Favorite Halloween Posts

As it turns out, I haven’t posted a scary story on Halloween on the blog. Instead, here are three past posts for your consideration for your Halloween reading.

Not Just Any Ghost
Rediscovering the Ring
How can a Christian write a story where a character commits a murder?

Among my novels, Hags, Steel Pennies and the Snpgrdxz series should tickle your scary bone. Save Fulfillment for your Christmas season reading.

I would be honored if you chose one of my stories for your next reading experience. If you do, please let me know how you enjoyed it by commenting below or on Amazon. I also enjoy hearing from readers at my author’s email address which is paul dot lloyd dot author at gmail dot com. (Thanks for taking time to figure out that email address so I don’t have to worry about the spider bots getting me.)

Be sure to click on the BOGO button above for my latest buy one, get one free book offer.

What Inspires Writers?

The short answer is a lot of things can kickstart a novel project. It could be the observation of an event like a Fourth of July Parade. Hmmm, I wonder what it would be like to begin a story with a day-walking teenage vampire trombone player in the local high school band with fangs protruding around his mouthpiece?

Or it could be a person you see while riding the subway late at night and hoping you don’t get mugged. She’s not very attractive mainly because pretty girls know how to bum a ride home with a smile, but that young lady with oversized forehead, too small ears and ink covering her neck just has an air about her like I could cast her as the girlfriend in an inner-city horror romance.

Another way writers stay motivated is by reading. I enjoy all kinds of fiction both for pleasure and to learn from the best. As a fan of the films made from novels by Nicholas Sparks, I thought it was time to read one. I chose Safe Haven because I enjoyed the film almost as much as I enjoyed A Walk to Remember.

Observations Concerning Safe Haven by Nicholas Sparks
1.  His main character is an avatar for his market: A 27-year old female
2.  His writing style imitates the way a woman would tell the story
     A.  Long narration
     B.  Deep dive on details
     C.  Not just the menu, but half the recipe
     D.  Not just a description of outer clothes but deep dive into undergarments and outer garments with details about pattern, color, source, pricing, etc. Why choose this garment instead of another, etc.
     E.  Deep dive into mental state and emotions
     F.  Back story/flashback used extensively as a driver for the story
     G.  Progressive reveal of the thriller story to build fear and anxiety
3.  Writes in romance genre style
     A.  Story is a romance
     B.  Story also includes a thriller that he writes in romance style – a very slowed-down approach to the thriller style.
     C.  Story is also a ghost story that is hidden until the end but hinted at and set up with foreshadowing
     D.  Use of soft hooks
     E.  Happy ending resolves all major plot points
4.  Main character fulfills female reader’s fantasies
     A.  In mortal danger – generates sympathy while building “this could be me” story
     B.  Rescued by handsome man
     C.  Has best female friend to help and guide
     D.  Has romance with man other than her husband
     E.  Starts a new life somewhere else
     F.  Must provide care for young children to bring out reader’s motherly instincts
     G.  Feels guilt and shame for her situation despite it not being her fault

The Curse of Dracula

Grummuglefix.

That’s what I say when I’m angry like when some smart alec stakes my heart while I’m dead. But you didn’t stop by to hear me curse. I am Dracula, Count of Transylvania. My people hate me because I charge high taxes. The town councils complain.

“What do you think?” they ask. “Do you expect blood from a stone?”

But I say, “Of course not. I have you for that. I don’t take all of your blood, just a little to pay for my many services to you like keeping out barbarian invaders from the north and civilized invaders from the south. And west? Don’t even ask about the west.”

Things run great in my country. People are happy once their bite marks heal up. I only take a little bit. It’s good for them. They make new, healthy blood.

Things went bad for a while when the Communists took over, and I was no longer Count Dracula. Instead, I became Comrade Dracula, Commissar of Transylvania.

But the people hated me because I charged high taxes. Comrades from Moscow said I had to share my castle with the workers. “It’s too big for one man with only three living dead wives,” they said.

I offered the villagers the opportunity to spend their nights in Dracula’s castle. Villagers all said, “No thank you. Your castle is too far from the factory.”

So the Communists fell after only 75 years in power. That’s like a long lunch break for me. I went into exile like all good former commissars. By the way, there’s no such thing as a “good” commissar. This explains why communism failed.

I moved to England and married the daughter of an earl. We were happy until she wanted a baby. I found a teenage baby for her. She became a nice daughter for Dracula and his lovely bride.

Grummuglefix.

She found out about boys.

Maybe you have seen her at the high school dance. She’s the one with the two big teeth up front. No braces.

My wife likes our teenager but wishes for a real baby still. I explained how vampires can’t have babies. You have to be human. Instead, please enjoy our teenage daughter. See she’s having nice romances with teenage boys and werewolves.

Our daughter is a nice girl. She brings her girlfriends home for a pajama party. We serve them snacks, sodas, booze and drugs. Then we suck their blood.

Before dawn, we send our daughter’s friends home happy. Later they make their mothers and fathers happy. Unfortunately, the authorities don’t like too much happiness, especially amongst their vampire neighbors. So as the police pound stakes during the day, I move the family back home to Transylvania.

Grummuglefix.

My three old wives do not like my new family, but I tell them we are one big happy family whether they like it or not. I remind them that Count Dracula can pound a few stakes just like Englishmen.

My teenage daughter adapts quickly to Transylvania. She loves dating the local boys at night.

Meanwhile, I am no longer Commissar as I said. Instead, I am Count Dracula again except now we have democracy. I am a very democratic count. I tax everyone equally. It’s only fair. Oh wait. I am progressive democrat. I tax rich people more equally than poor people. And I support health care plan because we need a nice hospital with a big blood bank.

***

Speaking of vampires…
Did you know that my new novel, Snpgrdxz and the Time Monsters, is chock full of vampires? It’s loaded with trolls and a wide range of other strange monsters. It’s a horror story blended into a time travel journey. Snpgrdxz is pronounced as if spelled snip-grid-ix. Begin by reading the free chunk you can access by clicking on the book cover on Amazon by clicking here.

Snpgrdxz and the Discount Offer

Purchase Snpgrdxz for just 99 cents today.

The modern novel is about two things: action and emotion. Action moves the story along so that you can’t put it down because of the nonstop forward motion. Emotion is about laughter, joy, excitement. It’s about anger, fear and angst. It’s about the exhilaration of needing to know what will happen next. Above all, it’s about falling in love with one person in one place, and with one book, one author. For love conquers everything including the monsters who’d love to kill us, eat us, or transform us into something unspeakable in the world of Snpgrdxz and the Time Monsters.

What if one night that teenage girl you have a crush on appears at the foot of your bed, pistol in hand, and threatens to shoot you? But your best friend and a terrorist burst into your bedroom and kill her in the nick of time? But the next night this same girl shows up in your bed again? This time she’s ready for love. When did your dead crush become your girlfriend? Wild dreams? Since when did your nightmares leave actual bullet holes and blood stains behind?

Join the crazy journey of Bryan Ganarski, Jennifer Hawkins, Gilbert Armstrong, and of course, Snpgrdxz, the teenaged space alien shape shifter who can be either a boy or girl depending on his or her mood. Hormones fly, earther and other, in this madcap misadventure.

Is Bryan totally insane or is there a part of him that can still fall in love with one of the many versions of his time-traveling girlfriend? And will Bryan work up the gumption to kiss Jennifer in front of the whole sophomore class like she asked him to? She did ask him, didn’t she?

This love-crazed tale of time travel features a group of friends who become stuck between the wrong time on earth and a troll world filled with monsters far worse than those pesky tiny bridge trolls and the really tall, hairy mountain trolls. An evil daemon, werewolves, nosferatu, and a few ghosts are among the many monsters waiting for you in Snpgrdxz and the Time Monsters. It’s the first novel in my new sci-fi/fantasy horror series.

Enjoying a great read begins with action and emotion. Act now to purchase Snpgrdxz and the Time Monsters on Kindle today for only $0.99 US. Save $2 US and pay less than a buck. Such a deal! Don’t miss out on it. Click here now.

You can get all emotional later as you read Snpgrdxz and the Time Monsters.

In case you missed it, here’s the link to my new novel on Amazon: Click here.

What Makes a Good Character Good?

Writing style and a good story arc keep you reading a novel, but what really holds your interest is a compelling main character. You relate to the main character as a new found friend with a story to tell, one that is well worth hearing. What is it about the main character that makes him or her so interesting?

The main character of a novel has a personality that you can relate to, whether he’s a hard-boiled private eye or she’s a sweet teenager falling in love for the first time. The main character has a certain look that attracts you. She may be a pretty brunette. Or he may be a hawk-nosed, scar-faced battler.

Beyond personality and looks, the main character has a huge problem which makes the story interesting. And the problem has two facets to it like two sides of a coin. Side one is the problem you see right away as a reader. Will that skinny teenage girl pull the trigger and end the main character’s life on page one? With one wild event after another, is he going crazy?

Side two is the hidden or secret problem you don’t know about until later in the story. Is he a coward? What does he do about his cowardice? How does he learn to become brave or does he?

What do you find compelling about the main characters in the stories you read or write?

Speaking of characters…

Snpgrdxz!

Move the Plot Forward

For those times you find yourself unable to push down the pesky keys, move the plot forward. You know what has to come next in your story, so describe your ensuing scene. Begin with a description of the location and then move on to dialogue. Don’t worry about the quality of your writing. All you want to do at this point is put the facts down on your computer. You will come back later and polish your writing.

Here’s another way to write out of a block, especially if you don’t really know what comes next in your story. Push two of your characters out on stage and get them talking to each other. Treat the scene like a blind date where the conversation is always awkward at first. Within a few lines, the dialogue will turn golden as your characters become comfortable. If you need to describe the next scene before the dialogue can begin, then start writing about the location as I mentioned earlier in this article.

When blocked, don’t worry about the poetry of your words or the logic of your description or even if you are covering all the bases in your description. Just begin listing what has to be mentioned, but do so in sentence form. The idea is to focus on the facts of the story. Putting down the facts will lead you to write them in your natural story-telling style.

The key to successfully completing a novel is to keep on writing no matter what. Don’t stop because you feel blocked. Deny the existence of writer’s block. I do. Press the keys no matter what.

Comments welcome, even if you feel blocked. In the meantime, Snpgrdxz...

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.

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

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.

Don’t have a Kindle reader? Download the free version for your computer or smart phone from Amazon by clicking here.

Here’s another novel idea…
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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.

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

Don’t have a Kindle reader? Download the free version for your computer or smart phone from Amazon by clicking here.

Here’s another novel idea…
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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.

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

Don’t have a Kindle reader? Download the free version for your computer or smart phone from Amazon by clicking here.

Here’s another novel idea…
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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.

Don’t have a Kindle reader? Download the free version for your computer or smart phone from Amazon by clicking here.

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.

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Hags Episode 19

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“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.

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Hags Episode 18

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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.

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Hags Episode 17

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“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.

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Hags Episode 16

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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.

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Hags Episode 15

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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.

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