Three Ways to Settle an Argument

Insults, silence, Olympian detachment – Hildegard Finkbottom had it all. The insults worked well with the Olympian detachment but the silence was deadly. You could ask her late husband, Broinkton Finkbottom about that, but, oh dear, he died. As did that pesky insurance salesman who refused to take his foot out of the front door and ended up disturbing Hidegard’s Olympian detachment. She started with insults, but names like “used car salesman” “dumb jerk” and “politician” proved ineffective. The silence of death worked, and he fit nicely into the garden next to her husband. The flowers that year were the delight of the neighborhood.

THE END

Speaking of Olympian detachment, the next great adventure of Jude Nerdworthy, Teenaged Monster Fighter, begins on this blog next week. The title is: No Space for Vampires or They Came From Out There. What happens when a vampire and his victim are kidnapped by a flying saucer? Find out next week. If you are new to the Jude Nerdworthy stories, please click here to read his most recent adventure.

For your immediate reading pleasure, may I suggest my October focus novel Hags? It has the demonology and witchcraft adventure necessary to make your Halloween reading scary without the chainsaws, long bloody knives or hockey goalie masks you see every year at this time. Click on the front cover of Hags on Amazon to read a lengthy chunk of it free. Please click here.

How Fast is the Story Pace?

Do you prefer fiction that starts slowly and gradually speeds up the story pace? Or would you rather read a story paced to rush you through an exciting journey from the first sentence on?

I like to start my stories in the middle of the action. I’ll catch you up on the details later. I bring you into the drama like a person entering a room where a teenage girl is about to pull the trigger on a boy she has a crush on. Why would she do that? Well, you’ll have to wait for me to finish my current Work in Progress (WIP) to find out. You won’t know the answer for sure until you read the third book in this new madcap series.

Some stories need extra time to set up. Alfred Hitchcock was a master of the slow introduction as seen in the movies Psycho and The Birds. But once the story is setup, it takes off at lightning speed. That’s because fantastic journeys are rarely languid. There’s simply too much to maintain a slow pace.

My other novels begin in medias res, which is the fancy way of saying in the middle of the action. Fulfillment opens the Christmas story in an unexpected place. Instead of starting with the Annunciation, it opens with Mary receiving a visit from the demons bent on preventing the birth of Christ. From the first sentence, you know this will be no goody-goody child’s story. It’s the frightening truth of the age old battle between God and his arch nemesis Satan.

Hags, my focus novel this month, opens with a young man who wakes up one night to discover a dead body in the dumpster behind his house. Steel Pennies opens with a teenager who discovers a human skull on the ground. By starting in the middle of the action, the author sets up a fast paced journey that carries you along from start to finish.

Check out Hags for only $.99 this month for your Kindle. It’s a great Halloween read. Please click here.

Novel Quote
“The man hovered about fifty feet above the parking lot behind Micah’s tiny backyard near the row of green dumpsters.”
Hags by Paul R. Lloyd

Extraordinary Characters

It isn’t enough to make the characters real in speculative fiction. At least some of them have to be fantastic. For example, do you see that tall, thin man sipping black brew here in the coffee shop where you sit now reading this blog post on your tablet? He appears normal enough, doesn’t he? But he is a fairie with beautiful filigree wings hidden under that business-like collar shirt he’s wearing. Go ahead and follow him when he leaves. He doesn’t have a car in the parking lot. He’ll walk around the corner to that dark alley across the street where he’ll strip off his shirt, spread his wings and fly to the office.

As I mentioned in a previous blog post, ordinary stories feature ordinary characters in ordinary situations. Speculative fiction may have its share of ordinary characters, but you also find a few extraordinary characters in extraordinary places doing extraordinary things. And like any good story, not all the characters survive.

My current work in progress (WIP) fits neatly into the speculative fiction box because it covers a wide range of storytelling with elements of science fiction when a space alien is marooned on earth and has to fit in with the other teenagers at the local high school, fantasy as a group of friends venture into time travel that leads them through an underworld of strange and amazing creatures, a romance as two star-crossed lovers seek to find their way, horror as the friends battle monsters as evil as any straight out of Hades, and historical fiction as the time travelers spend months in different periods.

My focus novel for this month is Hags. It’s the story of fantastic characters from the faerie like the one described above to the regular-looking guy who moved back to Naperville, Illinois, after 15 years in prison, to the girl next door who… well, we’re not sure at the beginning of the story… but could she be a hag as wicked as any from the Middle Ages? And what about the local high school principal? The principal is your pal unless you happen to be a teenage girl. Need I say more? As my focus novel for October, Hags is only $.99 for the Kindle edition this month. Click here to purchase.

Novel Quote
“The creature wore blue jeans and a red shirt tucked into his waistband as he flitted about from golden daffodils to blue forget-me-nots like a bee shopping for nectar.”
Hags by Paul R. Lloyd

Where do you locate the monsters?

You can place a story in a real location as I did by setting Steel Pennies in West Chester, Pennsylvania, and Hags in Naperville, Illinois. My other novel, Fulfillment, is set in the first century in ancient Israel. My Jude Nerdworthy short story series is set in Warrenville, Illinois.

Some authors like to make up their own world, either as a realistic place such as Winesburg, Ohio, or one of imagination such as the shire of the Hobbits. In my current work in progress, I have both the real and the fantastic. The novel is set in Wheaton, Illinois, but quickly takes the main characters on a journey into a fantastic underworld inhabited by a vicious group of trolls and other monsters.

Location sets the mood of the story. Hemingway wrote about seeking a “clean, well-lighted place” but his characters never quite find it until one goes fishing on the Big Two-Hearted River. Hemingway’s dark bars and apartments set a tone of decay and depression in a fallen world. That mood carries over into his brooding characters.

A happy place does the same thing. Oz sets a joyful mood to support a lighthearted scarecrow, tin woodsman and cowardly lion. But the location changes when the main characters have to face the wicked witch in a dark, scary castle.

My feature novel this month is Hags. It is set in a real location, the city of Naperville, Illinois, with side trips to Warrenville, Oak Brook and Chicago. The places may exist in the real world, but the story takes place in the realm of the fantastic as faeries, demons and hags populate a story filled with mystery as Micah Probert seeks two serial killers in a quest to clear his name. The Kindle version has been reduced to $.99 this month. For the Kindle or paperback versions, please click here.

Passing the First Sentence Test

How do you decide which book to read? You’re browsing the shelves of the local bookstore or the electronic shelves of Amazon for your next read. How do you choose?

If a friend says, “Hey, you have to read this book,” I’m likely to check it out. As an author, I meet other authors online or at book festivals. I like to browse the Kindle shelves for the tomes these other authors produce.

No matter how I find a book, I make my purchase selection based on the first sentence. I enjoy reading the blurb in the Description section on Amazon and on the back cover if I visit a bookstore. But for me it’s about that first sentence. I call it the first sentence test. The big question is: Does the first sentence grab me.

A long time ago in a career far away, I wrote, “Quality writing grabs your attention and doesn’t let go until your message is delivered and understood.” At the time, I was writing about advertising copy, but the truth is it applies so well to fiction.

Now, it’s your turn to judge a first sentence. This is how I open my horror novel Hags:

From the mattress on the floor of the back bedroom of his antique Victorian fixer-upper, Micah Probert heard a far off scream.

Are you curious? Does this sentence make you want to know where the scream came from? If you do, then consider the second test of a good novel – the first paragraph test. Here’s the entire first paragraph of Hags:

From the mattress on the floor of the back bedroom of his antique Victorian fixer-upper, Micah Probert heard a far off scream. An equally distant clang of heavy metal followed. Then two muffled voices, a male and a female. The sound of feet scampering followed by a loud buzz made Micah picture a prehistoric dragonfly. Then came the silence.

Does the first paragraph of Hags snag your interest? Do you want to know what happens next? If yes, then Hags passed your first paragraph test.

While some authors prefer to set the stage for a few paragraphs or pages before the action begins, others, myself included, prefer to start in the middle of the action and then catch you up on the details as the story charges ahead.  It’s a matter of taste.

If you would like to know what happens next in Hags, click here. Only $.99 this month.

Hags Again

With Halloween around the corner, I have selected Hags as my focus novel for the month of October. The price of Hags has been reduced to $.99 for the Kindle version for the entire month. If you haven’t read Hags yet, here’s what it’s all about:

This Present Darkness meets The Blair Witch Project in my full-length horror novel Hags. After 15 years in prison for a crime he claims he didn’t commit, Micah Probert returns to his hometown of Naperville, Illinois, where he starts his first day by discovering a human-sized faerie flitting about in his backyard, a dead body in the parking lot behind his house, a pioneer ghost in his kitchen, and a local coffee shop that serves the darkest roast this side of Hades. It’s in this coffee shop that his ex-girlfriend from high school works and where he runs into her sister, the accuser in Micah’s long ago trial.

But the real action begins when Micah learns that the beautiful young woman living next door to his fixer-upper, the girl he has just started dating, may actually be a witch as wicked as any from medieval times. Mix in a few dark secrets, a serial killer or two, a hot romance or two, and this novel takes you deep into the heart of horror in the suburbs. Will Micah heed the call to spiritual warfare with the evil forces mounted against him in time to save the city of Naperville? And will he discover the secret identity of the second hag who is out to destroy him? Find out when you read Hags. For paperback or Kindle version, click here.

Novel Quote
"In the half awake time before rising when images, dreams and half dreams ascend from the darkness of the soul and imprint themselves on the memory for the rest of the day, Micah Probert observed the faerie in a mountain meadow."
Hags by Paul R. Lloyd

What Holds Your Attention in Speculative Fiction?

Speculative fiction includes science fiction, fantasy, horror and those creepy stories that don’t fit into a box with a genre label. Think of Twilight Zone and you get the idea.

What is it about speculative stories that hold our attention? A story works because the author blended the elements into a beautiful tapestry that delights and entertains the reader.

A well-told tale is located in a specific time and place. The author may change both as the story progresses, but the locale has to be believable. The location doesn’t have to be an actual place. Some of the best writing takes us to made up worlds like that galaxy far away that serves as the setting for Star Wars. Or you could tell a tale set in a real environment but with a dystopian twist like London after the zombie invasion has wiped everyone out except for a small band of intrepid survivors.

Stories revolve around characters. Ordinary stories feature ordinary characters in ordinary situations. Speculative fiction may have its share of ordinary characters, but you also find a few extraordinary characters in extraordinary places doing extraordinary things.

Speculative fiction moves at a pace appropriate to the tale. Science Fiction tales may need extra time for the author to create the fantastic world of the story, including an explanation of the science behind space travel, time travel, atomic fallout’s contribution to the size of insects, etc. But once the story is setup, it takes off at lightning speed. That because fantastic journeys are rarely languid. There’s simply too much going on to maintain a slow pace.

Location, characters and pace are three of the many elements that form the fabric of a good story. They provide clues to solving the mystery of my new novel Steel Pennies. The location is a working class neighborhood of a small Pennsylvania town in 1960. The characters are a group of teenagers whose summer is destroyed by a serial killer. The pace is fast as you might expect from a thriller. Check it out on Amazon by clicking here.

How Young is Too Young for a Teenage Relationship?

Teen couples experience emotions at the extremes. They call lust love while having little understanding of the commitment love requires. If they learn the lessons of love, the lust will give way to a loving, committed relationship. If not, they eventually tire of each other and move on to new objects of desire. The extremes of love and lust among teen couples are fun to write about and a pleasure to read. There is no need to delve into the pornographic details of a backseat romance, but teens have an awkwardness and innocence that is both a joy to see and a cause of breakups.

As a writer, I consider age important to whether my characters will have a successful loving relationship. In my stories, teens of the same age have a chance, but it will be tough for them. The maturity level of the boy and girl are important to their success as a couple. Because girls mature earlier than boys, successful relationships happen when the girl dates one or two years up. Boys succeed when they date one or two years down.

A big age gap creates its own problems. For example an age difference of three years is too much because it tends to be abusive. It’s difficult to have an equal status when one of the teens is that much older.

An example of a couple with a three-year age gap can be found in my new novel Steel Pennies. Penny Durkin loves Tommy McConnell, but Penny is 17 and Tommy is 13. The story is a thriller that requires Tommy to protect Penny from a serial killer. That’s a big burden to place on a 13 year old boy’s shoulders. The love story weaves as a thread throughout the novel as Tommy and friends attempt to solve the case. At first, Penny plays with Tommy’s affections because she knows he has a crush on her. As the story progresses, watch how this playful teasing evolves into a classical romance between two star-crossed lovers. The ending is a shocker so I’ll let you read the story and enjoy it without giving away any of the secrets of this full length novel.

Check out Steel Pennies on Amazon by clicking here.

Frankenstein’s Rant

Mrs. Frankenstein, like all women, doesn’t leave the old castle the way us regular men do. No, Mrs. Frankenstein, my darling Hildegard, has to get ready first. Let’s say we’re due at the Coplenopolis’s at 7 pm. Guess what time Mrs. Frankenstein saunters to the front door and announces “Okay, I’m ready?”

Go ahead, guess. If you said 7:05 pm, you’d be correct. Does she then proceed to the family SUV? Of course not. “Okay, I’m ready” translates into “Okay, it’s time to check to make sure I unplugged every plug in the house, turned off the stove, shut off the dryer, turned down the heat, put the trash out, fed the dog, made sure the cat is back in the house, and given written instructions to the babysitter for little Frankie and Franny.

At 7:25 pm, she slides into the passenger seat of the SUV. We need a big one because, if you saw the film, you noticed we are tall people. I think old Doctor Frankenstein added extra parts in us. I put the SUV in reverse and back out of the driveway while the missus yells at me for driving before she has a chance to buckle up and settle in.

When we finally arrive at the Coplenopolis’s, it’s 7:45 pm. But do the Coplenopolis’s see our scarred good looks at 7:45? Don’t be silly. You could stick four guys in a car and drive somewhere, I don’t care where, let’s say I haul my buddies the count, the werewolf and one of those mummy chaps to choir practice (strip joint). What do you think we do when we get there?  Exactly. We get out of the car. Four doors on the old SUV pop open at approximately the same time – immediately upon stoping.

Now, let’s consider Mrs. Frankenstein, who by the way, is like most women you know, if a bit uglier, well, I shouldn’t say “uglier.” It’s an ugly word. She’s just a little bit scar-challenged if you get my drift.

“Don’t worry,” says the missus. “Everyone always comes late.” She says this with a straight face while I’m checking out the 32 automobiles stuffed into the Coplenopolis’s driveway. I make the mistake of popping my door open. Big mistake. Wife says, “Where are you going?” Doesn’t she know?

Okay, the search for her purse begins. Then she asks if she should wear her sweater into the house. “Why’d you wear it, if you didn’t want to wear it?” I ask. This conversation is a repeat of the same stupid conversation we’ve had since 1889 so you’d think I’d learn a new line or two, but no, I’m Frankenstein’s monster. He didn’t exactly steal the high IQ brain for my head.  Anyway, the wife has removed the sweater and is now going through her purse. “Purse,” of course, means that giant tote bag she drags around with her so rummaging through it takes a while.

“Aren’t you ready yet, dear?” I ask repeating the century old script.

“In a moment, darling. I want to check my makeup.”

Let’s think about this, boys and girls, she wants to check her makeup. Mrs. Frankenstein wants to take a gander at her face. The mirror cracked the first time she peeked at her mug in this vehicle, and that was a long time ago so I don’t  know what’s she’s expecting to see. Did you ever try to check a face full of scars in a cracked mirror?

A few minutes go by. The face that could sink a thousand ships now has shiny red lips and some rosy colored rouge smeared on her scarred cheeks. The scars now stand out as deep rose lines against a pale-as-death complexion because the rouge settles in the deepest places.

“How do I look?” she asks.

By this time I remember the consequences of truth. “Beautiful, my darling.”

She gives me an angry look. “Why are you just sitting there? We’re late. Let’s go.”

Yes, finally, she exits the SUV and heads for the front door. I’m about to ring the doorbell when she says, “I’ve changed my mind.”

Where have I heard that before?

She smiles like there’s no reason in the world why I should be beside myself with Frankensteinian anger. She says, “I think I’ll take my sweater after all. Will you run to the car and get it for me?”

THE END

Deep inside many a monster is what used to be a troubled human. Dracula was once a medieval count with a propensity for scaring the delights out of his enemies, especially the invading Turks. The Werewolf of London was an English bloke who minded his own business until one day a dog bit him. Well, he thought it was a dog. Our friend Frankenstein was a pile of dead bodies without a care in this world when a crazy scientist began sewing bits and pieces of people together.

In my new novel, Steel Pennies, there’s a monster loose who doesn’t look like a vampire, werewolf or a hideous pile of spare parts sewn together, but my character is a human monster just the same. Your challenge is to figure out who the monster is before this character kills Tommy’s girlfriend. Tommy is the main character in this teenaged romance gone wild. Blending humor with horror is a fun challenge for me as an author. But the humor fades away before the shocking conclusion of Steel Pennies. Did you enjoy reading Frankenstein’s rant? If yes, you’ll love the fast paced action of Steel Pennies. Check it out on Amazon.

The Dead Werewolf’s Rant

I’m dead, not undead, not a zombie, not a vampire. I’m dead, plain old dead-as-a-doornail dead. Let me explain while my body transforms from the wolf state back into something resembling a dead human.

I was minding my own business in the front yard howling at the full moon the way I did every month. I heard a loud pop and felt a sharp pain in my chest. Since werewolves rarely have a heart attack, I figured right away it was a silver bullet. Sure enough, that weird kid down the street came charging over to me with guns blazing. Where does a nineteen-year-old semi-hermit accumulate enough silver for a fistful of automatic weapons clips?

I bled out long before the police arrived. And that silver dissolved my heart along with half my chest cavity by the time the flashing ambulance lights spun down my street.

No, I’m not going to be revived. Dead werewolves return to their human state for the funeral. The end. All she wrote. But before I leave this life, I want to warn you mothers out there to beware of your sons.

You  know the boys I’m talking about. They’re between about fifteen and thirty. They’re peculiar. I know you’re in denial. I can hear you right now saying, “There’s nothing wrong with my Harry. He just hasn’t found himself yet.”

You, lady, are in denial about your son. If he is on medication, if his brain doesn’t work the same way as most people’s brains, if he is the loner type, if he is this stranger in your home, please, for all our sakes, get the guns out of the house.

Yes, your husband has the right to bear arms. And he has a right to defend his home. But he also has the right to use a little commonsense. If the kid just ain’t right, get the guns out of the house. Stash them at Aunt Edna’s home or in a storage locker away from the kid.

Okay, I know you’re saying your child is a sweet boy, really, and would never harm anyone. And you’re about to tell me that young people with his particular condition are never violent. But, mom, that’s exactly what those other moms said in Colorado and Connecticut and Arizona and wherever else some sweet, innocent, but slightly deranged young man opened fire on a crowd of equally young, innocent and normally arranged people.

And it’s not just people. I was a werewolf for crying out in the light of the moon. Give me a break. Who gives a hoot about werewolves? It’s not like we hurt anyone, right? We just howl once a month. And okay, maybe we’re a little aggressive at the meat counter and always order our hamburgers extra raw, but is that any reason to shoot a werewolf?

Well, it’s too late to give me a break, but give the kindergarten children in your neighborhood a break by getting those guns out of the house. And the silver. Do you know where your silver is at this moment? Jerrold Slimpnickel’s mother thought her silver was in the dining room in that drawer in the middle of her china cabinet. Turns out her silver was melted down six months ago in the basement and made into silver bullets for killing werewolves like the late me.

Your boy will thank you later when his only friend, Norman Boingbanger, gets arrested on the way to your local elementary school with a boatload of his dad’s automatic rifles. So yeah, hide the silver and get those guns out of the house.

THE END 

Quotable
"She placed her left hand on my right cheek, the one on my face."
Paul R. Lloyd
Steel Pennies
    

Networking with Hobgoblins

When Merrimat’s pickup shook from bumper to bumper, he pulled over and spotted six little people, each about two-feet tall, crawling out from under his truck. The laughing little critters sprinted into the cornfield adjacent to the road.

While charging after the diminutive culprits, Merrimat clicked on his cell phone and attempted to engage its onboard video camera. Despite hitting the right button, the darn thing wouldn’t come up. On the fourth try, he spotted the cornstalks dashing by on his screen, but it was vertical format. He turned his smart phone sideways and waited for his screen to adjust.

And waited.

He kept running while waiting.

He arrived at a place in the cornfield that reminded him a those corn mazes farmers create to earn extra money at Halloween. His video camera adjusted to the horizontal so he was able to shoot excellent cell phone quality video of the crop circle and several pathways leading out of the maze or maize depending on your preference.

Merrimat heard laughter to his left and followed the path in that direction. He came to a junction, turned left on nothing more than a gut feeling. Fifty yards later he arrived at a smaller crop circle with a half dozen of the ugly little scamps milling about. They brewed coffee over a camp fire.

“Who are you people?” Mirrimat asked.

“Don’t insult us, please, human,” declared one of the tiny folk.

“Sorry. What are you?” Mirrimat asked.

“Much better. We’re hobgoblins. What did you think we were? Trolls?” The little fellow appeared to be the leader because he talked while the others kept their own counsel and he was a bit huskier than the others.

Merrimat shrugged. “I simply didn’t know. That’s why I asked. Have you always been in this neighborhood?”

“Our kind always live right in the same neighborhoods as you humans.” the hobgoblin leader passed coffee to Merrimat in an old fashioned six ounce cup of dainty china. 

“Why did you shake my car?” Mirrimat sipped the coffee. It was dark roast with a hint of exotic spices and campfire charcoal.

“We wanted to get your attention. We need to speak with you,” said the lead hobgoblin.

“What about?” Mirrimat asked.

“Are you prepared for retirement? What would happen to your family if you should pass away? Would they have the financial security they need? Let’s talk about your financial future.”

Mirrimat ran screaming from the field not bothering to follow the path laid down by the hobgoblins. On the way he kept thinking about how he must warn the others. He hoped the cellphone video turned out because he doubted anyone would believe his story.

He was wrong, of course. Turned out his friends all knew about financial planners.

THE END 

Quotable
"The aroma of dead flesh became worse as I approached Penny."
Paul R. Lloyd
Steel Pennies
    

Without Annette

Before Miley… before Lindsey… before Britney… before Jodie… and even before Hayley… there was Annette, Disney’s first teenage heart throb.

Articles covering her death yesterday at age 70, remind us that Annette Funicello was an accomplished singer, dancer and actress. But many of those writing about her have missed her greatest talent and contribution to television and film.

An American Icon
For the baby boomer generation, Annette Funicello was our first crush. That’s her legacy.

For millions of American preteen boys in the mid-fifties, she was our “it girl.” She stirred that magic something in our collective hearts that made us run a bit faster coming home from school. When we turned on the Mouseketeers that first time on October 3,1955, it was to experience that new program from Walt Disney. But from day two on, we hurried home to watch “Annette.” She was the curly-haired brunette with her name written across her blouse and those iconic mouse ears on top of her head.

Our preteen sisters loved Annette because she was everything a preteen girl wanted to become: a pretty star who attracted boys. She was a girl who always dressed right. She was that special older sister who had her act together. She was worthy of imitation.

Annette’s great charm was her sweetness and purity. Wow, isn’t that something. Did I actually write “purity” in describing a Hollywood star? With the original Mickey Mouse Club, you watched a group of good, wholesome kids with talent. At thirteen, Annette was one of the older children, one of the leaders. If she was sexy or flirtatious, it was always in a wholesome way. Even in the later Beach Party movies, Annette played the girl who was saving herself for marriage despite the bikini beach all around her.

With Annette, you always had the feeling she was playing Annette. And that was her special magic.

Think about it. The Boomer generation began in 1946 so the oldest Boomer watching Annette that first time in 1955 was all of nine years old. That means Annette was only thirteen when she stole our hearts. For the boys, she was our virtual big sister, baby sitter and famous actress combined into one giant grin.

I paid tribute to Annette in my new novel Steel Pennies. The story is set in 1960. The main characters are teenagers. In one scene early in the story, Tommy McConnell, the main character, and his buddy, Bob Durkin, turn on the television and catch a rerun of the original Mickey Mouse Club. They stop the action of the novel long enough to watch because they have a crush on Annette.

Annette Funicello stole our hearts when we were young and kept them for us until we were old enough to find our own personal sweethearts, like my bride Lynn Zuk-Lloyd.

Quotable
“… I flipped the channel knob to watch the Mouseketeers. It was a rerun, too. We watched it anyway. Bob and I have a crush on one of the Mouseketeers named Annette.”
Paul R. Lloyd
Steel Pennies

I’m a Were What?

Doctor Blutmeister said, “Roger, it only took ninety stitches to close your wound. And you arrived at the ER a good thirty or forty seconds before you would have bled out.”

 Janice Bingbuster stayed with me. Some Saturday night date that was.

When Janice bit me earlier that evening, she apologized profusely. At the time, I thought her apology over the top until I placed my hand on my wound and felt the blood gushing. And yes, she was definitely chewing as she drove my car to the emergency room.

I planned to have her drive me home after the ER visit and my overnight hospital room hangout. But when I awoke around noon, my pal Vernon stared me in the face. He volunteered to drive me home.

Vernon had that far away, thoughtful look he gets right before his Cousin Janice visits. “There’s something I have to tell you, Roger.”

“No need to apologize. Your cousin already covered that with profuse sorrow and lots of kissing while chewing.”

“That reminds me. Do you have any toothpicks?” Vernon glanced my way.

“In my car?”

“Never mind. I have something I have to tell you, and it can’t wait.” Vernon gazed back at the road.

“What is it?” I asked.

“You know me as Vernon Bingbuster, and I trust you consider me a friend.”

“I do. You’re the best, but this is old news.” I adjusted the bandage around my neck.

“And you like Cousin Janice despite her propensity for deep nibbling?”

“This may surprise you considering the depth of my wound, but yes, I like your cousin very much. What’s not to like? She’s beautiful. She’s kind. And she’s smart. So what if she clamps down a little hard during a make out session. We’re young. We’ll both get better with experience.”

Vernon took his eyes off the road to stare at me. “The problem, Roger, is you know both of us.”

I glared at the pickup stopped in front of us. “How’s that a problem?”

“Haven’t you wondered why you only see Cousin Janice once a month?” Vernon faced forward and slammed on the brakes.

“That’s because she only visits you and your mom once a month. She lives like four states away, right?”

“That’s my cover story.” Vernon waited for the pickup to move on before continuing. 

“It is?” The aroma of blood from my wound filled my nostrils along with an unhealthy amount of stone cold fear.

Vernon pulled the car to the curb and stopped. “I’m only telling you this because of the accident, the bite. Most of the time I’m your friend Vernon Bingbuster, but during the full moon, I’m Cousin Janice.”

“What?” I backed against the passenger door. “I’m on painkillers so I’m not sure I heard you right or even why I would want to hear what I just heard.”

Vernon shifted in his seat so that he faced me on the passenger side. “I’m a werewoman, Roger.”

“What is that exactly, a female wolf?” My head spun from Vicodin and weird news.

“Roger, don’t you get it? I’m a guy who turns into a sexy girl whenever the moon is full. I bit you so guess what?”

“I might get rabbis?” I cranked my head to one side trying to think, but I must have stretched the stitches because a sharp pain shot through my wound.

“You’re now a werewoman, too.”

“I’m a what? Vicodin doesn’t affect hearing, does it?”

After Vernon walked me to my door, I attributed the conversation to the painkillers from Doctor Blutmeister and any lingering drug abuse on the part of the blood donors who provided for my several transfusions. If Vernon was telling the truth, that meant I kissed a guy. I went upstairs and threw up.

As the weeks passed, I worried more about my future and less about boy lips. What would happen to me during the next full moon? I watched the evening sky, but most nights were cloudy in our neighborhood. I tried talking to Vernon Bingbuster about his Cousin Janice, but he claimed he didn’t know what I was talking about.

In case something were to happen on the next full moon, I spread the word on Twitter that my cousin Rhoda was coming to town. Vernon tweeted me that he thought my cousin might make a great friend for Cousin Janice the next time she was in town. Now, I’m the only guy I know, besides Vernon, who has to worry about a monthly visit from his “friend.”

THE END

Quotable
"Wickedness attracted and scared us at the same time"
Paul R. Lloyd
Steel Pennies

Steel Pennies

My new novel – STEEL PENNIES – is ready for purchase on Amazon for your Kindle reader. The paperback version will be ready in a few days. 

Set in 1960 in a working class neighborhood of West Chester, a small Pennsylvania town, Steel Pennies is racially-charged murder, mayhem and mischief wrapped around a teen romance gone wild. When teenagers Tommy McConnell and Bob Durkin discover the body of a long missing neighborhood girl, a series of killings ensues. As the body count mounts, will Tommy and his friends learn the identity of the killer before his girlfriend becomes the next victim?  

Steel Pennies explores racial tension and forbidden love during the early days of the civil rights movement. It examines the mystery of coming of age in a love story that turns Romeo and Juliet on its head. Laugh, cry and remember the struggles that brought America together as one people as you read my new novel – Steel Pennies.

What People Are Saying About Steel Pennies
“Machine-gun sentences.  Fast.  Intense.  Mickey Spillane-style.  No way around it.  Paul R. Lloyd is a top-notch noir writer.  Top-notch.”
Thomas Phillips author of Molech Prophecy—describing Steel Pennies by Paul R. Lloyd…

“I predict it will win awards and become assigned reading in high school, with the benefit that it will be a book that students will want to read. I loved this.”
Judge’s written comment on Steel Pennies in The Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in Mystery/Suspense Unpublished Division.

BTW, PLEASE DON’T REVEAL THE BLOCKBUSTER ENDING!

You can read a chunk of Steel Pennies on Amazon by clicking here.

Return on Monday to read my new short fiction.

Killer Crowds

Have you ever watched one of those old films of city street scenes shot more than a century ago? The people are scurrying about like folks today in our big cities. The clothes are different. The cars and horse-drawn buggies are ancient. The brick and stone buildings in those flashing images have been replaced with ever higher glass and steel towers. But the action of the people is still the same. City life is, and always has been, about hustle and bustle.

Have you ever wondered where all those people in those old films are today? The simple answer is they are dead. But are they? Where do the people go who once hurried about our city streets?

I have seen people come and go for a decade in Philadelphia and multiple decades in Chicago. My travels, business and personal, have taken me to Boston, New York, Washington, Atlanta, Dallas, Denver, El Paso, Tucson, Detroit, Cleveland, Seattle and other great cities. The scene is always the same. Even in Canada, where I have visited Montreal, Toronto, Winnipeg, Calgary and their other cities I have witnessed the phenomenon: people in motion.

But where do they go?
Chicago, where I have spent the most time studying this mystery, makes a great example. The people scurrying about the Loop today are not the same people who labored there a generation ago. Where did those other folks disappear to?

I asked people in my business network. Their answers can be summed up in four words: “home, retirement, Florida, death.”

But do they really go to those places?

Try this experiment
Follow someone you see on the street in the evening rush hour when a mass of humanity heads for the train station. It doesn’t matter which city you’re in. Pick a person and follow him or her. Most of the time that person will simply disappear into the crowd and you will never see her again. Where did she go?

The mystery of the vanishing horde has haunted me these many decades. I have followed thousands of individuals. Pick the right person on the correct day and you’ll tail them right to their train. Those folks went home for dinner that night. But what about the people who vanished into the crowd right before your eyes? You watched them walking not more than 10 paces in front of you when suddenly they were nowhere to be seen.

Where did they go?

Two theories
In the interest of science (fiction and otherwise), I humbly offer two theories for further development by you or an expert of your choice:

Transcendental Departure: Could it be that when our time in the city is up and our business tasks are performed enough for one lifetime, we disappear into the crowd? We in effect become part of the crowd or one with the crowd. We are absorbed into the crowd. Our essence, our personhood, is distributed to the other individuals who make up the crowd. Our essence invigorates and strengthens the crowd, but at the price of our individual existence.

Adult Rebirth: Perhaps we become someone else as we are absorbed into the crowd. At one end of the mass sea of heads bobbing up in down to form a wave pattern, we vanish unnoticed by our casual passerby neighbors intent on making their homeward train on time. At the other end of the crowd, someone emerges, new and vigorous from our essence, someone you have never seen before. Meanwhile, no one in the city remembers you once you have vanished forever into the crowd.

A possible third theory? Beam me up, Scotty.

Read Hags for Free Now – Offer ends Today
Today is the last day to receive of free copy of my horror novel Hags for free from Amazon for your Kindle reader. Download it by clicking here.

If you prefer the paperback version of Hags, you may purchase it by following the same link above.

After you read Hags, please give it a 5-Star review on Amazon. Thanks.

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Don’t Cry Over Spilt…

Police Detective Larson’s Irish green eyes didn’t light up when Primerot explained the reason for our late night gatherings of the Fox River Writers Group. Larson apparently had no experience with horror novels or the creatures who create them. His interest was that huge blood stain to the right of the bar at Murphy’s tap in St. Charles.

Morty the barkeep tried to explain that it was his fault the blood was spilled, but Larson didn’t get it. What’s not to get? We all have our little accidents. People are so data-focused these days, not like frontier times when a little bloodletting was a normal part of life and nobody much cared unless it was their own blood.

When Larson asked to see the liquor license, Morty laughed. “I don’t sell alcoholic beverages in this establishment, detective.”

“What do you sell?” Larson rubbed his hand across the pull tap for one of the kegs under the bar.

The rest of us laughed except Primerot who took notes for her new novel Bloodlust.

I tried to be helpful. “You may have noticed, Detective Larson, that we are not exactly like the people you meet every day in your job.”

Larson had enough of us. “Pour a glass of whatever brew you have in this keg.”

Morty snatched a beer mug from the warmer oven. He raised the glass high in the air. Our entire writer’s group including Primerot, Nosebuster, Suckbreath, Dimsnort and me craned our necks with eyes the size of silver dollars, for those of you who remember silver dollars. Anyway, they’re big.

Morty grinned a little wider than most people’s mouths will allow. This little trick made Larson’s eyes light up. Certain he had the detective’s attention; Morty pulled the tap, filling it with red joy.

“What is that? Some kind of wine?” Larson had not yet made the connection between the sweet aroma of fresh kill and the rubicund liquid Morty handed to him.

The link became obvious when Larson gawked in our direction. We, who couldn’t resist that flavorful scent, had our mouths open wide enough to expose the full length of our three-inch needle sharp incisors.

Larson pulled his handgun. I think it was a Glock, but what do I know of weapons other than my own fangs? As for the blood stain on the floor, Larson should have arrived earlier when we wrestled for the privilege of licking it up.

Despite Larson’s tough guy exterior, we each had a share with Primerot taking the devil’s portion. She is, after all, our leader.

Read Hags for Free Now – Offer ends March 15, 2013
Download Hags for free this week only from Amazon for your Kindle reader by clicking here.

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Evil Incarnate at Your Local Coffee Shop

Ted Wilson had no intention of kissing a vampire hag full on the lips when he entered the coffee shop earlier than usual yesterday morning. With the local Twilight Coffee Shoppe operating a 24-hour Latte and Leave service, Ted knew he could caffeinate on the 50-minute drive down the Reagan to the Eisenhower to the Loop. Fifty minutes if you left before the morning rush which explained his stop at the Twilight Coffee Shoppe.

When the tall, extremely pale barista asked if he wanted the usual, Ted moaned yes, but when he opened the plastic top to pour in a little almond-flavored imitation creamer, he did not expect to see a blood-red brew.

“What’s this?” he inquired.

The barista flashed a toothy grin before announcing, “Oops, that one’s mine.”

Ted snagged the correct brew cup and slid his debit card through the machine. He headed for the door without the almond-flavored imitation creamer.

“Wait,” said the barista. “Please allow me to apologize profusely for the error. Entirely my fault.”

Ted, who by this time had a hand on the front door, spun about. “No problem.” He didn’t see the barista so he shrugged. When he turned to leave, he bumped into her.

“When I say apologizes profusely, darling, I mean profusely.” The barista planted her ample lips firmly over Ted’s.

Ted was not one to mind a pair of warm female lips connected to his own, but they must be warm. The barista’s lips were as cold as Italian sausage yanked from the refrigerator, not that Ted ever kissed a cold Italian sausage. He preferred his meat hot, juicy and well done, but that’s another story for a different sort of blog than this one.

When the barista pulled back from the kiss, Ted noticed her fangs. It’s hard to miss a pair of three-inch upper incisors on a woman whose beauty is in the range of oh… let’s say Morticia Addams.

“What the…” Ted began to say before he was interrupted by the insertion of the barista’s incisors into his jugular vein.

As I said, that was yesterday morning before sunrise. This evening, Ted returned to the Latte and Leave.

“Usual?” the tall, pale barista asked.

“Yes, the usual,” replied Ted.

Read Hags for Free Now – Offer ends March 15, 2013
Download Hags for free this week only from Amazon for your Kindle reader by clicking here.

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Are You Afraid?

Scary, invisible things haunt your soul and keep you from the life you deserve. But what happens when one of those frightening creatures turns visible, for your eyes only? Creepy, right?

You’re alone in your bedroom, late at night with the lights on because you’re reading a horror story (like my Hags). The window flies open and something flaps its way into your room. Is it a bat? Or is it a mist on the wind?

What does the vapor shape into while it floats above your bed at midnight? The eyes, red and glowing like coals, appear first. Then a long, green nose slithers out of the haze. The rest of the face follows. You’re staring at a hag older than humankind.

You pull the covers over your head in hopes the creature will vanish by sunrise. As you contemplate your fate, you consider the value of praying to a God you’re not sure you believe in, just in case the thing in your room is real. Because if it is, then maybe there’s more to this God thing than meets your busy eyeballs. That’s when you hear the bump.

You pull the covers down from your face as you summon the courage to peek at the hag in your midnight bedroom. But there is no hag, only the wind through your open window, billowing curtains, and your paperback copy of Hags on the floor where it landed after that last big gust.

You close your eyes, snuggle into your pillow, and wait in the dark for what you know always comes next. 

Read Hags for Free Now – Offer ends March 15, 2013
Download Hags for free this week only from Amazon for your Kindle reader by clicking here.

After you read Hags, please give it a 5-Star review on Amazon. Thanks.

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Hags: Kindle Free Today Until Friday

Hags is my horror novel set in Naperville, Illinois, a suburb of Chicago. For the next five days you can download a free copy for your Amazon Kindle. And if you don’t have a Kindle, you can download the Kindle Reader software free for your computer, smart phone or tablet. If you prefer the paperback version, it’s available for purchase on Amazon.

As one of my Amazon critics wrote:
“For a story dealing with such dark topics, Hags surprised me with its genuine humor. Once all the pieces are on the table, the story has a very distinctive and clever personality that flows quickly…. you'll find Hags a delightful read that may have something to say about fear, lust, greed, brokenness and most importantly, redemption.”

If you read a chunk of Hags on my blog the past several weeks, you know that Micah Probert is an ex-con who wants to clear his name after 15 years in prison for a rape he insists he didn’t commit. For this reason, Micah returns to his hometown of Naperville, Illinois, where he starts his first day by discovering a human-sized faerie flitting about in his backyard, a dead body in the parking lot behind his house, a pioneer ghost in his kitchen, and a local coffee shop that serves the darkest brew this side of Hades. Mix in a few black secrets, a couple of serial killers, a hot romance or two, and this novel takes you deep into the heart of horror in the suburbs.

I’m happy to offer this five-day free download of Hags. Here’s how we can make your Hags experience a win-win for both of us:

1. Click here to download your free copy of Hags from Amazon. Act by Friday, March 15, 2013, the last day of this free offer.
2. Read Hags and enjoy.

When you are finished reading Hags, please do the following:

1. Recommend it to your friends
2. Give it a five-star review on Amazon. This is important because five-star reviews help to sell books.

Read Hags for Free Now
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Here’s another novel idea…
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Hags Episode 20

Do you want to start at the beginning of this series? Click here.

Denise knelt to receive her cat. She lifted her head to face Micah. “How do you know so much about the intellectual capacity of criminals?”

“I spent a huge chunk of my life among thieves, robbers, murderers and rapists.”

“Were you one of them?” Denise picked up Fritz.

“I served time with them.”

Denise stood up with Fritz in her arms. “What are you doing way out here, you naughty thing.”

“Ummm, strolling with you, remember? It was your idea.” Micah folded his arms across his chest.

“I meant the cat.”

“I know.”

“Which were you in for?”

“Rape.”

Denise stared bullets into Micah’s eyes. She dropped Fritz and punched Micah so hard in the ribs that he had to sidestep several times to avoid falling over. Fritz ran towards the trees.

Micah grabbed his ribcage and glared at Denise with his mouth open and his eyes wide. “You promised not to hit me again and besides, did I say I was guilty?”

“How could you do such a thing?”

“Did you hear me?”

Denise pointed an accusing finger in Micah’s face. “All criminals claim they’re innocent.”

“I was.”

“You mean some girl made up a story about you raping her just for the fun of it?”

“She made up the story.”

“For the fun of it?” Denise’s finger touched Micah’s nose.

He stepped back. “I have no idea why she did it. I thought she liked me.”

Denise placed her hands on her hips. “She allowed you to go to prison based on a lie?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t believe you. You must have done something.” Denise folded her arms in front of her.

Micah scratched the top of his head. “I’ve asked myself what I could have done for her to call it rape, and I never came up with an answer.”

“A girl knows when she is raped, Micah.”

Micah scratched his head. “She was only fourteen, but yeah, she sure knew how to describe it in detail at the trial.”

“You must have hurt her.”

“Fell in love with her older sister.”

“You cheated on her?”

“No. I mean I dated the older sister. Then one day the little sister announced I had raped her. Next thing, I was in jail. Then a trial. My word against hers. Jury believed her. I got ten-to-fifteen. Parole board refused parole. It was such a horrible crime because she was jailbait, and I never acknowledged my guilt, so I served the full fifteen.”

Denise placed her hands in her pockets. “She never recanted her story?”

“Nope.”

“You must have done something.”

Micah grabbed Denise by the shoulders. “Yeah, I lived with real thieves, robbers, murderers and rapists.”

Denise shoved him away.

The End of this preview set of episodes. But the story isn't over yet.

Read the rest of Hags during the big Hags giveaway
Download the Kindle version of Hags free between March 11 - 15, 2013 by clicking here.

If you don't want to wait for a free copy of Hags, or you are reading this after March 15, 2013, purchase the paperback or Kindle version right now by clicking here.

Thanks for reading these blog episodes. Be sure to tell your friends about it. And as always, I greatly appreciate your 5-Star Reviews on Amazon.

Another Big Announcement
Return to my blog next week for a huge announcement regarding the upcoming release of my new novel.

Hags Episode 19

Do you want to start at the beginning of this series? Click here.

“Do you think he killed her here or just dumped the body?” Denise Appleby touched Micah’s arm while batting her blue eyes.

Micah kicked a small granite stone on the dirt path that ran through a meadow located in the forest preserve in Warrenville. The couple faced the east side of the narrow muddy track where yellow police tape outlined an area twenty-five feet on a side.

“The TV news guy said it happened here.” Micah pulled Denise close to him.

Denise gazed into Micah’s brown eyes and pointed at the police tape. “A smart criminal would have buried her to hide the evidence.”

Micah waved an arm at the crime scene. It smelled of innocent forest preserve greenery. “Her killer left her for a Forest Preserve policeman to discover on his rounds.

Denise stepped over the police tape. “Sounds like a rape gone bad. If he had planned to kill her, he would have brought a shovel to bury her with.”

Micah grabbed her arm to pull her back. Robins whistled in the trees.

Denise swung her arm free and giggled as she stepped out of Micah’s reach. “He didn’t cut her. There’s no blood.”

“Probably choked her. Hard to tell with the body hauled in for the autopsy. If he stabbed her somewhere else, there wouldn’t be much in the way of blood here.”

Denise shuttered and returned to Micah. She leaned close to him across the tape. “Poor girl. She was just a kid. Such a waste.”

“High school senior according to the news reports.” Micah put his arms around Denise and rubbed her back.

“The police may not have any clues.”

“They have clues. Criminals are amazingly stupid. They leave a little something behind. A footprint. A fingerprint. Telltale body fluids.”

Denise pulled back from Micah. “Yech! Let’s not talk about it, okay?”

“Sounds good to me.” Micah took her hand and urged her back across the police tape. His eyes wandered along the open ground. “Isn’t that Fritz?”

“Where?”

“Look through those oaks to that weedy area.” Micah pointed towards some underbrush.

Denise took a step away from Micah and placed her hands on her hips. “Fritz! Here, Fritz. Kitty, kitty, kitty.”

Fritz ran to his mistress.

Click here to continue reading Hags...

The big Hags giveaway
Download the Kindle version of Hags free between March 11 - 15, 2013.

If you don't want to wait for a free copy of Hags, purchase the paperback or Kindle version right now by clicking here.

Hags Episode 18

Do you want to start at the beginning of this series? Click here.

After many years of entertaining young ladies in need of a little assistance with their grades, the thought of something new to explore about himself tickled Dr. Lionel Langdon, principal of Ulysses S. Grant High School (“Your principal is your pal”). Taking advantage of senior class girls (always after their eighteenth birthday, mind you) had become boring in recent years. So much so, that he considered abandoning the practice and simply allowing the girls to flunk math or whatever subject slowed them down.

He hadn’t planned it. Really, it was quite an accident. But such thoughts must wait for a more private moment. For now, he busied himself with the business of gathering leaves and sticks to provide a temporary covering for the grave evidence of his new-found avocation.

Not until he was satisfied that Megan McCormick was safely tucked away in her temporary sarcophagus of leaves and weeds did he dismiss himself. He planned to return later that evening with a shovel for the burial. Next time, he must prepare better for the unexpected turning of events. Of course, next time, the event would be well-conceived with the shovel in the trunk of his car, ready and waiting.

Click here to continue reading Hags...

The big Hags giveaway
Download the Kindle version of Hags free between March 11 - 15, 2013.

If you don't want to wait for a free copy of Hags, purchase the paperback or Kindle version right now by clicking here.

Hags Episode 17

Do you want to start at the beginning of this series? Click here.

“So you checked me out while I was painting?” Micah’s smile grew wide.

“I did?”

“I know.”

“No, it was a question. You think I peeked at you?”

“It’s what you told the detective.”

“So.”

“Maybe we should have given him a muffin.”

Denise twirled a finger through her ponytail. “He’s not good looking enough, maybe a tad too old, and probably way too married for my muffins.”

“I’m none of those things, but I am a suspect. Sure you want to feed this muffin to me?”

“You haven’t been here long enough to murder anyone. If you had come to Naperville to kill a few people, you wouldn’t have bought a house.” Denise picked up the big muffin Micah had taken a bite out of earlier. “Here, it’ll feed your heart, your head and your tummy.”

“And it’s tasty.” Micah stuffed another bite into his mouth.

Denise’s eyes glowed while Micah ate more of her muffin. “Uhmm, you did buy the house, right?”

“Yes. So you didn’t leer at me?” Micah swallowed more of the muffin.

“You want me to ogle you?”

“If I get to peep back at you.”

Denise slapped his face.

Click here to continue reading Hags.

The big Hags giveaway
Download the Kindle version of Hags free between March 11 - 15, 2013.

If you don't want to wait for a free copy of Hags, purchase the paperback or Kindle version right now by clicking here.

Hags Episode 16

Do you want to start at the beginning of this series? Click here.


Denise smacked Micah on the arm and then folded her arms across her chest. She stared at Lawson.

The police officer took a step back. “I’ll repeat the question. Would you mind telling me where you were yesterday afternoon between three and six?”

“I was here.” Micah took another bite of muffin.

“Can you prove it?”

“Can you prove I wasn’t? By the way, these are tasty. Sure you don’t want one.” Micah picked up the basket of muffins.

Denise unfolded her arms and grabbed the basket. She placed it on the counter behind her. “I saw him here working yesterday afternoon.”

Micah glanced at Denise. “You did?”

“Yeah. I peeked in through your window as you worked sans shirt. You’re fun to stare at. I also noticed your car never left the driveway.” She turned to the detective, batting her eyes. “I did gawp at him. I was a regular Peeping Tom or Tammy. Will you arrest me?”

Detective Lawson shook his head. “Not at the moment. I didn’t come to accuse anyone of anything. I want to eliminate a few names.”

“You mean suspects, don’t you?” Micah asked.

The detective put his coffee down. “If you prefer, but it’s a bit early to call anyone a suspect. The pervert killed her yesterday afternoon.”

“And she’s not the one I found the other day?” Micah asked.

“No, this is a different case.”

“May I inquire as to what happened?” Denise asked.

“You’ll read about it in the paper or hear about it on the news.” Lawson put his pen back inside his shirt pocket.

Denise frowned. “But, detective, you’re here now. You can’t tease us with a juicy murder mystery and then leave. What happened? Who was killed?”

“Thanks for your time. Both of you.” The detective smiled before making his way out of the house.

Click here to continue reading Hags.

The big Hags giveaway
Download the Kindle version of Hags free between March 11 - 15, 2013.

If you don't want to wait for a free copy of Hags, purchase the paperback or Kindle version right now by clicking here.

Hags Episode 15

Do you want to start at the beginning of this series? Click here.

Micah stared at the officer. “I remember you.”

“You do? I wore a uniform then.”

“I remember every cop on the Naperville police force.”

“Most of the guys you knew retired. May I come in?”

“What’s this about?”

“I need to ask some questions.”

“Do you have a warrant?”

“We could do this back at the station, Mr. Probert. I can get a warrant, but for now I prefer a friendly chat to see if you can clear up a few things for us. Afterwards, I won’t have to bother you again.”

“Is this about the body I found?” Micah’s eyes followed a blur of red movement in the sky. “Can you see that?”

Detective Lawson turned around. “See what?”

“Nevermind. He’s gone now.”

Lawson gestured, palms up. “Who’s gone?”

“If you didn’t see it, you won’t believe it. Trust me, he left the area.”

Lawson rubbed his chin. “If you see things I don’t see, one of us has a problem.”

“You would have seen it if you looked that way. He’s out of sight now.”

“Who are we talking about?” Lawson stepped closer to Micah.

“Not sure. Some guy flying across the sky.”

“In a small airplane?”

“Something like that. A big kite or glider. Or he sprouted wings and flew. You never answered my question.”

“It’s not about the body you found.”

“Then come in.” Micah turned back into the house leaving the officer outside. Lawson opened the storm door and followed Micah into the kitchen.

“Planning to move, Mr Probert?”

“I registered as an offender so I’m sure you know I’m still moving in.”

Denise Appleby furrowed her eyebrows as she stared at Micah.

“I didn’t realize you had company, Mr. Probert. Can she come back later?” Lawson reached into his blue suit jacket and snagged a small paper tablet.

“I want her to stay if you don’t mind, detective.”

“As you wish.” Lawson removed a cheap ballpoint from his shirt pocket. It was the kind of writing instrument sweaty sales people give away at tradeshows.

“What about what I wish?” Denise poured more coffee into her cup, fixed her eyes on the police detective and smiled. She placed her cup down on the counter and climbed up on the chair in front of the refrigerator. Micah admired her lower appendages below her short skirt as she pulled down a cup and jumped to the floor.

“Milk and sugar, detective?” Micah picked up the spoon and gave it a quick wipe with a towel.

“Black is fine. Mr. Probert, I’ll come to the point. Can you account for your whereabouts yesterday afternoon?”

“I unpacked some stuff and did some paint-up, fix-up work.”

“Were you here say between three and six? By the way, those muffins appear enticing.”

Denise jumped in front of the muffins. “You may not have any.”

The detective pulled his arm back. “I didn’t ask for one. I said they appeared tasty.”

Denise checked out the detective with a nervous grin.

“She made them for me, detective. I would offer you one, but you might turn into a frog, and we wouldn’t want that to happen.” Micah smiled.

Click here to continue reading Hags.

The big Hags giveaway
Download the Kindle version of Hags free between March 11 - 15, 2013.

If you don't want to wait for a free copy of Hags, purchase the paperback or Kindle version right now by clicking here. 

Hags Episode 14

Do you want to start at the beginning of this series? Click here.


Micah sniffed the steam rising from a stack of muffins. An oversized muffin, oozing blueberries, sat on top of the heap.

Micah reached into the basket.

Denise smacked his hand. “First, a gentleman offers a lady coffee when she visits.” She placed her hand on Micah’s Delonghi coffeemaker. “This is nice. Does it make good coffee?”

Micah rubbed the back of his sore hand. “It will when I remember which box has the Jamaican Blue Mountain. Right now it’s pouring the best decaf this side of Bob’s Coffee Emporium. Let me find you a cup.” Micah opened a cabinet door to discover it held plates and saucers, but no cups. He opened another cabinet, but it held a few plastic storage containers.

Denise turned to the cabinet behind her, the one above the refrigerator. She pulled a chair over, stood on it and opened the cabinet door. She grabbed a mug, turned around and jumped to the floor as her miniskirt billowed in the breeze. “I wouldn’t keep the coffee mugs in that one. It’s too hard to reach. I like your mugs by the way.”

“I must have put them away before heading to the coffee shop for the real thing. A guy in Phoenix makes the mugs by hand so I bought a bunch. Would you like cream and sugar?”

“You have real cream?”

“Of course.” Micah pulled a container from the refrigerator.

“And a touch of sugar.”

“Do you mind sharing my spoon? I’d hate to have to figure out where the rest of them are until I finish unpacking.”

“If I have no other choice.” Denise stared at the spoon for a few seconds. “Is this real silver?”

“Guess so. I inherited it.”

Denise shrugged her shoulders and picked the extra large muffin out of her basket. “I made this one especially for you.”

“Thanks. Aren’t the rest of them for me, too?”

“Of course, but that one has an extra portion of my special blueberries with an added dollop of goodness. By the way, you didn’t tell me why you put cream and sugar in your coffee if you prefer it black.”

Micah took the muffin and held it in his hand. “Still warm from the oven. My father drank his coffee with cream and sugar so I honor him with one cup his way. It keeps me going during the rough times. I can feel his presence when I do it, and it makes me smile.”

“Not everyone loves their father.”

“I did. He’s gone now.” Micah lifted the muffin to his mouth.

“Oh, I’m sorry. You must miss him terribly.”

Micah pulled the muffin away from his mouth. “I do. He stood by me when no one else would.” Micah took a bite. “Hmmm, you’re right. This muffin is special.”

“Not even your mother?”

“She died a long time ago. It was me and Dad growing up.” Micah turned at the sound of loud knocking on his front door. He set the rest of the muffin on the counter by his cup of coffee.

Denise stirred her coffee. “You better answer it.”

When Micah passed the staircase, he caught a glimpse of the pioneer woman climbing the steps.

At the front door, a man in a grey business suit held up a badge. “Detective Lawson, Naperville police.”

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Hags Episode 13

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Chapter Six
Despite the stream of light from the window and the brightness of two lamps, Micah could see the aerie specter of the pioneer woman. She sat in a phantom rocking chair in the corner of the room where she knitted.  He chose to ignore her as he prepared to peel the wallpaper from the front bedroom walls of his Naperville fixer-upper.

Micah couldn’t tell if the wallpaper was fifty years old or a hundred. Judging from the ghost’s costume, he guessed more like one hundred fifty. That would make it one of the oldest homes in Naperville. The wallpaper may have been light and cheerful at one time, but now a dull gray-brown depressed the atmosphere of the room.

In a corner at the front of the house, he pulled a wet scrub brush out of a dark brown plastic bucket and applied water to the paper. Once he had a large section soaked, he pulled a wide scraper out of the back pocket of his ragged blue jeans. He rubbed it along the wet paper to peel it away from the wall. The wet globs of paper fell to the painter’s plastic sheet on the floor. Micah worked his way across the front wall until he removed the wallpaper.

He descended to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Unlike Bob’s Coffee Emporium, where he drank a strong, black brew, he poured decaf. He stirred in milk and two teaspoons of sugar before raising the cup to his lips.

“You like milk and sugar in your coffee?” The female voice startled Micah. Had the pioneer woman decided to speak? He surveyed the room but didn’t see the phantom. He set the cup down on the counter and grabbed a towel to wipe splashed coffee from his shirt.

“I prefer it black.” Micah placed the dishtowel on the kitchen table and opened the screen door. “Why are you in my backyard?”

Denise Appleby carried a small wicker basket into the room. A faded flower-print cloth covered the contents of the basket. She wore a flower pattern pink dress with lots of yellow blossoms and thin, long green leaves. The dress, though new, appeared similar to the cloth covering the basket. A strip of fabric matching her dress held her raven hair in a ponytail. “What? Are you afraid I’m trespassing? The fact is, you refused to answer the front door.”

“Hmmm, something smells fresh. How’d you get into my yard? There’s no gate.”

“I climbed. I’m a suffragette; I’m not helpless.” She placed the wicker basket on a counter.

“Suffragette?”

“My mom used to say it a lot, and I picked it up. It’s an old-fashioned way of saying ‘liberated.’”

“I didn’t hear you ring the bell. Say, are those blueberries I smell?”

“I don’t think your bell works.”

“I’ll check into it, but first, may I liberate one of your whatevers you have in your basket?”

“Certainly.” Denise pulled the faded cloth off the basket.

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The big announcement
You have finished reading Episode 13 of Hags. This is an excellent moment in the story to announce the big Hags giveaway. Download the Kindle version of Hags free between March 11 - 15, 2013.

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Hags Episode 12

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Bob rose from his chair and faced the counter. He paced a short distance and checked over his shoulder. “You know where to find me if you need me.” Bob made his way up to Peevy. They talked.

Micah took a sip from his coffee while focusing on Peevy. In this light and distance it didn’t take much for him to picture the last time she smiled at him.

He remembered a summer day on the Prairie Path, an abandoned series of old railroad right of ways converted to hiking paths that wander through Chicago’s suburbs. Peevy in blue shorts and a white sleeveless top. And about two hundred fewer pounds. A kiss. Not one of those passionate, let’s make like bunnies in the bushes kind of kisses. Instead, they pressed each other’s lips together in a gentle promise of commitment.

A tear flowed down Micah’s right cheek. Peevy stared at him from behind the counter and her expression softened for a split second before it hardened again. Then her face lit up as she turned to the front door of the coffee shop.

“Ahlman!” she called. Several customers stood up when the man with gossamer wings hidden under his Ivy League blue dress shirt entered. They began to applaud.

“Way to go, Ahlman,” a man shouted from a table on the other side of the room.

Ahlman strutted up to the counter through a group of about one half dozen admirers who wanted to shake his hand. He smiled and shook hands like a politician.

“It’s on the house. I’m overlooking that you’re a man,” Peevy said.

“Thank you, dear lady.” Ahlman took the coffee and headed towards Micah’s table. He passed it and sat at the next table in the row and eyeballed Micah as he sat down. He placed his coffee and a copy of Twain’s Letters From the Earth on the table.

Micah nodded in Ahlman’s direction. “You must have done something right.”

Ahlman’s eyes twinkled. “Raised money for one of the local high schools, old boy. I have some friends who are generous.”

“Friends in high places?”

Ahlman laughed and shook his head from side-to-side. “You’re new in town, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. Been here both days.”

Ahlman moved to Micah’s table. “How do you like our town so far?”

“I’ve always liked Naperville. Certain Napervillians are the problem.” Micah took another bite of his scone and washed it down with coffee.

“So this is not your first visit?”

“Long story. Let’s not go there.”

“Any interesting adventures since you came to town?”

“It’s only been two days.”

“So…”

Micah glared at Ahlman. “Yesterday morning a giant faerie that looked like you flew past my window on gossamer wings and landed in the alley in back of my house. Oh, and I found a body in the dumpster.”

“Tell you what, Micah, I’ll be careful of my flight patterns, and you be careful of your imagination.”

“So it was you?”

Ahlman roared with laughter. “You found a faerie? Naperville is such a straight-laced suburban community that I’m surprised you would find one around here. Then again I suppose you can find gays everywhere. My, this is noble coffee. They don’t roast it like this where I come from.”

“How do you know my name?”

“Peevy. You set the land speed record for making her angry when you came in yesterday morning. I asked her who you were.”

“And she told you?”

“She said you were the reason she hates all men.”

“About says it all.” Micah took a sip of coffee.

“Doesn’t say why she hates you, old boy.”

“No. I’m surprised she didn’t tell you.”

“She may not have wanted to make me blush. I have a certain reputation to maintain. Did you say you found a body? I don’t believe Naperville has many murders.”

Micah held up his forefinger. “It has one now.”

“We’ve had our share of rape and child molestation, but I don’t think we’ve had many murders.” Ahlman took a sip of his coffee.

“Peevy told you?”

“Told me what, Micah?”

“I’m leaving now.” Micah stood up.

“By the way, nice outfit, Micah. Nieman-Marcus?”

Micah stormed out into the bright light of the street.

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Hags Episode 11

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We interrupt your reading of my novel Hags for an important message. I won't be able to post the entire novel here, but at the end of the episodes appearing  here, I'll make the Kindle version available free for a week on Amazon so you can finish it at your leisure. And if you simply must have the entire book right away, you may purchase the paperback or Kindle version at any time by clicking here.

And now back to our regularly schedule episode of Hags:

Bob’s eyes became intense as he faced Micah again. “What did you do?”

“I told you.”

“What about Janice?”

“She’s a liar.”

“And you always tell the truth?”

Micah placed an elbow on the table and rubbed his jaw with his hand. He let his hand slide up to his mouth. The hand slid over to allow Micah to rest his cheek on it. “I spent fifteen years in prison because someone else didn’t tell the truth.”

“You believe that, don’t you?”

Micah dropped his hand from his cheek and locked eyes with Bob. “Why shouldn’t I? It’s the truth.”

“Sometimes when someone does something horrible, they block it out in their mind.”

“I told you the truth. You can believe me or not. Your choice.”

Bob gazed towards the front door. No one entered. He turned to Micah. “Sounds to me like the choices were made a long time ago. Perhaps it’s time to put the past behind you and move on with life.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“You came home to put the past behind you?”

“I came to Naperville to … I don’t know … it’s more like I’m trying to get a handle on life. Do you ever wonder why you’re alive?”

“No. I know why I’m alive.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

Micah sipped more coffee. He placed the cup on the table and gazed into Bob’s eyes. “Where you are is where I want to go because right now my life sucks. It has sucked for twenty years, and I’m ready to get off this screwed up merry-go-round.”

“I can help.”

“How?”

“For starters, I could be a friend.” Bob reached across the table, his arm not long enough to reach Micah.

“You’d have to believe me before I could trust you.”

Bob straightened up and turned his hands palm up. “I believe that you believe you didn’t commit the crime for which you went to prison.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“Okay, it may not be, but it’s a beginning. The rest will follow.” Bob placed his hands on the table and stared at Micah.

“Bob, I appreciate your honesty. I do. But I don’t need friends.”

“What are you looking for?”

“When I figure that out, I’ll tell you.”

“So you need some sort of purpose?” Bob leaned back and stroked his chin.

“For starters.”

“So what are you doing in Naperville besides drinking coffee?”

A sudden rush of heat rose in Micah’s face. His voice became animated. “Eating scones.” Micah took a bite from his cranberry pastry. “And fixing up a house. It’s an experiment. I want to see if I can buy cheap, fix up and sell high. I like working with my hands.”

“Sounds like a purpose to me. A bit mercenary, but a purpose.”

“It’s more like what I’m doing until I figure out what I’m doing.”

“We should talk more about this. Your life has a purpose.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

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Hags Episode 10

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Chapter Five

Micah pulled a thick wad of bills from his blue jeans pocket. “Coffee, black, big, intense.”

“Screw off.” Peevy’s voice did not sound as angry as yesterday, but her lips had that same upturned, puckered and livid sweep to them. Her eyes glared against her pale face.

From down the counter, Bob said, “Peevy, you can’t even swear right. What are you doing, opening a jar?”

Peevy threw an empty paper coffee cup at Bob. “Screw off.”

“Coffee, black, big, intense.” Micah stared at the faded wood floor to hide a smile. It became a game. He raised his eyes from the mahogany kick plate up to the glass face. Micah studied the bakery items on display.

“Screw off.”

“Cranberry scone.”

“Screw off.”

He peeled a fifty from his stack of bills and placed it on the counter. He raised his head. Peevy’s disheveled blond hair draped her puffy face. She no longer possessed the figure he remembered from twenty years ago when they were both nineteen.  Frowning did not make her attractive.

Peevy opened the register and placed the fifty inside. She removed coins and paper currency. After a cold stare, she threw the money on the glass counter top. “Screw off.”

“You’re welcome, and I don’t mind if you use the F-word.”

“Screw off. I hope you never F-word anyone again in your sorry, lousy life.” Peevy stomped into the backroom.

Micah pocketed the paper bills and three pennies remaining on the counter top. He ignored the three quarters, dime and nickel scattered across the floor but picked up the coffee and scone that Peevy slammed on the counter.

He parked at a table by the window and stared at the steam as it rose from the tiny hole in the plastic lid of his coffee cup. The rich aroma of coffee filled his nostrils as the vapor formed a petite, cold female hand and arm. As the mist rose higher, it dispersed into the shape of gossamer dragonfly wings.

“May I join you?” asked Bob.

Micah jumped. An embarrassed smirk crossed his lips as Bob sat opposite him with his tiny feet dangling in the air above the floor and his face stretching above the tabletop, kid style.

Peevy returned to the front and slapped the counter top with a towel. “If you were half a man, you’d buy a rope.”

Bob twisted around to face Peevy. “Hey, I am half a man.” He spun back to Micah. “What’s the rope for?”

“To hang me.”

 “What did you do to her?” Bob’s eyes became large.

“Didn’t do anything.”

“Must have done something for Peevy to hate you twenty years later. I know Peevy. She gets pissed and then she gets over it.”

“She believes I did a horrible thing.” Micah wiped his hand across his mouth. He looked up at Bob and took a sip of coffee. The bitter taste danced on his tongue.

“But you didn’t?”

Micah locked eyes with Bob. “No.”

Bob spun around again. “He didn’t do it, Peevy.”

Peevy stopped polishing the coffee machine. She didn’t bother to turnaround. “Ask him how many years he got in prison for doing nothing to my little sister.”

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Hags Episode 9

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Chapter Four

The rock rolled around in the pit of Megan McCormick’s stomach and parked on a sore spot as she entered the principal’s outer office. Megan breathed easier when she spotted Mrs. Rinaldi behind her desk in the reception area. Megan’s imaginary rock shrunk to a pebble and rolled off the sore place.

“Dr. Langdon sent for me, Mrs. Rinaldi.”

“Have a seat, dear.” Mrs. Rinaldi popped her head into the principal’s office. “Megan is here, Dr. Langdon.”

Megan fixed her gaze on Mrs. Rinaldi who returned to her desk. She became bored watching Mrs. Rinaldi pecking at her keyboard.

Megan almost bit down on her purple and green painted nails before catching herself. She placed both hands on her lap and sighed when she noticed they fell below the hemline of her short black skirt. She could see her navel with the tiny gold ring through her thin white blouse. She fastened two top buttons she had left undone.

Dr. Langdon strolled out to the reception area. He wore a brown sports coat and khaki trousers.

“Please come in, Megan.” He stood aside to allow Megan to pass into his office. She waited by Dr. Langdon’s desk and listened.

“You don’t have to wait around, Mrs. Rinaldi.”

“But you’ll be alone, Dr. Langdon. I mean with her. Is that a good idea?”

“Evelyn, you say that every time I have an afternoon student appointment, and I always tell you not to worry. It’s your choice, if you prefer to stay after hours. But there has never been a complaint since the day I took over as principal.”

“If you’re sure, I have things to do at home.”

The rock rolled back onto Megan’s sore spot and grew by several inches.

Dr. Langdon returned to his office. “Have a seat, Megan.” He indicated one of the two office chairs in front of his desk as he closed the office door.

Megan pulled at her skirt as she sat down. She wished she had worn slacks instead of her shortest outfit.

Dr. Langdon stepped behind his desk and picked up a file. He returned to the front of the desk and sat in the open seat, pulling it over so it touched Megan’s chair. He smiled while he opened the file. “Let’s talk about what we can do to bring up your math grade, Megan. I’d hate to have you not graduate with your class.”

He patted her on the hand.

Megan crossed her legs and stared at a smudge on the wall behind Dr. Langdon’s desk. She waited for what other girls said always came next.

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Hags Episode 8

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Chapter Three

Micah admired a pair of well-formed legs on his front porch as he returned from Bob’s Coffee Emporium. Above the female thighs, he appreciated the beauty of the woman in her short pink silk robe.

“May I help you?” Micah walked up the steps to stand behind her.

“You stole my cat.” The top of the woman’s dark brunette hair reached below Micah’s shoulders. She carried a few pounds beyond a perfect figure. “Are you the new dude?”

“I’m a new guy in town.”

The young woman pointed to the house next door with her thumb. “We’re neighbors. What are you doing with my cat?”

Micah dropped his eyes to the faded gray wood floor of the porch. He mumbled, “Didn’t steal anyone’s cat.”

“I can hear him meow inside your house. I’d recognize Fritz’s call anywhere. He puts an ‘R’ in it.”

Micah scratched his head. “Somebody’s cat stole me. Made me feed him milk. He meows with a lisp, you know.”

“You poison my cat?”

“I have a worse confession.” Micah reached for his keys.

“You killed him already and that’s his ghost I hear?”

“No. I let him sleep with me. He must have snuck in after the police found that body. Hope you’re not the jealous type.”

She stamped her right foot and pouted. She smiled. “A little, maybe. What about the police?”

“The body out back last night. Didn’t the police wake you with their noise?”

“Once I’m down for the night, that’s it. You saw a body? A dead person?”

“Murder victim.”

“I can read about it in the newspaper. And I’m sure the cops will canvas the neighborhood. So unless you plan to stop me, I’ll collect my cat.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. Come on in.” Micah unlocked the door and waited while the young woman stepped into his house. The feminine aroma of flowered perfume wisped the air as she passed. The cat ran up the stairs as Micah entered. The girl charged up the steps in pursuit of the cat while her robe flew up to present an image of pink silkiness beneath.

Micah headed for the kitchen where he picked up the empty bowl of milk. When he reached for the red bowl, it was filled with blood. Around the bowl, more blood was splashed. Micah gasped and backed against the counter. He put the milk bowl in the sink. 

“I have him,” said a feminine voice from above.

Micah listened to the patter of bare feet down the steps and smiled at the appearance of the young lady in the kitchen.

“Thanks for taking care of Fritz. And I’m sorry I misjudged you. You’re not the catnapper I took you for.” She reached out her hand.

“Your cat caught his own breakfast.” Micah pointed down at the red bowl of blood.

“Looks like a bowl of water.” The girl’s eyes formed question marks that captured Micah’s own inquisitive eyes.

Micah glanced down again. The blood was missing. 

“Nice eyes.” The girl touched Micah on the arm. He jumped.

Micah wiped a hand across his face. “Sorry. I… I… don’t like to be touched, ma’am.”

“Not touching could take the fun out of a relationship.” The girl petted her cat.

“That kind of touching is cool. I mean the surprise kind, like now.” Micah dropped his eyes to the floor where he checked out the girl’s bright red toenails.

“Look at me.”

Micah looked up until his eyes met the girl’s.

“Like I said, you have nice eyes and I don’t give many compliments.”

“Wh…wha… what did you say?”

“Brown. I love dark brown eyes. Most girls like movie star blue, but I’m all about dark pools of liquid love.”

Micah’s eyes pointed to the floor again. “Whatever you say, ma’am.”

“Oh, please, stop calling me ‘ma’am. My name is Miss Appleby. You may call me Denise if you like. I live next door.” She extended her hand for the second time.

Micah gave her hand a gentle shake.

Denise dropped Micah’s hand. “I’m leaving now.”

Micah shook his head while struggling to keep his smile from slipping off his face.

“Goodbye.” Denise headed for the front door. She stopped and spun around. “What’s your name? Fritz will want to know.”

“I already told him.”

“Oh.”

“Just kidding, ma’am. I’m Micah Probert.”

“That’s not a name you hear everyday.”

“I hope not.”

“Are you famous, Mr. Probert? Your name sounds familiar.”

“Famous is not the right word.”

“Infamous?”

“So how long have you lived in Naperville, ma’am? And call me Micah, okay?”

“Okay, Micah, if you promise to stop calling me ‘ma’am. See you later.” Denise managed to close the door behind her without spilling the cat, or at least without spilling it as far as Micah could tell from his position in the kitchen by the sink.

“That long, eh?” Micah picked up the red water bowl from the floor. The blood had returned.

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