Hags Episode 4

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Micah wound his way stoop-shouldered around the boxes back to the unkempt mattress. A loud thump caught his attention so he meandered around the boxes again to the window. Red liquid smeared a six-inch-square chunk of the wet pane. “That wasn’t there before.”

Micah attempted to raise the window so he could check out the stain on the outside of the glass, but it wouldn’t budge. “Painted shut, cat. Or else the wood is swollen from the rain.”

He flapped his bare feet downstairs to the kitchen where he poured milk into a small white porcelain bowl and filled the other bowl, a little red plastic one, with fresh water.

“Now where did I pack the coffee?” Neither the Delonghi coffeemaker nor the Jamaican Blue Mountain turned up in any of the boxes marked “kitchen.”

He rubbed the cat on the head. “One of us needs to check the coffee shop down the street. I know, you’re wondering how I knew about it, what with me new in town and all, but cat, you have to know coffee lovers notice coffee shops, especially the indies.”

A wispy woman dressed in a pioneer costume strolled into the room. She stared at Micah as though she was about to speak. She turned up her nose and retreated down the hall and around the corner. Micah chased her, but by the time he arrived at the stairs, she had vanished.

“What do you think, cat? Haunted house?”

“Meowr.”

“Yes, sir. I agree. She gives me the heebie-jeebies. She could at least take her bonnet off inside. So cat, did you see where I left my wallet?”

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Hags Episode 3

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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. 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. Gossamer wings buzzed like a dragonfly until, as sometimes happens in half dreams, the creature turned to face the camera of Micah’s mind. It flew in for a close-up and grinned with a Mediterranean face outlined with short black hair.

Micah jumped which caused him to smack his hand hard against the side of a stack of book boxes by his mattress.

He pushed the boxes aside and blinked against the sunlight as it glared through the soiled glass of the back bedroom window. Micah found his knees staring him in the face when he plopped his feet on the floor. He reached over to pet the black cat asleep among his blankets and sheets. “How’d you get in here?”

A humming noise came from outside. Micah weaved a path through the jungle of boxes to the window. He leaned his hands on the wide wooden sill coated with faded, peeling white paint and considered how potted plants would go nicely on the windowsill.

The droning came from above and to the right, so Micah turned in that direction in time to see a man in blue jeans. He was bare from the waist up, but had a red shirt tucked into his waistband. He wore a pair of brown work boots like a construction worker prepared for a job in the mud. The man hovered about fifty feet above the parking lot behind Micah’s tiny backyard near the row of green dumpsters. Yellow police tape surrounded one of the dumpsters. The police had completed their work and hauled the body away.

The winged man landed by a large puddle in the parking lot. He folded a set of four long, narrow gossamer wings against his back. The wings faded into a filigree pattern of blood vessels woven over the man’s skin like a tattoo. He undid his shirt from his waist and ambled around the corner of the house out of sight. Micah craned his neck sideways to track the winged man’s movement. Above, a strong breeze moved the cloud cover off to the east.

Micah shook his head to clear it. “Hallucination? What do you think, cat?”

The feline sprawled with its paws stretched out and its mouth open in a yawn. “Meowr.”

“Yes, sir. You make a good point. And I agree. Caffeine is the best way to figure out how you got in here. By the way, have you always had that lisp?”

The cat stretched, yawned and smiled.

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Hags Episode 2

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Cold, wet grass tickled his bare feet as he ran to the end of the yard. In the darkness he couldn’t find a gate. Feeling with his hands, he realized he had purchased a home with a fenced in yard and no gate.

Can’t jump over in my bare feet and underwear. Break an ankle. Scratch my legs. Slip and do much worse. Not using the family jewels for anything anyway. Still the pain would be insufferable.

Micah turned the lights on in the kitchen where the apparition continued chewing her raw meat. He screamed. After a frozen moment, he ran to the downstairs hallway where he threw the light switches on for the downstairs entrance area and the upstairs hall. He also turned on the light in his back bedroom.

He slipped on a pair of faded blue jeans and sneakers without the socks. He checked the time on his cell phone. Two-thirty-eight. He ran back downstairs, out the front door, around to the alley and the parking lot.

At the dumpster with the damaged lid, he touched the wrist of the arm hanging out. It was cold, feminine, and petite. He hesitated before taking the cell phone out of his pocket. Not certain his Arizona phone number would connect to a local nine-one-one line, he punched four-one-one and asked the operator for the police.

If I phone, they’ll respect that I called. Like that means anything in DuPage County. At least, I’m not hallucinating.

In less than a minute, a police car pulled up close to the dumpster with its lights flashing. A uniformed officer stepped out of the car and shined a flashlight into Micah’s face. The sudden brightness flooded Micah with a litany of bad memories.

“You the one who called?” The officer kept the light in Micah’s face.

Micah raised his hand to shade his eyes. “Yeah. See?” He pointed to the dumpster with his finger about two inches from the girl’s dead hand.

The officer touched the girl’s wrist.

“I… I… couldn’t find a pulse.” Micah backed away to make more room for the officer.

“You touched her?”

“To check for a pulse.”

The officer opened the lid. Micah hit the ground butt first and hard. The intense pain shooting through his posterior kept him from passing out.

The officer shined his light down on Micah. “You okay?”

“Didn’t expect that.” Micah swiped at the puddle soaking his bottom. He stood up.

“Sorry. I wasn’t either. Guess you didn’t find a pulse.” The officer punched a button on his communicator and spoke to his dispatch in the language of authority.

Micah leaned down to pet a black cat snuggled against him. The cat smelled of damp fur and blood.

Micah waited. He backed away a distance to avoid the police chatter, but he couldn’t escape the hideous noise. Nor could he explain the huge puddle of blood flowing like a river from under the dumpster with red cat paw prints leading away from it.

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Hags Begins Today

 
Welcome to the first installment of this extended preview of my novel Hags. I won't post the entire novel here, but you'll read enough to see if you want to read more. At the end of the episodes appearing  here, I'll make the Kindle version available free for five days 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 by clicking here.

Today's blog post starts Chapter 1. But first, here's a quick summary: After 15 years in prison for a rape he insists 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. Mix in a few dark 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.

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.”

Hags Chapter One

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.

Micah dragged his six-foot bulk to an upright position and maneuvered stoop-shouldered around the stacks of book boxes cluttered about the bedroom. The ancient pine floor boards creaked under his weight as he made his way to the window. He absorbed the aroma of damp, clean night air after a storm.

Darkness prevented Micah from seeing into the small backyard of his downtown Naperville, Illinois, property. A series of streetlights illuminated the parking lot behind his yard. The light changed colors as it filtered through the raindrops on the window panes.

At the far end of the lot, he made out the dumpsters, five in a row, bathed in the harsh glow of a streetlight. One had its lid ajar. All were wet with rain.

Micah wasn’t sure if he imagined the hand, wrist and arm sticking out from under the metal top of one dumpster.

The police will accuse me. No, they won’t have any evidence. Still, if I report it, they’ll accuse me. No, they’ll suspect me if I don’t report it. Dead either way. So’s the person in the dumpster. It could be a dummy, part of a college prank. The person may still be alive. And maybe I’ll drive myself crazy with hallucinations.

A black cat stepped out from under the dumpster and called out in a loud, lispy meowr with a big, toothy grin.

Cats can’t smile, can they? And why does that one meow with a lisp?

Micah ran down the steps, tripped over a stack of three large clothing boxes in the entranceway, and made his way into the kitchen where he knocked over a chair. He noticed a wispy mist with a barely-there woman in the center dressed like a pioneer. She sat across the table from Micah, devouring an equally wispy bloody chunk of raw leg of lamb. After a quick little half scream, he stared for few seconds more before opening the back door.

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The Vampire’s Wife’s Rant

So you think it’s cool to be a vampire? You’d like this living forever thing? Let me tell you, vampire is not so hot. I mean it’s cold if you want to know the truth. Always cold. Think about it. The man sucked my blood out. All of it. Blood is what keeps you warm. I’m cold. Even in summer I’m freezing my tush. I’d go out in the hot sun, but what would happen? I'd disintegrate, that’s what. And tan lines? Forget tan lines and nice complexion. A ghost has more color than a vampire.

And don’t even get me started on hair. You ever have a bad hair day? We’re talking Night of the Living Dead Hair day here. I’m dead, you know what I mean? The vampire sucked my blood out 723 years ago this coming July. Couldn’t even wait for school to start. No, he has to kill me in the middle of summer break. At the shore. In my medieval bikini. Yeah, we had bikinis back then. The kind with the special locks so you know you couldn’t mess around so much. But hey, we made out okay until that vampire hit town. Geez, I’m telling you.

Speaking of hair and complexion, think about checking yourself in the mirror. I mean, give me a freaking break. A girl’s gotta look, but what does she see? Nothing. Nada. No image. Not even your old dead face or a skeleton nor nothing.

So why does he make a girl a vampire? He wants a wife, he says. Someone he can love forever. You want to live forever? Join a church. Look, he sucks my blood out and then expects me to look good. You ever see a blonde with no blood? Not a pretty site, let me tell you. Dead looks gray and ashen. Your eyes don’t look so good rolled back in your head. Your boobies don’t have any lift. They just kinda lay there.

Dead. I’m dead. Every day I’m dead. I haven’t seen the sun for 723 years I’m so dead. So at night I come to life. Life? Give me a break. We’re talking undead here. Live forever? Walk around maybe, but alive? Alive means you can feel. You ever try to feel with dead fingers? You know what it’s like to have a long dead cold probe stuck in your you-know-where from an undead guy who thinks he’s hot but all he is is long dead? Cold dead. Dead, dead, dead. The only way he fills the thing up with blood is to go suck it out of somebody else. Now he’s doing me with someone else’s blood holding him up. You call that manhood? Give me a break. By the time he gets it going, it’s long cold and dead. Like screwing a bolt. Okay, a big bolt, but still a cold steel bolt.

Okay, I got off track there for a minute, but give me a break. How do you love a guy who sucked your blood out so he could get it on with somebody else? Anyway, I’m dead. He’s dead. And we’re stuck here. You think he murdered me for my looks? He says he did, but my looks aren’t so hot, you may have noticed. A little makeup maybe I’m not so so bad. I go from the look of a morgue babe to OD’d hooker with a little makeup but that’s as good as it gets. But he likes it. Okay, a lot of makeup. And it would be nice to check the old makeup job once in a while with a mirror. But no. Mirrors don’t work. I mentioned that, right?

He only took me because he wanted my body. Now, I’m his love slave. Hate slave is more like it. I mean, really. He never tries to carry on an intelligent conversation. It’s all about blood and sucking. It’s all he ever is interested in. Like I’m dead. Doesn’t he get it? I’m not exactly interested in messing around with him. Rigor mortis, despite everything you read about it, doesn’t make you horny.

To him, I’m just a love object. He just wants my body. Why he wanted it so cold is beyond me. But what do I  know? To him, I’m just another brainless zombie vampire wife. But I’m not a zombie. I’m a vampire who wishes someone would stake out her heart. I mean a little rest would be nice at night, you know what I mean? Every night it’s making with the bouncing springs and then the blood lust. Geez, if I never suck another person dry again, I’d be a happy camper. I mean, look at me. Do I appear like the kind of girl you’d ask out on a date? I mean, maybe like 700 years ago, but today? Take a gander at my teeth for crying out loud. Check out these ugly fangs. Can’t hardly talk straight with these things hanging out.

And no mirrors. Did I mentions the mirrors? And when you’re dead 700 years, don’t try to run a brush through your hair. I mean come on. If I find one more fly larvae in my hair, I’m going to scream. But let me tell you about mirrors…

…Will you shut up down there already.

Sorry, dear. Didn’t know you could hear. I was just talking to my supper.

You are staying for dinner, aren’t you?

For your reading consideration

My novels 
Have you ever run into evil incarnate in your local coffee shop? Or combine latte with lust? It happens to Micah Probert in Hags.

Did you ever wonder what Satan was up to while God was going about the business of sending Jesus to save the world? Find out in Fulfillment.

My Short Stories
Love may be just a  kiss away, but what if the kiss is packed with... well, Little Miss Forgotten is a short story so I better let you find out for yourself. Sorry Rick and Ilsa, but the fundamental rules don't always apply as time goes by.

You've known people who just fly off at the smallest things, right? Find out what set Egbert loose in this short story. What lurks in the darkness of Lower Wacker Drive?

Angel Thorns is a short story about a little girl caught up in an evil takeover of an isolated small town. Will that handsome young man who just rode in on a hog be able to help her? Horror with overtones of spiritual warfare.

Visit my Amazon author page by clicking here.

Here’s another novel idea…
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A Cheerleader Miscalculation

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The pipe bombs and bullets fired in the direction of the factory workers started having an effect as they changed their tune from “Zom… zom… zom…” to “Moz… moz… moz” and retreated back into the helmet factory.

The cheerleaders made short work of the football players, using their hammers to cause the football players' batteries to malfunction.

“That was close,” said Mrs. Brombach.

“What is going on here?” asked Chief Martin.

“It’s the Zombot Approximation,” said Albert Bringlebaum. "They’re not exactly zombies and it’s not the apocalypse, but it’s not good either.”

Harry Wagfoot, the high school quarterback, removed his dysfunctional dystopian football helmet. “What happened?”

“You put on the wrong helmet,” I said. “Now we have to shut down the helmet factory.”

“Any ideas on how to do that?” asked Marylou.

Albert Bringlebaum waved a pipe bomb. “I’d crash the factory with the pickup filled with pipe bombs. I’ll time one to blow at about the time the pickup makes its way through that open truck entrance next to the main office. When the pipe bomb blows, it’ll make the rest of the bombs explode with it. Bye-bye factory.”

“And it’ll kill all the zombots inside?” Mrs. Brombach asked.

“Most of them. The rest we can either shut off with a hard smack to the helmet battery or simply shoot them. I’ve got enough guns and ammo in the pickup.” Albert Bringlebaum distributed the weapons while Chief Martin called for backup.

The explosion flattened the building. Turned out there were some highly inflammable chemical compounds used in the manufacture of helmets.

Later that evening, Mrs. Brombach cooked dinner while Marylou and I made out in the parlor. Albert Bringlbaum and Betsey Olson necked along side of us. We heard a loud truck noise outside on the street. Since Marylou and her mom lived on a quiet sidestreet, the four of us took a gander out the window.

We saw one of those eighteen wheelers rolling by. The side of the trailer was emblazoned with the helmet factory logo and a giant football player wearing a helmet. The driver looked a lot like Uncle Rantly.

"Daddy!" Betsey cried while hinting at another story best left unspoken considering Uncle Rantly's bachelor ways and Mrs. Olson's second husband Oliver who worked night shift at what used to be the helmet factory and my own tendency to write long sentences like this one.

The End… for now.

Zom… zom… zom

You have completed Jude Nerdworthy, Monster Fighter in the Zombot Approximation. It was the product of my morning writing exercises rather than polished work like my novels and short stories.

By the way, if you enjoyed reading this series, try my full-length novel Hags for less than $3 by clicking here.

Read a Short Story
Snippets sometimes grow up to become 99-cent short stories on Amazon. Enjoy.

Little Miss Forgotten Have you ever spotted a pretty girl standing alone at a dance? Any young man would be pleased with an opportunity to kiss her, but what if that proved to be a deadly idea? Humor and horror set in the 1960s.

In Egbert, you'll learn that the remarkable thing about him was his glass cane, not his enormous girth. But what made him fly off like that? More horror than humor but good for a smile.

Angel Thorns tells the tale of a little girl caught up in an evil takeover of an isolated small town. Will that handsome young man who just rode in on a hog be able to help her? Keep the lights on for this horror with overtones of spiritual warfare.

Visit my Amazon author page by clicking here.

Here’s another novel idea…
Enjoy this blog post? Please share it with your friends by clicking the social media buttons below.

The Square Root of Slow

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“Cake?” I answered when Chief Martin asked Albert Bringlebaum and me what was in the back of Mrs. Brambach’s pickup.

“And some pipe bombs,” said Albert whose human relations skills wouldn’t register on a Cool Meter let alone a Nerdometer.

“What kind of cake?” asked Chief Martin who owned shares in the local donut shop.

“Not my truck,” I said.

“And we have about half of my dad’s gun collection which should come in handy right about now.”

“Why now?” Chief Martin asked.

“The Zombot Football team for one and those cheerleaders headed this way with a crowd of helmet-manufacturing zombots in hot pursuit,” said Albert.

Chief Martin pointed his glock at the cheerleaders which could have had serious repercussions in a different kind of story. As the cheerleaders approached, we spotted Mrs. Brambach huffing behind them.

“Start the engine,” she yelled.

“What did she say?” asked Chief Martin.

“Something about stuttering penguins,” said Albert.

I jumped into the cab of the pickup, but the keys weren’t in it. “No keys,” I yelled.

“Use the pipe bombs, the cheerleaders miscalculated, called Mrs. Brambach.

“Hurry, the square root of slow is equal to the mass of digital helmet minus our brains,” yelled Betsey Olson.

As the cheerleaders reached the truck, Chief Martin opened fire while Albert Bringlebaum tossed pipe bombs at the helmet factory workers.

Meanwhile, the high school football team reached the back of the pickup truck while continuing the battle hymn of the zombots, “Zom… zom… zom.”

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You are reading Jude Nerdworthy, Monster Fighter in the Zombot Approximation. It's the product of my  morning writing exercises rather than polished work like my novels and short stories.

By the way, if you're enjoying this series, try Hags for less than $3 by clicking here.

Read a Short Story
Snippets sometimes grow up to become 99-cent short stories on Amazon. Enjoy.

Little Miss Forgotten Have you ever spotted a pretty girl standing alone at a dance? Any young man would be pleased with an opportunity to kiss her, but what if that proved to be a deadly idea? Humor and horror set in the 1960s.

In Egbert, you'll learn that the remarkable thing about him was his glass cane, not his enormous girth. But what made him fly off like that? More horror than humor but good for a smile.

Angel Thorns tells the tale of a little girl caught up in an evil takeover of an isolated small town. Will that handsome young man who just rode in on a hog be able to help her? Keep the lights on for this horror with overtones of spiritual warfare.

Visit my Amazon author page by clicking here.

Here’s another novel idea…
Enjoy this blog post? Please share it with your friends by clicking the social media buttons below.