Hello, Fire Enthusiasts. Thank you so much for stopping by. It’s always a pleasure to have you visit.
In the last week or so, I have been tagged with the number 7 meme once again, or a variation of the similar theme which has been making the rounds this year. I don’t have the time to participate in a lot of meme’s or hops, although I hope I will as this year progresses and as I once again re-evaluate what I spend my time doing.
The last time that I was tagged with this, I offered a piece of my second novel, sadly still stuck in pre-production. This time, I am offering a piece of my current work in progress. Since it is barely the first draft, I don’t want to give away too much, lest someone steal the idea and do it much better than I could. Suffice it to say that it deals with ghosts – both the ethereal as well as the ones that haunt our pasts.
In the story, a recent widower is left an old house by his dead aunt. He and his brother visit, with the main character deciding to stay for a week. While he is there, he is haunted by the same aunt who left him the house, as well as a host of others. The woman who showed him the house and took care of the paperwork happens to be a ringer for his dead wife, who he has yet to really let go.
My thanks to the lovely Anne Nowlin, Michelle Franco and Paul Dail (That's right, Paul. You, too, buddy!). In all seriousness, these three are truly wonderful people who have brightened my days and offered encouragement in their subtle ways. They were kind enough to consider me when they were recently tagged. I hope you like the following unedited snippet from the 77th page of my current WIP, Ghosts:
The hours ticked by as I wandered about the place, searching for inspiration. I ate something and even snacked a bit, but nothing seemed to satisfy. I stuck my iPod into my pocket and began to dust and clean; anything to get my mind off of the week’s events. I ate an early dinner of frozen burritos and a beer because I just didn’t feel hungry. I took my Kindle outside with me to the porch and sat down on the bench, but ended up falling asleep once again as I awaited the sunset.
My rest was no rest at all. I cannot recall the subject of my dreams with any specificity, but I recall the nature of them. They were dark and sinister and I was almost always afraid. Sometimes I was being hunted and other times I was made to watch terrible things. When I eventually awoke with a start, darkness had nearly completely descended and Patricia was standing before me.
“You’re a trusting one,” she uttered without emotion. Her words were not playful or threatening, but I recoiled, taking her very presence before me as threatening. I said nothing. “Good,” she continued. “Your silence suits you. You’ve said and done too much already.”
“What have I done?” The words were out of my mouth before I could muster the strength to halt them.
“He speaks,” she crossed her arms and teased. It was no kind of teasing that I ever want to endure again. Beside her on the ground was some of her equipment. She was setting up for the night’s events.
“I didn’t ask for any of this,” I stood and continued, bolstered by her response. “I was given a house. That’s all I knew. I came here, gratefully, and have done nothing to bring dishonor to the memory of Victor and Flora’s life together. What you two have been up to is none of my business.”
“It is your business now!” Patricia said, punctuating it by setting her hands upon her hips. “Flora needs you!”
“Flora’s dead, Patricia!” I screamed at her, saliva like venom spewing from my mouth. “She’s dead, and so is Victor! There is no bringing any of that back! Flora took what apparently was once a beautiful and remarkable love and twisted it into something vile and heartbreaking! She needs to find rest for her soul!”
“I have no soul!” A new voice suddenly yelled back.It was Flora. She was behind me and to my left. I turned just in time to see the bench roar to life as it was dragged without help across the porch. It swept me into the air and onto the ground beyond the steps easily as if I were one solitary bowling pin. The bench rolled and I felt my back scream as I went over the back of it and struck my head. I caught the blur of Patricia as she danced out of the way in the nick of time, unharmed. When I rolled to a stop, Flora was standing above me. She said nothing further, but simply held me in her wide and burning eyes.
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