The Gathering

 

            Today is the big day.

            Well, it’s one of the big days. My first novel goes to print. The next big day will be January 14^th when the book is officially released and I can run down to the nearby stores and look for it on the shelf.

            Until then, I’ll just have to settle for revealing the cover and telling everyone what the book is about. Ready?

 

 

 

                Many of the prophets have spoken about the events that will happen prior to Christ’s return. It has been described as a “Great and Terrible” day. The Gathering follows the lives of the Williams family as they struggle not only to maintain their faith, but also survive the calamities and disasters which have been foretold.

 

 

Spooky

            Frankenella walked, hand-in-hand, alongside her mother. The bolts in her neck itched in nervous anticipation. This was the first time she had been to the village. All the scary stories of angry farmers roaming the countryside with pitchforks and torches had given her a healthy distrust of the place.

            Mom had laughed at her fears, pointing out to Frankenella that that is what she deserved for listening to Father’s absurd tales of horror. There were no monsters in the village anymore than there were in the graveyard. After mother and daughter attended the grand festival tonight, Frankenella could see that for herself.

            Up ahead a mother and child walked along the road. The child looked normal enough with his green, patchwork skin and dusty, work clothes, but the mother was something of a fright. All of her parts matched as if put together from a single corpse and not a stitch or seam to be found.

            Frankenella remembered her manners and growled at the two as they walked past. The boy returned her growl and the malformed woman laughed.

            “See,” said Mother. “Just what I told you. Perfectly normal people.”

            The next street had lights along it. Small groups of people walked, strolled, and even skipped on the sidewalks there. A man and four children crossed the street and accompanied Frankenella, and her mother, to the house up ahead.

            “This is the fourth time for us,” said a girl who had glittering wings and a bright pink dress that dazzled with miniature fake gems. She had creepy smooth skin like the woman before. In fact, so did the man walking with her and a boy.

            Images of monsters chasing Grandfather into a dark, shambled mill sprang to mind. Perhaps the stories Father told had been correct after all. The thought of an entire village of smoothies gave Frankenella the chills—and not in a good way.

            Not sure what else to do she growled at the pink monstrosity walking next to her.

            The girl flinched at first, but then reared her shoulders back and said, “That is not the way to treat a princess. I’m not going to talk to you anymore.” And she stuck out her tongue.

            Mother had always warned Frankenella not to stick out her tongue, it might fall off. Now she had no doubt that Father was right. The village was filled with monsters. She looked up at her mother, hoping that they would turn around and go back home, but they didn’t.

            “Follow the rest of the children and do what they do,” said Mother.

            Reluctantly, she ambled forward. The monster children knocked on the door of a house and waited. Frankenella stood at the back of the group and watched.

            A monster opened the door and flashed her fangs at them. Of all the scary things Frankenella had seen this evening, this was the scariest. The monster had wrinkled skin and teeth that were too white and too perfect to be natural. Sure, her hair was tangled and of a healthy gray color, but that didn’t set off the sense that the insides of the creature had somehow shrunk, leaving the outer layer in such a horrifying state.

            The village children shouted, “Trick or Treat.” They held out open bags and the hag dumped small packages into each one.

            “What about you?” she cackled at Frankenella.

            Taking tiny steps forward, Frankenella stopped just out of reach of the hag. Not having a bag, she held out her hand, palm up.

            “That is an amazing costume,” said the hag. She leaned forward and tugged on one of Frankenella’s neck bolts. Her lips covered the bleached fangs in her mouth and her eyebrows creased.

            “Those are really connected to you.” The hag looked up at Mother and then back down at Frankenella. Then she screamed.

            Frankenella screamed, afraid that the wail of the hag might steal her soul.

 

 

Grumpy

NATIONAL GROUCH DAY

 

            This week, for your entertainment, I decided to write a piece of micro fiction based on the closest holiday. That just happened to be National Grouch Day. Go figure! Who wants to celebrate all the grouchiness in their lives? Then again, the question of how you would go about celebrating a holiday like this certainly jump started my creative center.

            In honor of all the grouchy people in the world I present:

 

 

MR. GROUCH

 

            Bill Muffel sat at his assigned table, in an uncomfortable chair, with the remains of a meal that had not only been bland, but served by incompetents. He was surprised that the food actually made reached the table instead of landing in his lap. And then there was the matter of his dining companions that could be summed up in one word - IDIOTS.

            All-in-all this whole affair was nonsense. Who ever heard of giving out an award for Grouch of the Year? He half expected to see the room filled of furry-green puppets popping out of garbage cans. Instead, there was a cornucopia of curmudgeons sitting at the tables, one more sour-faced than the next. Why the organizers of this event had invited him, he couldn’t imagine.
            Finally, a thin man with a face that could curdle milk stepped up to the podium. He cleared his voice—about a dozen times—until the room settled down. All the while his baleful glare panned the crowd as if daring anyone to talk.
            “Let’s get this over with,” he barked. “Aren’t you all so very impressed to have been invited to the first annual Grouch awards?”
            The room rumbled with unhappy responses to the question.
            “Eh, pipe down,” said the emcee. “It was a rhetorical question. I don’t really care what any of you think. Now, don’t interrupt me again. The sooner you let me finish the sooner I can get out of here.”
            A murmur of consent coursed through the room. Bill nodded his head in response to the first sensible thing he’d heard all day. If Mr. No-Personality could just deliver on his promise, Bill could make it home in time to watch the last half of This Loser’s Life; the only true to life show on television.
          “This year” the emcee continued, “the award goes to Bill Muffet for apparently being the biggest pain in the neck that Phoenix has ever seen. The awards committee put together a list of accomplishments that earned him the award, but if I read all of it my ice cream will melt before I can finish it. Just know that Mr. Muffet has been a grade-A grump to all his neighbors and coworkers.”
          The wait staff clapped at the announcement. The attendees just turned in their chairs, looking for the winner, their faces even gloomier than before.

Since the people at his table had already started pointing at him he decided that the only way to get out of here in a reasonable amount of time was to go up and accept the award. He stood and stomped up front, thinking along the way that the awards committee must be made up of individuals of low intelligence and brooding temperament.

The award itself was a cheap wood plank, with a garbage green unhappy face on it, and the word “Grouch” printed in big bold, red letters. If they were going to perpetrate a face like this the least they could do is spend more than a buck and a half on the award.

Bill snagged the Grouch plaque out of the emcee’s hands and leaned towards the microphone. “Thanks, for nothing,” he grumbled. Then he marched back to his seat, ignoring the cacophonous sounds of booing and hissing that came from the crowd.

The emcee moved back up to the microphone and clearly announced, “That’s it. Now, go home!”

 

Turkey Talk

            This week I have another piece of micro-fiction as part of the prompt over at Chasing Revery. By now you should know how this works. Carrie K Sorensen posts a picture on her website along with five words to use in the piece of fiction that is written. The picture is below and this weeks words are: System, Quarry, Ant, Bible, and Artillery.

 

 

TURKEY TALK

      
            “All right,” shouted Big Tom, “let’s bring this meeting to order.”
            “Meeting,” said Tom354, “I thought we were just hanging out, you know, talking turkey and such.”
            “I thought this was the lunch line,” said Tom92.
            “Well,” said Big Tom, “you’re both wrong. This here is the first meeting of the revolution and I need all of you to shut your traps so that I can talk.”
            “Don’t you mean, cork our gobblers?” asked Tom719.
            “Whatever,” said Big Tom. “The important point is that we begin plans to overthrow the system. We are declaring war on Thanksgiving.”
            The crowd flapped their wings and gobbled with excitement.    
            “How are we going to do that?” asked Tom 560.
            “By bringing out the heavy artillery,” said Big Tom. “We’ll show men what it feels like to be the quarry.”
            “What’s artillery?” asked Tom560.
            “This here thing I’m standing on is artillery,” said Big Tom.
            “It looks like an old car to me,” said Tom719.
            “Yeah, Big Tom,” said Tom413, “I’m pretty sure that’s a car.”
            “Of course, it’s a car,” Big Tom stomped his claw on the hood. “I’m talking meteorologically here.”
            “Oh,” said Tom22, “that explains it.”
            Tom22 leaned over to Tom283 and said, “It don’t really explain his plan, but I didn’t want to upset him by saying so.”
            Tom283 gobbled in agreement. And so did Tom37, Tom136, Tom340, and Tom568. From there the gobbles spread out like a wave of ants descending on a picnic.
            “What are you planning on doing with a car?” asked Tom719.
            “We’re going to drive it down to the courthouse and protest,” said Big Tom.
            “Protest what?” asked Tom560.  
            “You bird-brain,” said Big Tom. “We’re going to protest them serving us up for dinner every Thanksgiving. Important people drive cars and when they see all of us inside this fine motoring machine they’ll have to rethink their holiday plans. Can’t you just picture us cruising down Main Street in this thing?”
            “You really think that will work?” asked Tom500.
            “I’d swear it on a stack of Bibles,” said Big Tom. “Everyone get inside.”
            The entire farm exploded with excited gobbles. Turkeys flapped in through the open windows of the rusted-out jalopy. When the interior wouldn’t hold any more they climbed on top, covering the roof, trunk, and hood.
            Then when they were all settled Tom719 asked, “Who’s going to drive?”

 

 

This Ain't No Yellow Submarine

            It’s been a long time since I participated in the flash fiction writing prompt put on by Carrie K Sorensen. So here is my latest. The idea is to combine the picture below with the five random words they provide and make a story out of it—a very short story.

            This week the words were: Letter, Velcro, Planet, Shopping, and Fever. And this is what I came up with. I hope you enjoy it. 

 

 
 

WE ALL LIVE IN A YELLOW NON-SUBMERSIBLE

 

            The upbeat tempo of the Beatles rattled through the interior of the Sea Banana. Whenever I pointed out that the exploration ship was not a yellow submarine Dorry and the others just laughed. They seemed to miss the whole point of the experiment—to stay afloat and remain self-sufficient for as long as possible.

            I grabbed my portable work station and setup on the sunny deck. A letter back home always help set me right. Of course, I had to be careful about what I wrote. My family thought I was researching a new breakthrough in Velcro. What I couldn’t let them know was that this was a test run for a mission to another planet. A world fully engulfed by ocean.

            In a way I already felt separated from the rest of the world. My sister discussed shopping and I was worried about a case of Yellow Fever that one of the crew had come down with. Imagine that, yellow fever on a yellow boat. If it wasn’t so serious it’d be hilarious.

            After making up a few stories about fictional scientists making fictional strides in adhesive technology I gave in to the temptation to pour my heart out. You know, all of that sentimental crap that people don’t bother with as long as everything’s fine. I could't help it.

            We haven’t seen another boat for six weeks and it makes me think about our ship being alone in the vast ocean of space. Then after that, sailing the friendless seas of that distant planet. Sometimes it feels as if I’m already gone.

This Is Only A Test

            Testing . . . Testing. Can everyone hear me?  

            The Gathering comes out in January, thanks to the help of the wonderful folks at Cedar Fort, and they have agreed to let me put together an audio book for it. That way if you are like my sister and don’t have enough time to read my story of the events leading up to the Second Coming you can listen to it instead.

            In preparation for the upcoming task I decided I should do a test run. Here is my reading of a flash fiction piece I previously did on the forum and that showed up in the Flash 500 anthology. Just click on the link below to listen.

            If that grabs your interest go ahead and check out the rest of the Flash 500 stories. They are free to download at this time. Thanks to Nicole Pyles and Carrie K. Sorensen who put all the effort into collecting and e-publishing the stories.

Please, give me some feedback on this audio version of Window View.

 

High School - Scene Nine

 

            After the first interview, getting the every day details about her fellow cheer squad members and the A-list football players was a snap. Especially Tyler. The more Brittany could place herself at the quarterbacks side the higher her social credit rose. She even hinted that the continued attention might increase her odds of becoming the top cheerleader next season.

 

            By the time her third Dear Lippy column came out she had most of the cheer squad and a few from the general student body approaching her with tidbits that they thought belonged in the social news. Very little of it helped directly with the investigation, but it gave her an excuse for being all over campus talking to all sorts of people. It gave her a solid cover.

 

            Who knew that trafficking gossip would be the key to uncovering the details about a high school drug ring? Crazy! Right?

 

            There was sooooo much of it too. Not that she cared that Bobby Seton was dating both of the Parks sisters at the same time and neither of them knew about it. Or that Julia Thomson had a mysterious morning sickness. The problem was deciding which of the rumors to include in the column. Up to this point she’d been using just the three most interesting bits, but it was getting harder to decide which ones those were.

 

            Mr. Lee had actually done Jackie a huge favor. In addition to still having a position on the writing staff, she’d been handed a veritable gold mine of information. The possibilities were huge. For instance, she had found out Tyler’s schedule. There had been no repeat of the parking lot encounter. Sooner or later they would have to meet again, but until then Jackie would have to pursue other leads in the investigation.

 

            Now that everyone expected her to be snooping around on campus for the latest gossip to use in her column, Jackie could easily follow Tyler and catch him selling drugs. Then once she had a list of clients she could follow them, perhaps even interview them as Dear Lippy and see what secrets might slip out.

 

            Jackie’s mind was so wrapped up in day-dreaming about her investigation that she nearly missed Tyler walking past her. He stopped at the drinking fountain for a quick drink and then was off again. His gorgeous hair and confident stride momentarily distracted her.

 

            A quick shake of the head tossed any thoughts of a non-investigative nature aside. She took half a dozen steps after him when somebody stepped in front of her, blocking any further progress.

            Hayden Riley stood before her. Arms bigger than her thighs. Breath worse than death. He offered a gap-toothed smile. “Well, if it isn’t Dear Lippy.”

 

            “Yes.” Jackie’s mind raced for something to say that would throw Tyler’s body guard off balance. “Did you want to be interviewed?”

 

            A confused look crossed Hayden’s face. He took a step back and folded his arms. “No!”

 

            Jackie gave a moment to see if there was anything else forthcoming. There wasn’t. She took a step to the side and walked around him without further impediment.

 

            All had not been lost; she could still see Tyler ahead. A few quickened steps and she could catch up with him. 

 

            “I have a something you are going to want to put in your column,” said a girl with braided blonde hair, braces, and thick glasses.

 

            Jackie tried to remember the girl’s name, but could only recall that she was part of the nerd herd that hosted book parties whenever the latest Zombie Love movie was released. Last year the girl and her friends had dressed up as zombie groupies and had to be sent home to put on some school appropriate clothing.

 

            “The coolest party of the year is going to be at my house Friday.”

 

            “Great.” Jackie tried to sound enthused.

 

            “Aren’t you going to write it down?” asked the zombie queen.

 

            Jackie strained her neck to keep Tyler in sight. “No need. I’ll remember it. Cool party. Friday night. Come and get your zombie on.”

 

            “Won’t you need my address?”

 

            “I got it already.”

 

            “Wow! Thanks.”

 

            A quick scan failed to locate Tyler. Jackie switched into swift pursuit mode and made for the last corner where she had seen him. She rounded the edge of the building and ran smack into the Evil Trinity of Cheer.

 

            “Watch where you’re going,” snarled Stephanie Canton.

 

            “Sorry,” Jackie offered, anxious to be on her way, but Stephanie pointed a finger at her face.

            “You!” Her tone held more than a little contempt. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay away from Tyler. He’s mine.”

 

 

Time for another reader choice. Should Jackie . . .

 

A) Confront Tyler directly

B) Start following one of his accomplices

C) Focus on finding the supplier

D) End the story – have Jackie join the cheer squad and live happily ever after.