After Everyone Left...

 The door creaked and the faint smell of dust and sweat hit Jason as he entered the empty room, a room where only two hours before was filled with screaming fans and tired athletes.

...also, shattered dreams.

Oh, what could have been...a million little things.

Jason shuffled through the doorway and scanned the room for the only thing that meant enough to the seventeen-year old for him to face the location of his short life's cruelest battle. After a moment, his eyes fixed upon the leather sphere, the weapon, the artillery, the bullet, the dagger that might as well have been still lodged in Jason's heart.

Just get my basketball and get out of here, he thought, a small feeling of solace after a night of humiliation. Exactly four hours earlier, Jason sat excited, his legs bouncing up and down waiting for the introductions of him and his teammates. He'd waited all year to play his cross-town rivals, a team that beat them last year. Now, unlike last time, the game would be played in his gym, at Jason's house. 

Time for revenge.

Exactly two hours ago, the buzzer sounded as Jason and a thousand others watched Jason's lucky basketball sail through the air as time expired, only the game of Jason's dreams turned out to be a nightmare. After the shot, Jason put on a brave face, congratulated the other team while consoling his teammates, friends, fellow soldiers. The upbeat mood was part act, part sincere. As far back as he could remember, Jason followed the admonition of his father, "A true champion is neither a sore winner or loser. If you can't be both, don't even bother playing."

Jason and his team left the court, showered, dressed, laughed at lame jokes (the jokes were always better after a win...), and left with everyone else. He walked home, living only three doors down from the school. It wasn't until he started his already-ignored homework that he remembered the basketball. 

Better go get it, he thought.

He'd walked the walk hundreds, even thousands of times, to and from school, to and from practice. Tonight as he walked Jason replayed the game over and over in his mind, focusing mostly on the last ten seconds. Had the shot he took with 7.4 seconds left gone in, they win the game. Had he or any of his teammates rebounded the ball, they win the game. Neither happened and the other team's worst shooter got lucky at the other end. It stung. It will sting for a while.

Jason picked up the ball, the leather sheen once covering the no longer new ball already starting to wear. He twisted it in his hands, once, twice, three times. He bounded the ball, once, twice, three times. He looked at the other end of the court where it all came down to a million little things, the slightest pressure as it left his hands, jumping increasingly higher as he jumped...so many things.

He thought about walking to the exact spot where he took the shot and trying one more time to see if this time, the ball would go in.

He then changed his mind.

Nah, he thought. There'll be time to practice that shot again later. He had a paper to write...better get home.

"Project Salamander"...One Chapter, Is Mine

 The people who are putting on a new writing conference next week in Utah got together and wrote a book. The plan was for each author to write a chapter until the entire novel is complete. I was on the e-mail list with other authors. Every couple of weeks, a writer would say his/her chapter was done and it was time to pass it off to the next creative artist.

Initially, I did not sign up for the project, but as the chapters kept adding up, I thought it might be fun to help out. So, when another author proclaimed their assignment, "Finished," I said I'd like a turn.

And so I did.

A little hint, if your author friends are writing a novel and each is writing a chapter, my advice is - volunteer early. Why? Because when you write early in the process, you don't have a lot of story to build upon. No, it's pretty much a blank slate. 

If you are one of the later writers, well...you have to first, read (and understand...) what others have written, then you must adapt a chapter to not only match what's come before, but enhance and expound on the other's great words.

Such was my assignment.

And it was a blast.

The story had split into several side-stories. I chose one and continued the story. I'm not going to go into detail about the chapter other than to say I liked it. Once finished, I submitted it and a few weeks later, a new novel appeared. It's titled, Project Salamander. Love the title.

Here's the subtitle (which I also love...).

Don't Trust Anyone, Especially the Face in the Mirror

If you'd like to know more about the book, or better yet, BUY the book, you can get a copy by clicking: HERE. Even without knowing the ending, I recommend it.

Project Salamander, pick it up, support a great cause. One of the chapters is mine.

"Don't Mess With The Seagulls"...An Old Man Foster Story

 "Let me tell you something, sonny," the old man said, his frail finger shaking as he wagged it in our young faces. "You don't mess with the seagulls."

My friend Steve snickered, almost making me bust up, too. But, I kept it together. The five of us straddled our bikes. I still don't know why we stopped at Old Man Foster's house, a broken-down structure marking the point where the paved road ended and the dirt road began. 

But we stopped for some reason and Old Man Foster came out to shout at us...again.

"I'm serious, man," he said, a drop of spittle rolling down his unshaven face. "You boys think you're smart chasing the seagulls on your little bikes, but let me tell you--you'll be sorry if you do."

I looked at my friends, their twelve-year old faces looked back at me, as if they wanted me to be the group's spokesman. I shrugged my shoulders. I had no idea what to say.

"Mr. Foster, we weren't chasing any seagulls. I mean, they can fly--there's no way we'd catch them." I thought my answer was a good one. It made sense to me.

"That's the problem with you damn kids," Old Man Foster said swatting his hand as if dismissing us with a simple wave. "I saw you riding--I see you everyday riding your bikes up and down this street like you own the place. I've even seen you ride across my yard."

I looked at everyone to see if that was true because I knew I had never done that. They all shook their heads. When I turned back around Old Man Foster's eyes blazed fire and hate.

"Oooohhh yes--I seen you, and I know it was you. You chasing all the animals, cats, dogs, squirrels, all of them. You don't think anyone sees you doing it, but I do. I see everything."

I didn't know if we should just hop on our bikes and peddle away, but I wanted to know why he was yelling at us and why this man who must have been close to ninety-years old was worried about seagulls.

"Mr. Foster," I said. Thinking back I tried to be sincere. "We weren't trying to catch or mess with the seagulls, really." Old Man Foster didn't seem impressed. Then I got a little snippy. "And even if we did, why is messing with a couple of birds such a big deal anyway?"

Foster sighed and shook his head. He then stared us down with a look that sent a jolt up my spine. "You mess with the seagulls, you'll be sorry. No joke. When you see a flock of them birds flying, you don't follow them, you don't even look at them. If you do, there's nothing but bad luck--and I'm talking evil--things are about to happen. I've lived on this earth long enough to know what I'm talking about. You listen to me and listen good--you don't mess with the seagulls."

He stood before us on those frail legs, slightly swaying left and right. He looked at each of us to as if daring us to betray his authority. None of us spoke. I looked at my friends. Steve rolled his eyes, but I knew he was all talk.

"Okay, Mr. Foster. We'll turn around and stop messing with the birds. Thank you for telling us about them. I...we didn't know what would happen. Thank you."

We turned our bikes from his house and started peddling away.

"Man, that old fart don't know anything," Steve said. I agreed, but something in the back of my mind gnawed at me. What if he was right? I thought it was stupid to mess with birds...we never could get close enough to do anything to them...

But, what if he was right?

I didn't say anything to Steve, didn't say anything to any of them. We just all went home. I didn't find out until later that Steve left his house after the streetlights came on and rode past Old Man Foster's house on his bike. I can only imagine he was flipping off Old Man Foster the bird as he passed. 

They found Steve's bike the next day, but they never found Steve. He disappeared. The police asked each of us if we thought we knew where he was...we didn't know. They even asked Old Man Foster, or so we were told. To this day, that look on Steve's face when he rolled his eyes haunts me. 

Years ago, I moved away from my home town, but every few years I'd return to visit my parents and friends. The dirt road is paved and lined with homes. Old Man Foster's shack was demolished a year or two after he shook his boney finger at us and warned us of the flying evil that awaited us if we messed with the seagulls.

It's something I never did again in my life.

Never Not A Good Time...To Read "Haunted Yuletide"

 Earlier today, I was doing some web surfing when I came across an Instagram post. It was from a fellow author doing a little self-promotion. All authors know, there's nothing wrong with that. Then I remembered, I have a story in that book.

There's never not a good time to read Haunted Yuletide.

Anthologies are interesting. A few writers can get together, come up with a topic, send out request for submissions, and the stories come in. I've been part of those conversations, at symposiums, at comic cons, at literary conferences. "You know what would be great?" one of us would ask. "We should do an anthology about such and such."

"Yeah," another author always chimes in. "That sounds like a great idea!" Many times, the idea dies there, but every once in a while, it has legs and becomes an actual book that people can read, put on their nightstands and ignore, or use as a social media self-promotion topic (which is exactly what I'm doing...).

My story, All Through The House, is, I believe, the last story I had published. It came out almost two years ago. I have been derelict in my writing duties. For an author, that's unacceptable. I need to do better.

But, forget all that--I think you should pick up our little collection. You can find/buy it by clicking: HERE. Since it's a haunted anthology, it's perfect for Halloween, Christmas, and every day in between. Buy it, tell your friends to buy it, and read the crap out of it. If you like spookiness and Christmas, well...like I said... 

There's never not a good time to read Haunted Yuletide.

"Haunted Yuletide" Is Available TODAY...Come On--You Know You Want To Read It!

 Dickens isn't the only one writing about ghosts at Christmas.

I heard once of a tradition, a tradition long gone, a tradition that sounds like a blast. It seems, back in the day, telling ghost stories at Christmas was a thing. And if you think about it, it makes sense. Christmas is a time of magic, of mystical happenings, of wonder. Ghost stories are kind of like that, too (except with jump scares...).What a perfect time to tell a ghost story--you've got family and loved ones gathered to celebrate the good things of life...why not mingle in some of the spooky?

If you're a fan of holiday horror tales, or if you're just mildly curious, a book released today sounds like just your thing. Haunted Yuletide from Immortal Works is now available. Fifteen stories in one collection, and all you have to do to order it is click: HERE and pick it up.

Not to toot my own horn (too loudly...), but if you notice, the second-to-last story is written by yours truly. A little known fact about anthologies, the second-to-last story is traditionally one of the strongest stories in any anthology. Don't think so? Pick up the book and prove me wrong. All right--I know that's not necessarily true...

But, it could be.

There are so many amazing writers in this collection, people I've known for years whose works I have read--not just the authors, but the editors as well. Even though I haven't read their stories yet, I can say with confidence, whatever they wrote will be great.

I've been so fortunate with the stories I've submitted. This is no exception. I'm proud to have my name included on the Table of Contents and on the Back Cover. And if you do pick it up, I'd LOVE to hear what you think of it, not just my story, but all of them. If you're looking for a great gift for someone--or yourself--pick up a copy of Haunted Yuletide today. Remember, ghost stories aren't just for Halloween or Groundhog Day. Maybe out little book can re-ignite that old tradition and everyone will be telling ghost stories at Christmas again.

Closing Time...Chapter 7...Conclusion

This is a continuation of a story began October 1, 2019. Find the first of the story on the right side of the page to read the story from the beginning.

Chapter 7 Conclusion

Bret opened the door.

Amber didn't know what surprised her more, that Bret was not only alive, but well enough to drive his car to the police station, or that Todd--who only moments before was a black mist--flew into the police station. How could any of this even be happening?

Bret limped over to where Amber still lay on the ground.

"Are you okay?" he said as he bent down to help her up. Amber saw him grimace in pain.

"I am," she said. "Don't know if I can say the same thing about you."

"I'm okay," Bret said as Amber rose, her doing most of the lifting.

After standing on both feet, she said, "And what kind of a stunt was that? Gunning your green Land Rover directly at me?" A smile hoped she conveyed the right tone. In no way did she want to chid him after he saved her life.

"Oh, an athlete like you?" Bret smiled back. "I knew you'd get out of the way in time."

On an impulse, Amber hugged the man a good foot taller than herself. She heard a soft grown as Bret hugged her back. 

"I'm so sorry," Amber said breaking the hug after realizing he was still in pain. She looked up and realized it was his turn to blush.

"Come on--let's get out of here. I have no idea if we did anything at all to that guy."

As quickly as possible the pair jumped in Bret's running car. He put it in reverse and it rolled backwards. The headlights illuminated the smashed front of the police office. Both Amber and Bret instinctively looked at the building.

Todd appeared in the light.

"Bret?" Amber said, her voice unsteady.

"I see him." Bret stopped the car and waited to see what Todd did.

They didn't have to wait long.

In an instant Todd sprang high into the air and flew directly at the car. Amber screamed. Bret threw open the door and jumped out. He quickly opened the back door and drew out a baseball bat. Amber screamed again as Todd began his descent. As he fell, Bret slammed the bat on the pavement--Amber heard a crack. He then drew back the bat, waiting.

From inside the car, Amber watched as a look of pure rage on Todd's face changed to paralyzing fear. He headed straight for Bret who wound the bat back as if he were about to hit a game-winning home run to end the world series.

Amber buried her head in her hands--she couldn't bear to see what happened.

She didn't see it, but she definitely heard the sound of the bat connect with Todd. She screamed again.

Then, nothing...silence.

The next sound she heard was Bret opening the driver's side door. Amber finally looked up.

"Is it over?"

"Yeah, it's over."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure. That guy's not going to threaten you again. He's not going to do anything ever again."

Bret backed up the car then drove out of the parking lot. Amber couldn't bring herself to look back. The two rode in silence. After a moment, curiosity got the better of her and she asked, "You said back there, you were sure it was over. How do you know? I mean, the guy could change into a black cloud."

"Well," Bret said as he drove through the empty streets. "As I drove over here from the gym, I kept thinking about what in the world this guy could be. I knew he wasn't human, that's for sure. I thought maybe he was a vampire. So, when he was flying toward me, I knew I needed to find a wooden stake. I grabbed the bat and  tried to make it as sharp as possible by hitting the ground. Luckily, the bat split right down the center, giving it a nice blade..."

"No, you didn't?" Amber said, shocked.

"Sure did--the bat cut right into his heart. I'm glad you weren't watching. It wasn't pretty."

Amber wondered where they were going. It was soon evident as Bret pulled into the hospital parking lot as the first orange hues of morning rose in the eastern sky. They probably both needed to be checked out.

Amber hurried and helped Bret out of the car and into the E.R. waiting room. As they approached the desk, Amber said, "Wait--I thought you said you played football."

"I didn't get a chance to tell you, I was high school All-American in baseball, too."

Closing Time...Chapter 6

This is a continuation of a story began October 1, 2019. Find the first of the story on the right side of the page to read the story from the beginning.

Chapter 6

She felt her lift force ebb away.

Amber fell, first to her knees, then her whole body lay on the cold cement of the police station parking lot. The black fog continued to surround her. Somehow the blackness contained Todd's essence, and what she felt raised questions in her mind. This wasn't the Todd she knew, the slightly quirky co-worker at the restaurant. This was an old soul, a troubled soul, an evil soul.

The thought that this awful person would prove the cause of her demise made her mad. She didn't know how, but she refused to allow this creep to win, even if she had to die in the process.

There was no way he was going to win.

"Get off me, you damned creep!" Amber screamed.

Something happened. Something changed.

The darkness that held her down lifted, and for the first time in what seemed like ages, Amber drew in a huge breath.

"I said, get off!"

Finally, Todd released her. His form rose then re-appeared before her, back where he once stood. Slowly, Amber pushed herself up from the ground. She stared up at Todd, no longer afraid of who or what he was.

"What's wrong, Todd?" Amber said. "Didn't you say it was time for me to go? Why don't you finish me off? You too scared, or weak?" Amber continued rising. She now stood on shaky legs before her adversary.

"Shut up," Todd said.

After a moment's silence, Amber said, "Shut up? That's all you got--shut up?" Amber took a step toward Todd.

"Man, you're even more pathetic than I thought you were" She took another step. "I'm going to ask you again--what's wrong, Todd?"

Amber saw disgust and hate on Todd's face. She wondered why he didn't just attack her like he did Bret. Maybe he couldn't, but if not, what was stopping him?

The two stood facing each other, Amber not knowing what to say, not knowing why Todd wouldn't do something, or at the very least, say something.

They both heard the car before the headlights illuminated both of them. The vehicle's tires squealed as the car turned from the city street into the parking lot. Whoever was driving was aiming their car directly at the two, and he wasn't slowing down.

Amber noticed the headlights were higher off the ground than a regular car. This must be an SUV. As it came closer, Amber jumped to avoid it crashing into her. She landed on the hard cement and rolled. Todd didn't move. The SUV hit Todd and sent him flying into the glass doors of the police station. The driver locked up the wheels and a green Land Rover slammed to a stop.

Bret opened the door.

Closing Time...Chapter 5

This is a continuation of a story began October 1, 2019. Find the first of the story on the right side of the page to read the story from the beginning.

Chapter 5

Todd stepped out.

Amber froze. Her body unable to move--her brain whirled at a thousand miles per hour.

"Todd?" she managed to say.

"Yes, Amber?"

"What are you...how did you...Todd?"

Todd walked down the stairs toward her. "Dear, you must have a million questions right now in the pretty little head of yours."

His voice disgusted her. Still paralyzed with fear, him calling her dear and saying he head was pretty (even though she herself sometimes considered her head little) enraged her. Instead of running back to her car, she felt like running toward him and kicking him in the mid-section.

But she remained where she stood. Todd continued toward her.

"Now, Amber. I can't believe you ran off like that at the parking lot. If I'm being honest, that hurt my feelings."

Todd stopped five feet from where Amber stood. Though a bright light from the police station shown directly behind Todd, hiding all his features showing her nothing but his silhouette, she saw his eyes shine through. She saw his deep blazing red eyes.

"Don't you touch me, Todd," Amber said, her voice more steady than she imagined it could be under the circumstances. "You do, and I'll--"

"You'll do what?" Todd interrupted. The oily sweetness in his voice only moments before vanished, replaced by distain, anger.

"You'll do what? Run off again? Go ahead--try it. You saw what I can do, didn't you? You saw me take care of that pretty hunky-boy thing you were flirting with."

Todd took a step toward Amber. She didn't flinch. Todd stopped, as if prevented by an unseen force.

"You did that to Bret?"

"So, you and pretty boy are on a first-name basis?"

How dare he? Amber thought, now madder than before. She took a step toward Todd.

"You pig!"

She no longer cared about her safety and she made sure Todd knew exactly how she felt.

"Amber, I'm getting tired of both this conversation, and of you."

"Help!" Amber screamed. "Help! Someone--anyone, please help!" Amber hoped someone inside the police station would hear her and come out to see who was screaming bloody murder right in front of their office.

"Oh, please," Todd said and lowered his outstretched hand. Instantly, no sound came from Amber's throat. She knew she was still screaming, but nothing came out. She put her hands to her throat--it didn't help.

"No one inside can hear you. In fact, no one in there will hear anything ever again."

Amber stopped her silent screams.

"My dear, it's time for you go to."

Instead of walking toward her, Todd's body transformed into a black cloud that slowly rose then directly descended over Amber, engulfing her, choking the will to live from her. She felt her life force ebb away.

Closing Time...Chapter 4

This is a continuation of a story began October 1, 2019. Find the first of the story on the right side of the page to read the story from the beginning.

Chapter 4

He never made it.

Amber watched Bret pick up his gym bag, then the light filtering through the sunroof of her Subaru went out, then returned. A black shadow flew directly over her car and raced straight at Bret. Amber watched in horror as the tall man was tackled to the ground, his gym bag flew through the air and hit the side of his Land Rover.

Amber's whole body began to shake. She looked out the passenger side window and saw Bret lying on his side, five feet from his truck. The black mist that attacked Bret rose from the body and hung in midair. 

Amber jammed the transmission into reverse and let out he clutch. 

The car lurched backward, tired squealing.

She jumped on the brakes, then threw the car into first gear and stomped on the gas. The front wheels spun and screamed in the cool night air. Amber looked in the rearview mirror to see if Bret moved, or showed any sign of life.

He did not.

"Get to the police station...get to the police station," Amber said to herself as she raced her Japanese import through the nearly deserted streets of the city. By her calculation, she had another three blocks to go. "Get to the police station." There was another reason why she kept repeating the same thing over and over--to take her mind off of several facts--one, the charming man she was just talking to may be dead, and two, she had no idea what in the world killed him, if he were actually dead.

Two blocks. Amber gunned the engine. She prayed a cop would see her and pull her over, then she could tell her insane story to the police all the sooner. Another turn--no cops. Why, she asked herself as Amber fought to keep all four almost-new tires on the pavement, why, when your harmlessly roll through a stop sign when absolutely no other cars are even close is a cop waiting on the other side of the street ready to pull you over and give you a ticket, but when you're flying through town, escaping a confessed killer and another unknown force may (or may not) have killed another man there's not a policeman in sight?

Maybe she should roll through the next four-way stop, then a cop would show up.

No need...she arrived.

Amber slammed on the brakes. Her car skidded to a stop a few feet from the police station's front doors. Through heavy breaths Amber realized her fingers were clenched around the steering wheel with such force, they'd turned white.

She made it.

Safe, at last.

Amber killed the engine, and jumped from her seat. She raced around the car when the door to the police station opened. She thought it would be a cop.

She was wrong.

Todd stepped out.

Closing Time...Chapter 3

Closing Time...Continued from the previous two blog posts

Amber screamed.

"Hey." Someone outside her car knocked again. "Are you okay?"

Amber stared at the window, positive she'd see Todd's haunting grin looking back at her. A stranger peered back at her.

"Miss, miss? Are you okay?" a man said.

Amber sat, confused at the events around her. She scanned outside to see if Todd had somehow appeared. She then feared for this man's life.

"Run!" Amber screamed at the window.

"What?" he said.

"Get out of here! There's a killer chasing me!"

Amber saw confusion on the man's face change to first surprise, then resolve. 

"Where?" The man asked looking up to where Amber had just been.

"I don't know, but you'd better get out of here." For a moment, Amber forgot about her own safety and focused on someone she didn't even know. "Hurry--there's a killer out there!"

Amber saw the man move away from the car. He scanned the parking lot, even walking around the car, alert. She also noticed his size--huge, probably a football player, or used to be. His blond hair and wide shoulders exuded confidence. Just watching him Amber felt safer. She started her car. The man knocked again, this time on the driver's side window.

"I don't see anyone. Whoever it was must have left."

Amber lowered her window.

"Maybe, but I'm leaving and I think you should, too."

"I was walking to my car from the gym and I saw you sprinting, like the devil himself was after you. Girl, you're fast."

Even as scared as she was, Amber felt the blood rush to her cheeks. From the stranger's reaction, she Amber knew he saw her blush.

"Uh, thanks. I used to run track--probably broke my personal one-hundred meter sprint back there. Too bad no one timed it," Amber said, her words met with a chuckle."

"Track, huh? Me, too. Decathlon."

Figures, Amber thought.

"But I'll bet you never sprinted and caught your flying keys at the same time before." The man placed his large forearm on the hood of the Subaru. He peered into the car and smiled.

Beautiful smile.

"Ha...you saw that?"

"Yup--first-rate catch there. Real Sports Center stuff, there."

Amber smiled back. She felt her face grow hot again, but didn't care. For a moment, all memory of Todd and his evil grin disappeared.

"I think I need to get to the police station." Amber knew she should leave, but the attraction she felt for this man was undeniable.

"Good idea. Tell you what, I'll follow you in my car. You know where the police station is?"

"On Maple."

"Right. I'm in the green Land Rover. I'll be right behind you."

"Thank you...um--"

"Bret," he said. Bret Simmons."

"Thank you, Bret Simmons." 

Bret nodded and jogged to his car. Amber followed him as he picked up a his gym bag on the way. He had obviously dropped it help her out.

"Land Rover..." Amber said to herself as she watched him go.

Amber put the car in reverse and glanced over at Bret to watch him climb into his green Land Rover.

He never made it.

Closing Time...The Story Continues

Continued from yesterday's blog post...

Amber turned and ran toward her car as fast as she could.

"Stay calm," Amber said between breaths, her lungs burning, her mind racing. "Don't look back...stay calm...don't look back...get to the car...Get To The Car...GET TO THE CAR!"

A million thoughts echoed in her skull as she got closer and closer to the Subaru. Amber ran track in high school, a sprinter. She knew she was fast, but she also knew most boys could beat her, even on the JV squad. Even though Todd was older and didn't appear to be into staying fit, let alone running, she knew if he wanted to, he'd probably catch her before she reached the car, and then...

"Get to the car!"

Amber dug into into the front pocket of her jeans grabbing frantically for her keys. Got em--she yanked her hand out and the keys went flying in front of her, light from a solitary street light glinted off the Disneyland keyring she bought just last year. Mickey's smile mocked her fear. Thankfully, the keys flew forward and hung in the air in front of her. All thoughts vanished as the petit brunette focused solely on catching the keys. If they hit the ground, it could literally cost her life.

The keys descended and fell into her outstretched hand. She caught them without slowing down.

Twenty feet to the car--she just might live through this nightmare.

Instinctively, her thumb moved to the button on the key fob that unlocked the door. The clicking sound of the doors unlocking synced perfectly with the flashing of the car's parking lights. Two clicks, two flashes. At least she wouldn't have to unlock the door.

Ten feet.

Five feet.

"Stay calm, don't look back."

She slammed into the side of the car not wanting to slow down for even a microsecond. She broke two fingernails as her left hand grabbed for the handle. She pulled it back, the door flew open, the force she used caused the door to reach its apex and fly back into her, hitting her in the side.

Amber felt nothing. She jumped in the car and reached for the door as it began to open a second time.

She caught the inside handle and pulled with all her strength. The power of the slamming door carried with it cool night air causing a small pressure imbalance in her ears. Amber quickly hit the automatic door lock and the reassuring click rang throughout the cabin. The only sound remaining was her heavy breathing, mixed with a high wheeze as her lungs pumped air in and out, in and out.

Safe.

Though, she wasn't truly safe until she was as far away from Todd as possible. For the first time, she looked back to the corner where only seconds earlier she stood with Todd. She expected to see him charging after her, even though she never heard any footsteps or sounds coming from him.

She saw...nothing. No charging killer, no murderous co-worker standing at the corner. At the very least, she expected to see him, somewhere.

He disappeared.

Somehow not knowing where Todd was caused more fear to seep into Amber's mind. She had to get out of there and she had to do it now. 

The keys were still in her shaking hand. She tried unsuccessfully to inset the key into the ignition, but the shaking prevented her from making contact. She took one deep breath and blew out the air. The simple act allowed her to focus on putting the key into the ignition.

Now, all she had to do was start the car and get the hell out of there.

She turned the key.

A knock came on the passenger's side window.

Amber screamed.

Closing Time...A Short Disturbing Story

"You know," Todd said to Amber as the two left work. "A guy died in this very building fifteen years ago."

Amber stopped at the restaurant's back door.

"No way," she said. The college junior had already endured two psych classes and an immersion German class before working a six-hour shift at the restaurant. "You're BS-ing me just to freak me out."

"No, really. His name was Jim--my brother even knew the guy. They were in high school together," Todd said, a smile Amber saw through the darkened hallway crossed his lips.

"Stop it," she said. "I'm not in the mood."

And she wasn't. A headache that had simmered just beneath her forehead all day decided at that moment to grow in strength. Hearing about how some guy died in the building where she worked was the last thing she needed. After all, Todd was always talking crazy. She knew her co-worker--ten years her senior--had a slight crush on her ever since she began at the restaurant three months earlier. 

Still, Todd had lived in the college town his whole life, and she'd only arrived three years earlier. If anyone knew about some guy dying, Todd would.

"Okay, just thought you'd like to know about what happened."

Todd followed Amber out of the door. It swung closed and the cool October air seemed to grow colder at the sound of the door's lock catching. Amber breathed in deep, the cold air slightly freezing her lungs.

"Where'd you park?" Todd asked.

"The lot was full when I pulled up, so I'm parked at the gym."

"I'll walk you to your car--"

"No," Amber said, even though she hated going to her car alone in the dark.

"It's okay," Todd said. "I want to."

"All right." The two set out for Amber's Subaru parked a half block away. They walked in silence, the only sound coming from their shoes on the recently rained-upon sidewalk. Finally, curiosity got the best of her.

"So, how'd the guy die?" Amber asked as they rounded the gym's building and her car came into view.

"What? Die?"

"Yeah, you were--"

"Oh, Jim at the restaurant. No, it's probably best you don't know about that."

"No way," Amber said and stopped. Todd walked two steps before he stopped, too. "You can't just blurt out that some guy died where I work--where I sometimes I have to be alone when I'm closing up--and then not tell me what happened."

Todd walked back to Amber. "You sure?" he said, stopping in front of her. His six-foot, four-inch frame towered over her. Amber felt a chill caused by more than the cold air.

"Yup. I want to know."

"Okay, but you're not going to like it."

"Why's that?" Amber asked.

"Because if I tell you, then you and I will be the only ones who will ever know the truth about what happened, and that will be a problem."

"A problem, how?" Amber asked, genuinely confused.

"You see," Todd said looking back toward the restaurant. "When a person is killed at the hands of another, then there's only one person left who knows what happened. And when two people know, well...we can't have that now, can we?" 

Todd's smile returned, only this time it masked something else.

Amber turned and ran toward her car as fast as she could.

The Price...A Short Story

I could tell this one was going to be tough the moment the graduating student walked in the door. He had that same look, like all his troubles were over.

"Mr. Pitts. I'm Stan Thomas, your graduation advisor. Please have a seat."

He obeyed; they all did. Seniors were a lot less cocky now that the protection of school was disappearing. 

I pulled up my laptop and accessed Mr. Pitt's case. "Chemist," I said.

"That's right." His smile was contagious. 

"Good for you. You like chemistry?"

"Always have," he said and I knew he meant it. "Tomorrow after graduation my fiancee and I are headed to Houston. I've never lived in Texas before, but I know it will be a lot different than Boston."

I knew all this, of course. It was all in the file. I knew he grew up in Maine and the girl he was going to marry hailed from the South. I also knew the soon-to-be Mrs. Pitts's parents recently relocated from Memphis to Houston. I guess it was my turn to deliver the bad news.

"Mr. Pitts, I'm afraid that move to Houston will need to be postponed."

"Excuse me?" That look of confusion will soon turn to anger.

"Yes, it seems your services are needed in Fargo."

I saw the anger build in those blue eyes.

"North Dakota?"

I stifled a chuckle. "Yes, North Dakota."

"I don't understand."

Now, the hammer. "Our recruiting office was notified by Mason Petroleum that they are in need of chemists."

"So? What does that have to do with me?"

"Well, you have just graduated with a chemistry degree from Boston College. Mason Petroleum requires your services and so, you are now required to take that job."

"Required?" He was pissed and made no attempt to hid it from me. In fact, I thought he might reach over the desk and smash in my face--something that's been attempted before.

"Yes, Mr. Pitts," I said in my most accommodating tone. "You are required to work for any company the government deems eligible of your services."

"And why is that?"

"Because the government, and by extension, the taxpayers paid for your education. Since all higher education is free, the people require you to work where your education is needed, not necessarily where you want to work."

"What if I say no? What if I tell you and the people to shove it and I go to Texas? What then?" Fear replaced anger in his eyes.

"All you have to do is pay back the $350,000, roughly, that your education cost the taxpayers of this country and you'll be free to go to Houston, or Sacramento, or wherever you want."

Mr. Pitts looked at me, then the floor, then around the room. Now came the moment that always surprised me. How would they accept their fate? Things definitely changed since I went to school, when I worked two jobs and took out no student loans and earned my degree without conditions. Ever since a college degree was made free to everyone and anyone who wanted to go, a lot of people had to pay a different price for their free education.

He gave me one last look, then stormed out of the room. The door slam must have been heard by every graduation advisor in the building.

"That was new," I said to the empty room.

Waxing...Or Waning?

He crossed the bridge that spanned the railroad tracks alone. The train was not due for fifteen minutes, but he liked the solitude arriving early affords. Soon others would join him on the platform and they would soon became cogs in the engine of commerce and civilization.

But, as the time was early, a sliver of light rose in the eastern sky, above the mountain range. Was it waxing or waning? He didn't know, but if he crossed the bridge at the same time tomorrow, the moon  would be further east. It might even be hid behind the rocky ridge and his question of the moon's phase would go unanswered. Of course, tomorrow he may be late crossing the bridge resulting in a missed train or a missed assignment.

He sat and waited, wondering what the day would bring. He looked north and saw another cross the bridge. The man descended the final stair and walked the eighty-three steps it took to reach the point where the first train door opens so that passengers can board. Did the new man notice the moon, now closer to being engulfed by the mountain? Did he see the lone rider who arrived before him? Did he care that the first man to cross the bridge still wondered if the moon would show more of the sun's illumination tomorrow or less?

Probably not.

Eventually, commuters and students of all sizes and ages waiting patiently for the huge diesel engines to push (or pull...) the train would be rewarded for the time they spent waiting. The behemoth would slow then eventually stop. The doors would open and the masses would step inside the metal beast with an errant few stepping free after having reached their destination. As the alarms signaled, the doors closed, and the train departed, a solitary figure looked eastward for the sliver of light in the morning sky. It was gone.

A Full Day, Week, Month...

Today was the culmination of many events going on in my life. It's appropriate that it's the first day of a new month because February 2013 was one for the ages! There were also several things that happened today that could justify their own blog entry. I usually put blog ideas aside to use them when I've run out of things to write about...or, should I say, I have a tougher time finding that spark of inspiration.

But today, I didn't have to look far for blog ideas.

My day began at the dentist--no cavities but I should probably use my Waterpik more. Also, the appointment was a little tough because something is in the air and the hay fever season has officially begun.

Next came my son successfully passing his driver's test. After a call to the insurance company, he can now legally drive on our roads.

I came home and began working on my short story. An e-mail from my editor reminded me just how close the deadline is. Except for the much-needed nap I took in the afternoon, I worked on the story all afternoon. And I found an ending that I think will work (darn endings...).

If all that wasn't enough, tonight was the opening night for the play we've been rehearsing for the past two months. Before the show we rehearsed the scene where the brothers plead to Joseph, now Pharaoh's Number 2, to save the life of Benjamin. One person asked me if I was okay, or if the tears coming from my eyes was due to me being so much in character. Allergies I told him, though I was happy with the compliment. 

The show went very well. We preformed in front of friends and family. Even though their tickets were free the people in the audience paid the most to see us perform.

In February I began a new job, received news that a short story I wrote will be published, learned the show with my cast to the point where we are good to go for a paying audience, participated in my friend's charity ski event, and survived the first day of hay fever season. February was great, but I'm glad it's over. Oh, and the sunset was nice, too...

Isolation, Chapter 1

A couple of years ago, I wrote a little story. It will probably take five or six posts to include all of it. If you've already read it, I apologize. For everyone else, I hope it's worth your time.

Isolation

The young man sat in the darkened room, the crispness in the air evident as all occupants of the small home--the man, his dog, and the cat who owned them both--huddled in front of the wood-burning fireplace, ghostly shadows from the fire danced on the four book-lined walls of the room. Even though the clock showed 10 am, darkness rivaling midnight engulfed the house. Such is winter life in Alaska above the Arctic Circle. Normally Josh would be at work, manning a weight station for trucks hauling fuel and supplies on Ice Road to the remote town of Barrow, Alaska, but not today. Today Josh called in sick and he never calls in sick.

The cat allowed the dog to lie beside him as the two rested together on the floor in front of the man, both content in the warmth of the flames. The room’s cold and dreary feeling was eclipsed only by Josh’s attitude as he sulked in his chair before the fire, a heavy wool blanket wrapped around his shoulders, a half-eaten bowl of oatmeal sat on a small table next to the worn and tattered chair, a chair purchased at an office supply store years before. The solitary figure remained, staring at the fire, fixed in a position where he had remained for several hours ever since a phone call--a call from a man Josh didn’t know and had never talked to before--interrupted his deep sleep. The man at the other end of the phone said he had just flown in from New York City and had a few questions for Josh. “Just a few questions—should only take about an hour is all.” Maybe it was because he was barely awake, or maybe he was tired of his solitary life, but for some reason Josh agreed to meet the man, but only if he’d give him a few hours before he came over; he just woke up, for Heaven’s sake. The man agreed, saying he had to make sure his rental car was available. He got Josh’s address and hung up. A drowsy and confused Josh stumbled out of bed, made some oatmeal for breakfast, called in sick, lit his fire and sat down. “How did they find me?” his breath visible as his question ventured into the cold air.