Josie can be with her family. She plans to stay there until the baby’s born.”

“How far along is she?” Heather asked wiping a greasy hand on her jean shorts.

“She’s entering month nine now. So it shouldn’t be too long until the baby comes. But they’ll probably stay with her parents for a while until Josie’s back on her feet.”

“That’s cool.” Heather took a drink of soda. “Anyway, what were we talking about?”

“You said your professor’s name was Ryther.” Jett offered.

“Right. Anyway, I’m pretty sure his name’s Ryther -”

“But that’s not possible because they’re leaving.” Chloe said cutting her off. “And last time I checked, Bill was much too busy to teach a class.”

“Then maybe it was a mistake. I don’t know. Maybe there’s another Ryther. I think his first name started with an r. Oh what was it? R. Ryther.”

Chloe leaned forward on her knees. Surely it couldn’t be? Josie would have told her. “It isn’t Rhys Ryther, is it?”

Heather snapped her fingers. “That’s it.”

“Do you know him?” Jett asked.

Chloe nodded. “He’s a composer and Bill’s younger brother.” Why didn’t Josie tell me? “But I thought he was living out in California.”

“Well I guess he’s moved here, since he’s teaching. Though I wonder why he’s taken over Davis’ class. Davis isn’t old enough to retire.” Jett was quiet a moment then shrugged. “So what other classes are you taking Heather?”

While Heather listed off her classes and revealed that she was going to start taking singing lessons, Chloe pulled her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans and sent Josie a text message asking her why she’d never mentioned that Rhys was here.

Josie knew everything about Chloe’s past and that included her feelings for Josie’s brother-in-law. While Chloe waited for a response, she pictured how Rhys had looked two years ago. He’d been in his middle twenties then – twenty-three if she remembered correctly – which was a bit older than her eighteen. Chloe hadn’t cared about that.

Everyone had always said she was mature for her age. And she had to be when living with an immature and selfish mother. Sophie’s selfishness had only gotten worse after Chloe’s father had passed. 

Even though Rhys was five years older than her, it hadn’t bothered either of them. Chloe’s father had been at least 10 years older than her mother. And they’d married when her mother was twenty-four and pregnant with her, which was probably the only reason her father had agreed to marry her mother in the first place.

Chloe did not want to think about her mother. Instead, she let her mind drift back to Rhys. 

With his long auburn hair, stormy grey eyes, and easy smile, he’d been her dream man. She could still remember the way he would tease her and make her laugh. After a hard day, he’d always find a way to cheer her up. So it wasn’t any wonder that she’d developed a crush on him. Don’t kid yourself! It had been more than a crush. You loved him.

But that didn’t matter anymore. It just wasn’t meant to be. If it had been, then he’d never have broken her heart then run away.

After months of hearing nothing except for the little blurbs she’d get from Josie, it seemed that Rhys had moved on with his life. If only she’d had the courage to call him, then maybe she’d have learned why he’d left her. But she’d chickened out. After all, He’d dumped her. If she called him, she’d end up looking like some pathetic loser. 

Sighing at the memories, Chloe idly kept checking her phone for Josie’s reply as she listened to her friends talk about their course progress and how Heather was planning on changing her drama major to musical theatre just like Jett.

Inside the gates, shadows had begun to appear out along the grounds. Their slender bodies stretching out over tombstones as the sun began its slow pinkish decent below the horizon. Soon the ghosts would awake, and Heather’s plan would be set in motion.

****

“Rhys, would you be a dear and see who texted me? I gotta take this suitcase to the car.”

“Sure.” Rhys said grabbing Josie’s phone off the circular table in the foyer. “What’s your password?”

Josie opened the front door and tried to set her luggage outside while trying to bend over her protruding belly. With a grunt she turned to Rhys and replied. “It’s my and Bill’s anniversary. Zero, four, zero, nine.”

“Okay got it,” Rhys said and punched in the numbers. Frowning, he watched Josie try to lug another bag to the door. “Why don’t you let me help you? You shouldn’t be doing that by yourself.”

Josie held up a hand. “You come over here and I’ll kick you. I am getting so tired of everyone telling me to take it easy. For eight months, I’ve taken it easy.” She glared at him when he opened his mouth to protest. “I need some exercise damn it. If not, then when the baby comes, I’m going to be one of those fat mothers. So just leave me be and check my phone.”

Rhys held up his hands in defeat. He didn’t want to get into an argument, not when opponent was eight months pregnant and on the war path. He would just let Bill help her, which by the sounds of the Josie’s hellish screaming outside, Rhys was sure that’s what Bill was trying to do.

Rhys walked over to the window and cringed when he saw Bill take a hard kick to the shins. Yep, Josie was definitely on the war path today.

Rhys closed the curtain in wonder. How could a sweet and loving woman like Josie become so ill tempered and downright hostile? If this is what pregnancy did to women, Rhys wasn’t planning on having kids anytime soon. Of course, he’d have to get married first, and he had no intention of that either. No, he’d just sooner protect his shins and remain single.

Speaking of protecting his shins, he’d better see to that text message before Josie came back in and got angry at him for ignoring her request. Rhys clicked on the unread text and was surprised to see the name of the sender. Chloe. It couldn’t be her could it? She was supposed to still be in New York and as far as he knew wasn’t big on keeping in touch. Not that he’d expected her to or anything.

Even if she did have his number. Why would she call him anyway? They weren’t together anymore. A part of him had hoped she’d call. Rhys rolled his eyes at his own immaturity. It was a long time ago and past time he got over it.

Why would she be texting Josie? Curious now, his eyes skimmed over the text. Hey, what is this I hear about Rhys teaching here?

His eyes focused on that one word “here.” Why would she write “here”? Did that mean she was here in Marion? Chloe was here. Here meaning here. Rhys felt his pulse quicken. What was she doing here?

Rhys wondered if she’d still look the same. She’d been so beautiful with her alabaster skin, long black hair, and forest green eyes that even a park ranger could get lost in. She’d been like a porcelain doll.

He knew he shouldn’t want to see her, not after the way they’d parted but if this was his Chloe and she was here, he deserved to know, if for no other reason than to know how she was doing.

He read the message again while fighting with his mouth muscles. His lips wavered a minute before pulling up into a grin. In the text message she’d asked about him. Obviously that meant something.

At the sound of the front door opening, Rhys waited for Josie to come inside. Bill entered first, limping and looking defeated.

“She couldn’t have kicked you that hard? Suck it up big brother.”

Bill scowled. “You’d be surprised just how strong she’s gotten.”

Rhys laughed. “Maybe you should stop trying so hard to take care of her?”

“Are you crazy? I can’t do that. She’ll think I don’t care about her. A weeping Josie is much worse, believe me.” He grabbed another suitcase. “Besides I love her, shin kicks and all.”

As Bill headed toward the door, Josie waddled in. They both stopped at the threshold, Bill looking cowed and Josie looking devious. But as they passed one another, Josie squeezed his hand and Bill smiled. He then leaned down and kissed her before carting the suitcase out the door.

Watching that little scene, Rhys felt slightly jealous of his elder brother. Maybe marriage wasn’t such a bad thing. He’d just have to find someone as crazy and great as Josie. Though personally, he could do without the abuse to his shins.

Josie moved over next to him and grabbed her phone out of his hand. “So who sent me a text?”

“Chloe.”

As soon as the name left his lips Josie’s face colored a little and she looked away refusing to meet his gaze. “Oh… so what did she say?”

“She asked about me.” Rhys said and crossed his arms patiently waiting for her to explain. When she muttered “I see” and began to climb the stairs, he called her back. “Josie, why is Chloe texting you about me?”

Groaning, Josie turned and slowly walked back down. “Let’s go talk in the living room. Suddenly I’m feeling a little tired.”

Rhys motioned for her to lead the way in case she decided to bolt. Once they were seated in the living room, Josie resting in the big gray wingback chair with her feet propped up on a leather footstool and Rhys sitting stiffly on the edge of the sofa, Josie looked him in the eye. “Chloe moved here a year ago and is a student at the University.”

“A year ago? A year ago, you said you didn’t know where she was.” Josie abashedly glanced down at her swollen feet and said nothing. “Why is she attending this university and not one in New York? I mean her own mother is now a teacher at Julliard.”

Josie licked her lips. “Chloe wanted a change, so I suggested here. Plus, Bill had just bought this house, and I thought it’d be nice to have a friend here.”

Rhys rubbed his chin a bit too roughly. Josie was lying to him. “When did you and Chloe become friends? I don’t recall the two of you being chummy. In fact, if I remember correctly you had a strong negative opinion of her.”

Josie’s head shot up and she glared at him. “What’s with the third degree Rhys? Opinions can change. Chloe and I became great friends. You just weren’t there to notice.”

“And why wasn’t I there?” He tried to keep his temper under control. But his words still came out curt and full of unresolved anger. “Wasn’t it you who insisted I go?”

Josie blinked as the heat of his words struck her and leaned forward to take his hand. “Rhys, please don’t blame me, you and I decided that together. Why must you bring up the past? I don’t want to talk about it.” She rubbed her baby bump. “It will just give the baby unwanted stress.”

Rhys pursed his lips and nodded. This conversation was far from over. He’d grill her later. They weren’t leaving until the morning. He’d get his answers by then one way or the other.

He gave Josie his best smile trying to cover up the anger he still felt. All this time Josie had known where Chloe was and hadn’t bothered to tell him. “So, when are you and Bill heading out tomorrow? I need to be sure there’ll be plenty of time for you and I to finish our little chat.”

Josie’s face paled and Rhys continued to smile but made sure his eyes conveyed his threat. He’d get his answers. He’d make damn sure of it.

****

 

 

 

 

 

So Jealous (><)

They’ve done it again and published another comic. What the Fantasy: Little Gnome’s School Days. And it’s super cheap too!

And they’ve lowered the price on volume 1 too! What the Fantasy.

I don’t know about anyone else, but I am a super fan of this comic. It is so off the wall.

Sorry when I like something a lot, I tend to advertise the hell out of it. But I can’t help it. I love this comic and YOU SHOULD TOO!

All the promoting I’ve been doing for them, I should so make them do some advertising for me when my book comes out.

It’s My Birthday! (so why am I depressed?)

The title says it all. No need for an explanation. I’ve been slowing (and I mean super duper slow) working on my novel. But it’s hard to get anything done when I’m feeling so down in the dumps. I guess it’s the holiday blues.

Hopefully, I’ll be my old crazy cheery self tomorrow. But in the meantime, I’ll leave you all with an excerpt from my witch novel.

****

I angrily bit down on my straw and tired to keep the car under control as the ice cold soda soaked through my jeans giving my crotch a nice little shock. Some of the spilt drink had splashed through my t-shirt and was running down my stomach in tiny rivers on its way to join the soggy ocean in my pants.

Damn that perky drive-thru girl! And damn her incompetence!

What was it with drive-thru attendants never securing the lid before handing your drink out the window?

I should have known better than to try to pick the damn thing up by the lid. It was bad enough that I was covered in cherry cola – oh man, that’s sticky. But this had to happen while I was on the interstate with traffic everywhere and no place to pull over.

Why couldn’t I have just picked it up the right way like I’d been doing for the past twenty minutes? Stupid me! But mostly stupid tanned cheerleading drive-thru teen!

I chewed on my straw. My hands gripping the wheel until they hurt, I tried to keep the tears from coming. Usually something like this would not have bothered me. Usually I would have laughed it off. Not today. Not when I was three hours into the six hour drive back to my hometown. The place I’d sworn I’d never go back to.

I was exhausted having barely gotten any sleep last night. There had been too much stuff to do. I’d been out of work for weeks and without enough money to pay my rent, my landlord had given me the boot.

Now with my meager belongings shoved into my trunk and back seats, what was supposed to be a three day trip was looking to be permanent. Or at least until I’d raised enough money to get the hell out of there again.

The soda cup rolled under my brake and I cursed again. Damn that girl! Damn my fire happy boss! Damn my insensitive landlord! And damn my aunt! Damn her straight to the fiery regions of the deepest darkest pit in Hell.

I retrieved the empty cup and threw it onto the cluttered floor of the passenger’s side. My heated breath whistled through my straw as I wiped at my tear damp cheeks.

The image of my grandmother materialized in front of my eyes. Like the milky residue of cataracts, her phantom figure clouded my vision as she sat hunched on my dash. She looked as she had that day two years ago when I’d been about to leave.

“You’ll come back.” She’d said in that quiet authoritative way of hers.

I remembered how I’d rolled my eyes as I threw my stuff into my car before I’d given her a hug. I’d felt guilty leaving her. She was the only mother I’d ever known. But I couldn’t stay in that closed-minded town for another second.

“How could you stand living there Gram?” I asked the phantom. It was a question I’d often asked growing up. Every time some classmate would call me vicious names. “How can you just stand there and take their ridicule?”

“What ridicule? They are calling me what I am child. And I take no offence in that. I’m proud of who I am, and you should be too. Sticks and stones, remember that child.”

Well their taunts had hurt. They’d hurt me so bad that my heart was permanently scarred. And after graduation, I’d had enough. I’d packed my things, begged my grandmother to come with me – Gram had refused adamantly – and headed out of town.

“You’ll be back.”  My gram’s parting words echoed in the caverns of my mind. Her long boney fingers had felt so brittle in my hands. I should never have left her. She was my whole world and she’d been looking so frail. She was the only one who had loved me and believed in me. And I’d left her. I’d run away.

“Over my dead body.” That’s what I’d said to her. And she’d looked at me with those green eyes – the same shade as mine – made cloudy with age and she’d sighed.

A bubble expanded inside my chest forcing my breath to come out in choppy puffs. A whimper quivered off my lips. The guilt of it all was too much to bear. I whipped my car over to the shoulder and put it in park. The phantom Gram was gone, but still my eyes were blurry. This time with tears. “You were right Gram. I’m coming back.” But not because I’d died. Oh no. That would have been less painful. No, fate had something else in mind.

Over my dead body! I hid my face in my hands regretting my words.

“No.” The ghost of my Gram said as it materialized on the passenger seat. “Over mine.”

Not in the mood…

Some days it’s just so darn difficult to get myself in the mood to write. Especially after taking a few days off. My husband and I hosted Thanksgiving this year. (I’m back in the states after having lived three years in Korea). We just bought a house and thought why not host the holidays? So we spent the first of the week decorating and cleaning. Plus, I had a crochet doll to finish.

I took Thanksgiving and Black Friday off. I just lazed around on the sofa watching some YA drama called The Secret Circle (It’s okay, but totally not my cup of tea). I plan on writing a book where my main character is a witch, so I have been watching everything witchy from the Crucible to Sabrina the teenage witch. I still have yet to decide whether my main character is going to be a “real” witch or the fake broomstick riding witches of the cinema. Being interested in herbs and the religion I want to write more of a believable story. But I also love the fantasy of having actual power. Two of my favorite films are Pactical Magic and Bed Knobs and Broomsticks. So maybe I can find some middle ground with this story.

Speaking of witches. My kitchen island holiday centerpiece is a crocheted witch hat with holly leaves on it. And for Thanksgiving (when we always celebrate my birthday). My good ol’ mommy bought me a witch cake. It was super cute, but I hate fondant. It’s just so yucky!

Friday night, my husband decided we should watch the Slave Hunters. It’s a Korean drama on Netflix. (My hubby’s Korean. Which is why I lived in Korea for three years). Anyway. It isn’t bad. And has given me some inspiration. This is great and all except I still have to finish my first novel.

Don’t you hate that, when you’re struck with a great idea and want to write it right away but you can’t because you’re knee deep into another story. This is why it’s taking me so long to finish my novel. I keep getting new ideas. I need to stop reading and watching TV. Heck I should probably stop bathing too, since that’s where I usually come up with my stories. It seems like my muse keeps pumping me full of great ideas and I have no time to work on them.

I used to jump right in and focus on the new inspirations leaving the old ones behind, which is why I never seemed to be able to finish anything. I have at least six or more novels that have yet to be finished. I did finish one, but it is so rough it will probably take me months to edit and re-write.

My recent novel is more ready to be published, though it too is still in its rough form. But it is farther along than the first. I just hope I can meet my goal and get it publish in the next month or so.

Does anyone have any tips on how to keep your muse focused? I am beginning to think mine has ADD. She just jumps all over the place.

Sing For Me (Sample of Chapter 1)

I’m still busy working on my novel. I am editing chapter 9 right now and am about ready to start chapter 10. I will be so glad when this book is finished. It feels like I’ve spent a lifetime on it. (actually, it’s been 3 months)

I just re-read chapter 1 and decided to post a bit of it on here. I’m always in search of feed back before I publish. So feel free to let me know what you think.

Chapter One

The trail that led to the old cemetery had once been made of gravel, but as the years trickled by, rain and the elements had done their worst until the trail was mostly dirt with a few small rocks here and there. It was located just at the back of the Delta Gamma sorority house at the end of Greek Avenue.

The cemetery was well known to the students at the university as being the perfect spot for the daring party goers who were tired of the same old boring house parties. It was also a great place to make out, if you were easily turned on by death.

Most recently it had become the starting place of the school’s yearly zombie parade. Student’s, dressed like the walking dead, would rise up from behind tombstones to begin their slow and moaning walk toward downtown, grabbing and playfully biting at any and all onlookers. Other than that, the cemetery most often sat quietly within the wooded terrain of central Indiana.

Well at least it was thought to be quiet unless you were a member of Delta Gamma.

If given a chance they’d tell it differently. To the girls of Delta Gamma, the large abandoned church that stood nestled in the midst of the graves was said to be haunted. And should you scoff at this ridiculous notion, they’d strongly insist that on nights when the moon was full, its rays casting down upon the church, the stained glass would reflect the light in such a way that to any onlooker it would appear as though the light came from within the church instead of from the moon.

And if you stayed to watch, shadows could be seen rising up to fill the pews as ghostly voices filled the night. Their voices rising and falling with the dark melody of the organ, which was said to still be inside.

Chloe Haskell made her way down the path on her way to the church. The surrounding trees broke up the September light until it was nothing more than a scattering of tiny Tinkerbelles flickering upon the ground. It was warm today, but not nearly as humid as it had been. A slight breeze fought its way between the dense thicket of trees, its chill prickling Chloe’s arms. Chloe rubbed them briskly and was glad she’d decided to wear jeans, unlike her friend Heather who was starting to shiver inside her short cutoffs and tank top.

This past week, the evenings had gotten much cooler as fall approached, its crisp breath puffing off the last remnants of summer, which judging by the few scatterings of yellow of leaves, was not far off. As she watched her other friend, Jett, walking ahead, his long legged strides making it impossible for her to keep up, Chloe sighed. What was she doing out here?

It was only a few days before fall classes, and Chloe hadn’t even bought her books or school supplies yet. What was wrong with her? She normally wasn’t such a procrastinator. But recently, she’d just kept letting her friends drag her off to dinners, movies, karaoke, and even laser tag, which she’d failed miserable at after a group of elementary school students had cornered her. Each kid shooting like crazy making her vest vibrate so much she thought it’d never stop.

Well she shouldn’t blame it on her friends. Most of those activities had been her idea, all except for karaoke and laser tag. Like laser tag, but without the guns and still including the vibrating, – for some reason the bass on the machines were always cranked to the roof – she hadn’t enjoyed karaoke either.

Singing in front of others just wasn’t her forte, so she’d spent that long night silently listening to her friends sing their own renditions of ABBA, Guns N Roses, and even a Journey song or two.

Now it was Saturday and getting ever so close to Monday and instead of heading over to the university bookstore she’d agreed to a picnic dinner and to spend the evening hanging out in the spooky old cemetery. What had she been thinking? Chloe hated ghosts and anything else thought to be scary.

Being twenty, she was old enough to stop believing in them, but the idea of them still had her scampering through the apartment at night. Wasn’t that how she’d accidently broken the lamp? That would teach Heather not to buy modern lamps with shades that resembled a human head when the lights were off. Given her sometimes skittish nature, why the heck had Chloe agreed to this little fiasco?

Besides, Monday classes would start, and she’d have no books. Why hadn’t she realized, until now, that the bookstore wasn’t open on Sundays? To make matters worse, she couldn’t even remember what classes she’d signed up for or their days and times. Seriously, what was wrong with her? Certainly she wasn’t suffering from a case of Senioritis, not this soon, not after only one year of college. Her freshman status was hardly over, and if she hoped to graduate, she’d have about three more years of this.

The thought of three more years should have excited her, but instead it left her feeling empty.

If only she could decide on a major, then maybe her outlook would change. But as it stood now, she’d spent an entire year dissatisfied and disinterested in almost every class she took. She’d spent her first year cramming an assortment of different courses into her schedule. From Art and interior design, to literature and folklore. She’d planned on staying within a creative field of study. Having no interest in the math or sciences, she’d stayed far away from them.

And while art and design had been interesting, she’d ended up failing miserably as she’d painfully discovered she’d had no talent whatsoever with brush or color. She couldn’t even use the computer mouse and Photoshop.

And when it came to decorate a single room using three assigned colors, she’d been totally lost. Her own sense of color was worse than that of the color blind. No, she should rephrase that. Even the color blind could decorate a room better than she could. But what was she supposed to have done with orange, purple, and green? In the end her room had ended up looking like a large rotting pumpkin spewing out purple and green slime.

At least literature and folklore had proven to be both enjoyable and easy. She’d done well in those classes. And while she’d enjoyed them, she wasn’t sure she wanted to pursue a career in either. Why was finding the perfect career so hard? Maybe it was because she’d already had the perfect career, and given it up?

Chloe shook her head, now wasn’t the time to dig up the past. Nor was it time for her to worry about her future. She still had plenty of time to find another field of study. It was just one of those days where her emotions ran a little too high. She was just down in the dumps. Everyone had days like that. When their spirit and mind were out of sorts, and life seemed to have little to no meaning.

She’d soon get over it. Though, now that she thought about it, she’d been experiencing way too many of these melancholy days.

It didn’t help that her best friend was leaving the state because she wanted to spend the last month of her pregnancy with her parents in Ohio. Chloe wasn’t sure that Josie’s husband had liked the idea, but in the end he’d agreed. Josie had been ecstatic when she’d told Chloe the news. And while she was happy for her friend, Chloe didn’t know how she’d be able to cope without Josie. She was both confidant and savior. Not to mention, the woman had been her constant companion for the past year.

Unconsciously Chloe touched the right side of her stomach between her ribs and her navel. Had it not been for Josie… No! She mustn’t think about it. It was all in the past. She needed to forget about it and get on with her life. But how could she do that when she couldn’t even figure out her future? If you don’t cheer up, I’ll have you treated for depression! Chloe inwardly berated herself.

She wished she could talk to Josie. But her friend was busy packing, and was probably in no mood to hear Chloe complain about her lack of interest in school. She was twenty for pity’s sake! She was young and shouldn’t be in any hurry to figure out her life. And yet she continued to act as though she were some middle aged woman suffering from a mid life crisis. I guess that’s what starting a career at the age of sixteen then quitting at nineteen will do to a person.

She needed to stop worrying. There was still plenty of time to figure it all out. Telling herself that today was the last day she’d allow herself to wallow in self-pity, Chloe tightened her hold on the picnic basket and tried to catch up with her friends, her small and quick strides no match for their long ones. It sucked being short.

Usually she didn’t mind her height, but today as she tried to lug the heavy cooler while practically jogging, she cursed her two friends’ long legs.     

“I wonder how much farther it’ll be until we get there?” Heather asked her grocery sack of bottled soda and plastic utensils rattling as she walked beside Jett.

Her roommate, Heather, was a chestnut haired Amazon standing about three inches taller than Chloe. Though at five feet three inches, every woman seemed like an Amazon to her. And Jett who was taller than both Chloe and Heather, reminded her of a slender Viking with his shaggy blonde hair. As they walked side by side, their sun tanned skin a perfect match, Chloe thought they looked like models, or the ultimate power couple. They were both attractive drama majors who reminded Chloe a lot of the younger versions of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie.

“It shouldn’t be too much farther.” Jett said.

“Well at the rate we’re going it will be dark before we get there.” Heather looked back at Chloe and frowned. “Why are you walking so slow?”

“Am I?” Chloe panted. “Cause it feels like I’m jogging.”

Jett slowed to a stop and Heather followed suit giving time for Chloe to catch up. “Here,” Jett said and grabbed the heavy cooler out of her hands. “I’ll carry it for a while.”

“It’s okay. I can carry it.” Chloe tried to grab the cooler but Jett swung it out of her reach. “Then at least let me carry the lanterns.”

She continued to badger Jett until he gave in and handed Chloe the two electric lanterns before they started walking again. And soon, Jett and Heather were back in the lead, leaving Chloe to scurry behind them.

Watching them together made her feel as though she were eavesdropping on their date. Heather had a major crush on Jett and, as far as Chloe knew, he had no idea. In fact this was probably the biggest reason Chloe had agreed to go on this picnic of Heather’s.

Earlier that morning, while Heather whined about her love for Jett over her bowl of Toasted Wheaties, Chloe had encouraged Heather to confess, which had resulted in Heather’s idea for a late night in the cemetery. It was a lover’s lane of sorts. And how did Chloe fit into all this? She’d asked Heather while buttering her toast only to be told that Jett would never agree to go if it were just the two of them.

So here she was, wasting another day torn between regret and childish fear. But on the bright side, she was happy that Heather was going to spill the beans. Chloe thought that Jett and Heather would be great together. Not to mention it would make Chloe’s days a lot less stressful not having to listen to her roommate moaning over her own cowardice.

Having shared an apartment for a year, Chloe had regrettably learned that Heather’s favorite pastime was whining and complaining over, well pretty much, everything.

Chloe prayed that when Heather confessed, Jett would be happy and confess that he felt the same. Otherwise, Chloe would be forced to suffer through the pain of Heather’s broken heart.

A little further on, the path careened to the right and the trees opened up revealing a large overgrown cemetery. And as Chloe got closer, she could see just how old the place was.

Weeds hid cracked and faded tombstones, while untended shrubbery embraced burial crypts with their prickly limbs. Here and there tombstones were leaning or had fallen back onto the grass. Some tombstones stood broken, their missing pieces nowhere in sight. Had the pieces been cleared away or stolen? Perhaps the ground had swallowed them up. Moss grew on many turning the once pretty limestone dark green and brown. It was as if the ground were actually trying to rise up and engulf the place.

Even the church’s stone walls stood covered in moss and climbing ivy. A few vines grew in and out of a partially broken window near the rotting front door. The stained glass windows that Delta Gamma believed to glow in the night were blackened by grime and soot. Chloe wondered if there had been a fire at one time or if it were caused by the prolonged use of a large fireplace.

In the middle of the cemetery near the church there was a statue of a woman, probably of the Virgin Mary. But that was only a guess because the head was missing. It had probably been broken off in an act of violent thievery. Somewhere, someone probably had a stone female head sitting on their coffee table. The perfect conversation started.

On the other side of the front door, a little ways down, was another statue. This one an angel dressed in thick robes and wavy hair. Its palms were up, arms bent, and head bowed as if asking for God’s blessings or forgiveness.

As Chloe and her friends wandered through the cemetery, they as always walking ahead, her eyes trailed sadly along the illegible epitaphs, until a tiny bit of violet caught her eye. Bending down, Chloe parted a few weeds and saw a tiny purple flower struggling to grow amid the overpowering weeds near the head of a tombstone.

The words on the headstone were faint but legible.

Here lies Mary Elizabeth dear child and forever angel.

    1921-1926

    It was a child’s grave. Mary Elizabeth had been only five years old when she’d died. She had been loved once. But now here she lay forgotten. Her parents probably long dead. Even the earth seemed to have forgotten or no longer cared. Instead it was trying to conceal this place, and this child.

Sighing, Chloe wondered if anyone ever came here to visit the dead. But the place was so old that all and any close relatives were probably all gone as well. It must be horrible lying there under dirt and rock forever lost without a soul to visit or care.

As she stared at the tombstone, Chloe was reminded of another grave equally abandoned. Would it be as overgrown as this one?

Daddy, I’m so sorry.

It had been almost four years since she’d last visited her father’s grave. And the guilt was almost too much for her to bear. She’d just turned fifteen when he’d finally succumbed to lung cancer. Before he’d passed, she’d promised to visit him often so that he’d never feel alone.

Chloe tugged at the weeds in front of Mary Elizabeth’s grave and tore them out of the ground. Is this how your grave looks daddy? Chloe felt ready to cry. How could she have spent these past few years not even thinking about her father or the fact that without her there’d be no one to visit him?

Unlike here, the cemetery in New York would have a lawn crew to take care of the grounds. But still, he, like this poor baby, must be so lonely. She ripped at another weed, trying to allow that tiny little flower to get some sunlight.

It wouldn’t be so bad if her mother visited, but Chloe knew the woman was much too busy with her own life to visit her dead husband. Chloe touched the headstone as if it were her father’s. Daddy, I’ll be back to visit you someday. Please don’t give up on me. 

“Chloe what are you doing?”

Chloe looked up at Heather and Jett and realized she still had a clump of weeds in her hand. Tossing them aside, she stood up. “It was just too sad seeing this little flower fighting to survive among all these weeds.” She pointed at the headstone as if to better explain. “A baby is buried here.”

“Right, so if you’re done landscaping let’s go eat. I’m starving.” Heather rubbed her flat stomach.

Jett patted Chloe’s shoulder as if to say you’re crazy but I understand.

“Since Chloe cleared a nice little spot, shall we set up here?” Heather said and sat her bag down on ground.

“Not on her grave!” Chloe snatched the bag up off the ground. “We can’t eat our lunch here. It’s not appropriate.”

“Chloe’s right.” Jett said and took the bag out of Chloe’s hand. “There’s a log just outside the gates there beneath the trees, why don’t we eat there?”

Chloe nodded and gave Jett an appreciative smile, grateful that he at least had some respect for the dead.

Heather on the other hand just shrugged and headed for the trees.

Chloe followed her over to the log as Jett brought up the rear. She’d been nervous about coming here afraid that the place would be creepy. But now as she gazed back at the desolate place, its inhabitants lonely and forgotten, Chloe felt an overwhelming sadness, for her father, and for everyone else that time forgot.

And as she helped her friends lay out the blanket and food, Chloe didn’t feel in the mood to stay here until dark so that they could go ghost hunting. She was such an idiot. How could she have agreed to any of this? It was bordering on blasphemy. Nobody ever thought about the actual people buried in this cemetery. To them this place was full of nothing but rotting corpses rising from the grave to feast on the living and spirits that oozed plasma.

Before she bit into her sandwich, Chloe said a prayer for the souls of all those people who at one time had lived, loved, and lost, and that they would forgive her. She added the last part for her father, in the hopes that God would pass on the message.

“SO I AM taking music composition.” Heather said wadding up her subway sandwich wrapper and opening her small bag of potato chips.

“Is that with Professor Davis? He’s a great professor. I had him for music comp. and theory.” Jett said and opened his bottle of iced tea to take a drink.

“Davis? No, I’m pretty sure my schedule said something else.” Heather was silent a moment trying to think.

Chloe wadded up her own trash and tossed it inside the empty cooler and started cleaning up her friends’ discarded wrappers only half listening to her friends, when suddenly Heather said a name she recognized. Her hand stopped an inch away from Heather’s banana peel and she turned her eyes to Heather. “What did you say?”

“I said I’m pretty sure my comp professor is some guy named Ryther.”

“William Ryther? That can’t be right. He and Josie are going out of town.” She looked at her friends’ confused expressions. “That’s Josie’s husband. I thought I told you that.” She looked at Jett, “You’ve probably heard of him, Jett, he’s a pretty famous Broadway producer.”

“You don’t mean Bill Ryther? Heck yeah, I’ve heard of him. I didn’t know he was living here though.” He nodded his head, his body abuzz with excitement. “Wow, so him and Josie huh? That’s pretty cool. When they get back, do you think you could introduce me? I mean maybe after graduation he’d let me audition for him.”

“Sure.” She said trying to be polite. “But I’m not entirely sure when they’ll be back. They’re heading over to Ohio so that Josie can be with her family. She plans to stay there until the baby’s born.”

“How far along is she?” Heather asked wiping a greasy hand on her jean shorts.

“She’s entering month nine now. So it shouldn’t be too long until the baby comes. But they’ll probably stay with her parents for a while until Josie’s back on her feet.”

“That’s cool.” Heather took a drink of soda. “Anyway, what were we talking about?”

“You said your professor’s name was Ryther.” Jett offered.

“Right. Anyway, I’m pretty sure his name’s Ryther -”

“But that’s not possible, because they’re leaving.” Chloe said cutting her off. “And last time I checked, Bill was much too busy to teach a class.”

“Then maybe it was a mistake. I don’t know. Maybe there’s another Ryther. I think his first name started with an r. Oh what was it? R. Ryther.”

Chloe leaned forward on her knees. Surely it couldn’t be? Josie would have told her. “It isn’t Rhys Ryther, is it?”

Heather snapped her fingers. “That’s it.”

“Do you know him?” Jett asked Chloe.

Chloe nodded. “He’s a composer and Bill’s younger brother.” Why didn’t Josie tell me? “But I thought he was living up in New York.”

“Well I guess he’s moved here, since he’s teaching. Though I wonder why he’s taken over Davis’ class.” Jett thought for a minute then shrugged. “So what other classes are you taking Heather?”

While Heather listed off her classes and revealed that she was going to start taking singing lessons, Chloe pulled her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans and sent Josie a text message asking her why she’d never mentioned that Rhys was here.

Josie knew everything about Chloe’s past and that included her feelings for Josie’s brother-in-law. She pictured how he’d looked two years ago. He’d been in his middle twenties – twenty-four if she remembered correctly – which was a bit older than her eighteen. But everyone had always said Chloe was mature for her age. And she had to be when living with an immature and selfish mother. Her selfishness had only gotten worse after Chloe’s father had passed.

Even though Rhys was six years older than her, Chloe hadn’t cared. Her father had been at least 10 years older than her mother. And they’d married when her mother was twenty-four and pregnant with her, which was probably the only reason her father had agreed to marry her mother in the first place. Chloe did not want to think about her mother. Instead, she let her mind drift back to Rhys.

With his long auburn hair, stormy blue eyes, and easy smile, he’d been her dream man. She could still remember the way he’d teased her and made her laugh. After a hard day, he’d always find a way to cheer her up. So it wasn’t any wonder that she’d developed a crush on him. Don’t kid yourself! It had been more than a crush. You loved him. But that didn’t matter anymore. It just wasn’t meant to be. If it had been, then he’d never broken her heart then run away.

After months of hearing nothing except for the little blurbs she’d get from Josie, it seemed that Rhys had moved on with his life. If only she’d had the courage to call him, then maybe she’d have learned why he’d left her. But she’d chickened out. After all, He’d dumped her. If she called him, she’d end up looking like some pathetic loser.

Sighing at the memories, Chloe idly kept checking her phone for Josie’s reply as she listened to her friends talk about their course progress and how Heather was planning on changing her drama major to musical theatre just like Jett.

Inside the gates, shadows began to appear out along the grounds. Their slender bodies stretching out over tombstones as the sun began its slow pinkish decent below the horizon. Soon it would be the witching hour, and Heather’s plan would be in motion.

Help out a fellow author

This might be wrong, but I am hoping all you fellow bloggers out there might head on over to amazon and write a review for a fellow writer’s comic. HERE

It’s free until the end of today, so you wouldn’t have to purchase anything. The price will be going up tomorrow. Anyway if anyone out there loves reviewing books and double loves free books then please check out this comic. It’s called What the Fantasy.
THANKS A BUNCH!