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My Review of Stephen Coghlan’s Urban Gothic

https://kyanitepublishing.com/home/catalog/urbangothic/

After reading Stephen Coghlan’s short story, the Last Ride of the Inferno Train, I was definitely eager to read more of his writing. When Kyanite Press announced the release of his “Dreampunk” novella, Urban Gothic, I added that immediately to my read list. Being a veteran myself, his story about a veteran suffering from PTSD, living a sedated, half-existence, immediately drew me in. I lost my cousin Patrick, to suicide a few years ago due to his poorly treated PTSD. It saddens me that his daughter will never know the fun person I grew up with. I suffer from PTSD as well. Not related to combat, but due to other issues from my military service (sexual assault, domestic abuse). I feel a deep empathy for our combat veterans of all theaters of war. I interned in college for the Vietnam Veterans of American and saw the toll unresolved mental health issues can take on a person’s life. While our society is becoming more and more aware of the criticality of this issue, I am glad to see it becoming more and more mainstream and not just brushed under the rug.

I have included a link to his website and an interview he did related to Urban Gothic below:

http://scoghlan.com/

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MM18t5GhoKg

An ex-Army medic, Coghlan’s character is living a court-ordered, drugged half-life as part of his probation after beating a mugger to death in a fit of rage. He is so sedated that he is completely cut off from his dreams. He works the night shift at the local hospital, mopping floors. He does his best to forget the horrors of watching his buddies die in combat.

Then one evening as he’s walking to work, singing a song to himself to drown out the sounds of the city. He turns down an alley to see three creatures attacking a young woman. These creatures have the appearance of crazed clowns (like something out of Stephen King’s IT, or the cult classic Killer Clowns from Outer Space). Part of him wants to turn away, keep walking. But something inside of him snaps and he kills her attackers and brings her to the hospital.

When he carries her to the hospital and then brings her into a room, he realizes no one notices or sees him, no matter how much he tries to get their attention in the ER. It is as if they are invisible. He steals a gurney and supplies and treats her himself. When she awakes, she explains that she is not of this realm. She is Veleda, from the “Dreamscape.” As long as he remains attached to her, they cannot be seen. She urges him to leave her before he becomes to attached. Alec decides to leave the “Banality,” Veleda’s term for the real world and journey into the Dreamscape to help her.

Here is where I will diverge, as I had never heard of the term Dreampunk, which is what Stephen’s novella is categorized. But as I read it, I realized I knew what it was.

Dreampunk

While I wasn’t entirely satisfied with the definitions I read off the internet, I can see now after reading his novel that yes, this genre has been around for a very long time. Perhaps not clearly given a title/name (because now of course everything has to have a title), but it has been a driving force in literature for as long as humans can, well, dream. Dreampunk can take on many iterations and themes, but reading Coghlan’s story, the underlying theme is belief. The protagonist in his story needs to believe in the dreamscape and let go of the Banality, the real world which holds nothing but pain and suffering. If he cannot do so, he cannot win the ultimate battle. Not only for the future of the Dreamscape, but for the future of mankind’s dreams and his own self.

To better explain this theme, I felt it appropriate to delve into a few examples from both classic and modern literature that tie in well to what Coghlan touches on in this novella. Though not inclusive these give a good cross-section.

One of my favorite examples (and possibly most well-read) would be Louis Carrol’s much beloved Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass. Both examples of where a young girl slips either down the rabbit hole or through a mirror into a surreal world where nothing is as it seems. While Louis Carrol’s world defies logic, being just a little girl, she accepts and makes her way through this bizarre world with much more ease than an adult would. In Alice in Wonderland, she is merely in a quest to return home by the proper time. In Through the Looking Glass, with its nod to the game of Chess, Alice is on a mission to become crowned queen.

The next best example would be Peter Pan, by J. M. Barrie, where three children, Peter, John and Wendy are flown away to Neverland by Peter Pan and his fairy companion, Tinkerbell. In this land, children never grow up.

Stepping into the US, and into controversy, is the Wonderful Wizard of Oz, by L. Frank Baum. Leaving aside the underlying political and racial issues with the story, on the surface it is about a naïve, young farm girl who is spirited away from her home of Kansas by a tornado to the magical land of Oz. She fights her way through witches and other fantastical creatures to find her way back to Kansas.

Forward into the future (and a favorite from my childhood, though it doesn’t seem to be wearing well with time) is the Neverending Story. Bullied, motherless school-boy Bastien, often loses himself in the world of books. One day he steals a magical book about the land of Fantasia that is being eroded by an evil called the Nothing. While reading the adventure of the warrior Atreyu, questing to save the world from destruction, he finds that he is somehow responsible for its ultimate fate, if he has the courage to keep reading.

Moving forward into the late 1990’s with one of my favorites, The Matrix. This movie crosses many genres, scifi, dystopian, a little bit of horror. But It does fall into dreamscape, as Neo Anderson wakes up with the help of Morpheus and Trinity, to realize that the machines have taken over the world and the computer simulated life he was living was completely fictitious. Will he regret taking the red pill?

I mention all of these because the underlying theme once more is belief. Alice, a young child, very easily believes that if she tries hard enough, in the first story, she can find her way home. In the second she believes she can make her way across the imaginary Wonderland chessboard and move from a pawn to a queen. In Peter Pan, it is about the belief in one’s self and capabilities and dealing with the realities of growing up. While living in Neverland with no rules forever sounds appealing, the children realize this is not where they belong. In the end of the Wizard of Oz, Dorothy always had the power to go home, she just had to believe. In the Neverending story, Bastien struggles to believe that he could be important enough to change the story, to save the world. Meanwhile Neo has to learn to believe that he is the one, he has to move within the Matrix and bend the rules to his will.

Coghlan’s character, Alec struggles with some aspect of each of these beliefs. Unlike Alice, who slips into the alternate reality with her ease and innocence, accepting with grace her bizarre encounters along the way, Alec cannot. Not only is he an adult, who has cast off his child-like acceptance of the world of dreams, he has known true horror. Battered and traumatized by his experiences in the military, he is medicated to the point that he doesn’t dream anymore. When he first passes into the Dreamscape, he becomes physically ill. Throughout the story (and Stephen does some great foreshadowing) you get a sense that there is some other reason why Veleda, his guide, came to him. But his inability to remember how to dream hinders him as the move through the Dreamscape. This touches not only on the themes of the Matrix where he must ultimately let go of the boundaries and rules he once knew in the “Banality,” but like Neo, Dorothy, and even Bastien, he must believe the power lies within him to do so.

*I really loved Coghlan’s scene from the Library of Dreams. This would be a surreal scene to see as a movie in an IMAX theater.

Characters and Dream Archetypes

I am desperately trying to avoid too many spoilers in this review, but it’s going to happen. One of the things that I felt that Coghlan does well in such a short novella is that he shows us some unique characters. Now I don’t know if he did this intentionally, but he definitely played well on Jung’s dream archetypes in this story. I will explain below.

Dream Archetypes

While science has proven that almost everyone dreams (except for some with extreme sleep disorders), not all remember their dreams. Of those that do, most share stories of strange dreams, inspiring dreams and frightening dreams. When you look at literature, across almost every genre, there is a fascination with dreams, both in fiction in non-fiction. We as humans want to know what our brains are trying to tell us as we sleep. The Quran, one of the most famous religious doctrines of all time was written based on the Prophet Muhammad’s “night visions” or dreams. In the Bible, there are multiple instances of dreams foretelling the future. Giuseppi Tartini’s, Il Trillo Del Diavolo (The Devil’s Trill) was purportedly inspired by a dream he had of the Devil playing the violin for him. One of my personal favorites is Stephen King’s, the Stand, where everyone dreams of either Mother Abigail or the Dark Man and come together.

*A side note, I loved Nadine’s constant insistence, “Don’t dream!” and then her confession later in her goodbye letter to Larry.

Meanwhile, I think we have all had this conversation around the watercooler/lunch table at work:

“Wow, I had the strangest dream last night!”

Dreams are so prevalent in literature, it has become cliché to start a novel with a dream sequence. It is one of the biggest tips you get from literary agents and publishing houses. Why? It’s been done—a lot.

Coghlan’s book is based on the world of dreams, but his protagonist can’t dream anymore due to his heavily medicated state. And really why would he want to? His dreams are filled with nightmares of horror and death. But moving into the Dreamscape, a world of imagination, he must confront his deepest psychological impulses and his true self to survive and save the Dreamscape from an evil King that has taken control and is bringing destruction to the world of dreams.

Here is where we get into the dream archetypes and who Alec meets along the way. I included this link I found that has a great and simple explanation of Jung’s four archetypes. I will break them down further in the context of Coghlan’s story, but please feel free to investigate further. All of the characters he meets are crucial to his journey through the land of the surreal, as they are all reflections and aspects of his own psyche. The things he both desires and pushes away from himself.

Common Dream Archetypes

The Self

This is the center of ourselves, our psyche

The Shadow

Our deep darker drives and desires. These we tend to suppress, yet we are innately fascinated by them. Freud might have called this our Id.

The Anima/Animus

The reflection of the female image/soul in the male, or the male image/soul in a female. Can manifest as almost a superhero or god-like form. Jung theorized that this starts as a child as we project ourselves onto our parent of the opposite sex.

The Persona

How we present ourselves to the world. Usually in direct opposition to the shadow, and sometimes even to the self. It depends on how much shame or pride we feel in ourselves.

From here, these four archetypes can manifest as the more traditional cultural archetypes. These are the standard archetypes we find throughout literature cultures (virgin/whore, hero/villain, maiden/crone, etc)

https://www.hccfl.edu/media/724354/archetypesforliteraryanalysis.pdf

In Coghlan’s world of the Dreamscape, every human living in the Banality, like Alec, is a “Creator.” Their avatars or “Doppelgangers” live out fantasies, dreams, hopes and of course, nightmares in the Dreamscape.

In the Dreamscape are characters that are native to the realm, like Veleda, Alec’s guide. She identifies herself as “A Seer. A seeker of truth and a teller of lies. A princess and a peon.” Her family once ruled the Dreamscape until the evil King took over. Now they are imprisoned and she has reached out to Alec for help. She becomes both Alec’s guide and charge as they move through their quest. Coghlan’s description of Veleda and her place in Alec’s psyche as he struggles to find himself fits smoothly with the definition of his anima, or the or the pure Platonic female reflection of his psyche that he has repressed both through his normal life and his military service. You can read in more detail about the anima/animus below.

The Archetypes of the Anima and Animus

Veleda represents his desire to seek the truth about himself, a truth he has pushed away even before the assistance of medication. Coghlan does a good job of alluding to the fact that Veleda has ulterior motives to bringing him to the Dreamscape. That if she had to, she might even betray him. He accepts her reasons for the betrayal, as they are part of his inability to let go of the Banality and move forward. His interactions with his anima help him to grow as a character and find ways to get back to his dreams he has forgotten.

Another interesting mesh of Alec’s anima, shadow and persona emerges in the form of M’lanth. M’lanth is a Shadow-Knight, native to the Dreamscape like Velda, and protector of the Doppelgangers that dwell in the surreal. M’lanth is a feminine reflection of Alec’s deep desires of being a warrior. His dream of joining the army and fighting for justice, good and hope. She protects the Doppelgangers so that their Creators can live good lives. She feels their pain when their Creator is hurt or suffering in the Banality. What makes her his shadow, is that she also represents his darker desire to seek revenge, snuff out suffering. A side of himself that society forces him to repress. M’lanth seeks revenge on those through torturous nightmares when the Doppelgangers and Creators she cares for are hurt by evil. She represents the vigilante, the Batman, that dwells in all of us. The shadow in the night that seeks out justice for those who are wronged. While they start off at odds, M’lanth and Alec come to a mutual respect by the apex of the story. She also represents the Persona he would like to present to the world, the Knight fighting for good and triumphing over evil. When he emerges from the Library of dreams in his glowing emerald armor, we are seeing this Persona shine through.

Next we encounter the Doppelganger of Alec’s Army friend Fredrick. Fredrick is yet another mesh up of archetypes. Fredrick’s character is living a double life in the dreamscape as his creator is stuck in a perpetual coma, wrecked and burned body beyond repair. Dwelling in the world of dreams, he is healthy and strong. What we also learn is the hidden love between Fredrick and Alec that was never spoken. Fredrick takes on a representation of Alec’s anima, in the sense that he appears over and over as almost the damsel in distress sub-archetype for Alec to rescue. But in a sense, he is also Alec’s Persona, in touch with the Dreamscape, and has fully let go of the Banality. He also drives Alec to push past what they experienced so that they may hopefully have some sort of future together here in the Dreamscape, away from the oppression of cultural norms and expectations. This is a nod to Alec’s Shadow. Now the term Shadow has negative connotations, but really it is just a reflection of the desires we suppress, sometimes to fit into society. Coghlan uses this dream archetype in a great but subtle way to show the toll the lack of acceptance society has toward homosexuality can take on people and relationships.

Now we get to the true Shadow, the evil King. Coghlan uses great foreshadowing all along, so it is no surprise to find that the evil King is no other than Alec’s Doppelganger. Severed from Alec, he has taken on every dark aspect of Alec’s experiences and nightmares. Bent on taking over the Dreamscape and controlling the human world of dreams he will let nothing stand in his way. His plan was to lure Alec to the Dreamscape so they could merge together and he would have ultimate power.

As the Emerald Knight and the Black-clad King square off in this ultimate battle, the fate of human dreams hanging in the balance the question is not just who will win, but how. In a nod yet again to the Matrix, we get back to beliefs. Though Alec has relearned how to dream, and clad himself in the armor of his Persona, can he bend the rules of the Dreamscape to defeat his ultimate Shadow archetype? Though I have tossed a few spoilers out there, I will leave this last one for the reader.

Coghlan’s “Dreampunk” was a fantastic, quick read. Writing that allows me to not only escape, but yet think at the same time is a true pleasure. My one beef with it, as with some other novellas I have read, was its brevity. There was enough material here for a full-length novel, if not two. Some of the transitions between scenes ended up being sacrificed for word count. I would have loved to read more. Coghlan definitely has the talent and capability to pull it off with rich surreal descriptions and intriguing characters. I look forward to his next venture into the “Dreampunk” genre.

Thanks for reading. My horror novella, The Dark Land, is coming to Amazon May 4th (pre-sale starts April 16th) if you sign up for my April newsletter by the 15th, you’ll get a sneak preview of a scene from the Dark Land.

The Dark Land, horror novella, dmshepard, fiction, Alaska backcountry, offgrid, adventure
My Alaska-based horror novella, set in the back country of Wrangell-St. Elias National Park. Coming in May, pre-sale in April!

Stay tuned for more writing excerpts, tales of Alaskan adventures, and of course reviews!

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Sexually Harassing Ptarmigan

The days are getting longer, the temperature is hovering above zero more. For Ray and myself, this means we are getting ready for our first Chicken Run of the year. In honor of this event, I’ll be sharing some of my previous posts about our cabin in Chicken and what we do out there.

But as promised from my last blog post. I am going to tell a little story about the time I sexually harassed the ptarmigan one spring. Many of you are probably asking, wait, what? I assure you, it was completely accidental.

But let me set the stage first.

For those of you who do not follow me on a regular basis, my husband and I have a cabin in the interior of Alaska, six miles outside of a little town called Chicken, Alaska. It’s about a seven-hour drive from Anchorage. When we turn off at Tetlin Junction onto the Taylor Highway, we lose all cell phone connection. We carry a sat phone for emergencies, but even that is not much of guarantee of safety. Our cabin is pretty rustic. We have no running water or electricity. We have a small generator for when we need to run power tools but that’s about it.

View of Chicken Ridge and Warbelow from the cabin

We really like the solitude. It’s nice to get away from everything and really disconnect. At night, it’s so quiet, we can hear the river flowing four miles away.

Meanwhile, there is the cabin itself. I often post pictures of it. We started the earthwork for the cabin about three years in advance of actually building. Why? Permafrost. Chicken, along with most of the interior of Alaska has what is known as discontinuous permafrost. You don’t want to build on permafrost. If you do, you will get subsidence. There are many pictures throughout Alaska of cabins sunk up to their eaves from building on permafrost. So we dug down into the peat and the gravel and disturbed the permafrost as much as we could before construction. Then we built the cabin on jacks so that if we needed to, we could level the cabin if it started to subside.

The cabin at night.

Sometimes, with the freeze thaw cycles and the settling of the buildings, windows crack. After the cabin was built, we waited 2 years to install windows. So instead, we just had plywood over the openings. This is why in my story I am about to tell, we couldn’t see out of the cabin at the time.

Me, in front of the cabin before we had windows

Early May of 2013 (the year after we built the cabin) Ray and I took a trip out to the cabin by ourselves. This time of year, there can be anywhere from patches of snow to a couple of feet out at the cabin. The Taylor Highway is officially open on April 30th, but we can go hours without seeing a car. It’s still getting dark at night, and though we have an outhouse, it’s not wise to go wandering around in the dark. We have moose and bear that wander up to the cabin regularly. We typically keep a “honey bucket” close to the cabin for convenience and safety for use at night.

We also have ravens out in Chicken. These birds love to pick at things. In particular, they love to pick at the wipes that I leave out with the honey bucket on the porch. They will carry off a whole package and tear it to shreds. Our first morning out in Chicken on this trip, I awoke to strange sounds on the porch and roof. I sleep with earplugs in my ears (my husband snores like a Husqvarna chainsaw), so I can’t quite make out exactly what they are. In my half-awake state, I become absolutely sure that it’s ravens tearing up the wipes on the porch again.

I leapt out of bed swearing, “Assholes!”

Ray rolls over, “What?”

“Those asshole Ravens are tearing up the wipes on the porch again,” I shouted, yanking the ear plugs out of my ears and stomping toward the front door, determined to give these pesky birds a piece of my mind. In hindsight, I really should have used more caution, it totally could have been a bear or a moose.

But nope, I fling open the door and rush out onto the porch completely naked, shouting, “Assholes!” Then I freeze at the sight before me.

It wasn’t ravens at all. It was ptarmigan. And not just one or two. There must have been somewhere between 50 to 70 ptarmigan on the porch, the deck, the bbq, the roof of the outhouse, the picnic table and the paths around the cabin.

They were mating. It was a full-blown ptarmigan orgy. The few on the porch scattered at my emergence from the cabin, but then immediately went right back to their activities after giving me a dirty look for disturbing their good time.

So of course, I start laughing and shouting, “Ray, come here! You have to see this!”

He comes stumbling out of the cabin (completely naked too), “What the hell?” Then he starts laughing. We stood there just staring at the strange scene until the cold air drove us back inside. Believe it or not, ptarmigan even sound like people when they are getting it on. I have never witnessed so many birds copulating at one time. It was about three in the morning when they started, they continued until about six, then melted back into the brush as if they had never been.

The four days we were out there, this happened every morning at exactly the same time. The first morning it was hilarious, the second it was funny. The third I wanted to scream, “Shut up already!” The fourth morning I was ready to find out if ptarmigan really do taste like chicken.

We have never seen it happen again. Maybe we were out there at just the right time.

Is it weird that I wish in hindsight that I had taken pictures? (pervert!)

Me out in Chicken taking a break with Jane Friedman’s the Business of Being a Writer

Thanks for reading. Our first Chicken Run of 2019 is set for the end of March. Stay tuned, I will be posting more Chicken stories this month.

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When Sexy Characters Meet

The Bar at the Chicken Creek Saloon

Hey everyone! Spring has come to Alaska, and Ray and I are busy with plans for Chicken. I have started my separate Chicken page: @ChickenAK and will be doing writing prompts using the hashtag #AKChickenChick. This particular series of prompts was inspired by the idea of #DKMasquerade and her character Liberty coming to meet mine in Chicken, AK for the Dust to Dawson and Solstice. I posted this sometime ago, but here it is again. For those of you who actually read it all the way to the bottom, you’ll get a sneak peak at this weekend’s prompt (starting tomorrow).

What happens when two crazy writers decide to allow their characters to get together and wreak havoc on the Alaska interior? Find out as DKMarie’s character for her #DKMasquerade comes to Chicken Alaska for the Dust to Dawson Bike Ride Weekend to help bail her friend out. As we get into this, I will open up some sort of writing prompts and have a contest (I have some awesome Alaska based giveaways planned for Solstice) for our writing friends to join in harassing our two characters as their flirt with sexy bikers, miners, and pilots.

Will they find #Romance? #Comedy? #Horror? #Aliens? We’ll see, won’t we #Writingcommunity? All genres welcome. NO direct buy links, but look at this as a way to indirectly tell us about yourself and your characters!

Sign behind bar

INTRODUCTION

                Ashley leaned against the scarred wooden bar reviewing the order for the shipment of supplies for the Saloon. Still early in the season, the fire in the woodstove in the crackled. The mornings were cool, but the days were getting hot. Ashley sipped her morning coffee from her favorite mug and tucked her pen into her bun of fine, wheat blonde hair.

                She looked up as a shadow darkened the door to see their evening bartender standing at the threshold, blue eyes red with tears.

                “Emily, What’s wrong?” Ashley asked, standing upright and setting her mug down.

                “I—I just checked my email,” she stammered. “My mom’s in the hospital, she had a heart attack last night.”

                “Oh my God!” Ashley exclaimed, coming around the bar and giving her a hug. “I’m so sorry.”

                “I hate to ask, I know Dust to Dawson is in three weeks,” she started to say, but Ashley cut her off.

                “Don’t you even think about it. I will go get Nick’s ass out of bed and tell him to get the Beaver ready to fly you back into Anchorage. I’ll pay you out of the cash I have on hand.”

                “Thank you, Ashley. I’m so sorry to leave you in the lurch,” Emily said, wiping her eyes.

                “No worries girl. Just worry about your mom. We’ll be fine. Go pack your stuff.” Emily nodded and walked back to the cabin.

                After she helped Nick prep the plane, and gave him a list of things to pick up while he was in Anchorage, she crossed her arms over her chest, worrying.

                God, this is turning into a total shit-show. Why did I agree to run this place while Susie took the summer off? Oh yeah, because I thought it would be a great way to make me forget about him and her. She rubbed the scar on her side, two years later, the knife wound still throbbed every time she thought of it. She shook her head. Mom and Dad can totally cover the mornings at the café and gift shop. Scooter and Jen cover things during the day shift. But for Dust to Dawson weekend we’re going to need more than just Nick and me running the bar in the evenings. Where the hell am I going to get another bartender on such short notice?

                She blinked a few times as she walked back into the bar, her eyes adjusting to the dim interior from the sunny day outside. The ancient floorboards creaked beneath her feet as she paced back and forth. She pushed a few balls around on the pool table at the back, trying to come up with a plan. The thousands of panties and hats stapled to the ceiling rustled in the breeze blowing in through the open door. She could hear her Mom, Nina in the kitchen prepping soups and sandwiches for the tour bus that would be coming in that afternoon.

                A chirping sound on her laptop drew her attention back to the bar. She smiled when she saw the email. Then she gasped, hands shaking as she began to type a response.

Hey There City-Girl,

I know you’re busy moping your way around Europe, and I promise I will join you at some point, but I desperately need your help. As you know, I’m running the bar for the summer out here in Chicken, AK, and our biggest weekend is coming up. It’s the Dust to Dawson Bike Ride. Thousands of bikers come through here on their way to a big poker tournament in Dawson. We’re hosting a live band here the night before the tourney. The bike ride is on the solstice (June 20-21), so I would need you here for like a week (June 16-24). Please? I’m begging you. I’m desperate. Look at it as a way to come try out Alaska for a week and get paid well for it. As a bonus, I can connect you with some friends in Healy if you want to check out Denali afterwards. My brother Nick is a pilot, so he has friends there who do flight tours across the state.

Take care pretty lady, hope to see you soon!

Your Country Mouse Buddy,

Ashley

She hit send and crossed her fingers, hopping for the best. This would be epic if only she would come to Alaska. The two of them, running the bar forgetting about their d-bag exes. Oh yeah.

Me and my father-in-law Shep, having a beer at the bar in Chicken, AK

So the first writing prompt will be #travel, specifically to Alaska. What brings your character to Alaska? Some come searching for gold, some for love, some for the yeti, others just for vacation. Write a great tweet about how your character would end up at a bar in the Alaska interior the week of the solstice. This one is not for a contest, just to warm everyone up and get us started. Take care!

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The Odd Duck Creeper

As promised, Part Two of my sexual harassment blog on “Creepers”

*Names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent.

                Last July, as a present to myself for my 40th birthday, I decided to splurge and get my manuscript, Torched, professionally edited. It was a great learning experience and a lot of fun working a professional editor. But I thought I would relate a humorous conversation she and I had about my manuscript.

***Summarized this conversation for brevity, but you’ll get the point.

Editor: I really like your antagonist, Dennis. He’s a really great character. You have your romance going on in the foreground with creepy little Dennis in the background watching and plotting. How did you come up with him?

ME: Well, it’s funny you should ask that. There’s this one guy I used to work with, and he was kind of socially awkward. When I was working on my masters, I would stay in my office after hours late at night and work on my homework. He would come into my office and stare at me until I would notice him.

Editor: Wait—WHAT? Your serial killer is based on a real person? He would come into your office and stare at you?

ME: Uh—yeah. Really, it’s not as bad as it sounds. He was just a little awkward. He would just stare at you silently until you noticed him, then he would talk. Usually I just told him I was busy and he would go away.

Editor: OMG! That’s creepy.

ME: He just wanted to talk to someone. He would even bring me presents.

Editor: Presents? What?

And the more I talked and tried to convince her this wasn’t weird, the weirder it sounded.

Working in any field I think you encounter what I like to call, the ODD DUCK. If you have ever seen office space, he’s the Milton Waddams. Quiet, unkempt, usually not very popular. You won’t find him as the life of the office party. He’s usually hanging out in the corner by himself, just watching.

This particular co-worker of mine was an absolutely brilliant engineer and highly educated when you started talking to him. He and I often worked on jobs together so I got the chance to get to know him a little better than most. I also got to know more of his darker side. While brilliant, he had a definite chip on his shoulder when it came to women. Highly misogynistic, he would make terrible comments about women, but quickly follow them up with, “I’m just being honest.” And, of course, “I don’t mean you Daniella.”

He knew that I was an avid reader and a writer. I enjoy reading all genres, both fiction and non-fiction. Though when he found out that I wrote romance, this didn’t set well at all (even though I told him I wrote horror as well).

“Daniella you need to lay off that romance crap and read more war and killing stuff.”

He started bringing me presents. Which believe it or not were highly educational. One of his hobbies was history. He was really into history related to war. So he would bring me books, and being the person that I am, I’ll never turn down a free book. Usually he’d bring me non-fiction books or movies about war and killings. He did give me a fictional movie about the Templars, saying as he brought it into my office late one night after staring quietly at me for a while, “This is full of that romance crap you like. I’m sorry I bought it.”

Now before you think I was the only target of his affections, I wasn’t terribly worried because he did this to others. He would come into the office and stare at my alternate (who was a guy) and try to strike up conversations. From my interactions with him, I got the impression he had some sort of broad-spectrum autism. He often had difficulty just talking to people and would often wind up saying something incredibly in appropriate or offensive. To be honest, even though he could be quite insulting at times (and a little creepy the staring thing did get to you after a bit). I really felt that he was just kind of lonely. Having been somewhat of an outsider myself most of my life, I can relate.

So that was OD1. Let me relate the story of OD2…

*OD2 is reviewing a drawing package with me in my office. Not an unusual event as part of both our jobs. OD2 is also a little on the older and heavy-set side and has just come in from outside, so I presume that’s why he’s breathing like Darth Vader. He always does this, so I just shrug it off. He continually mumbles to himself while we go over the electrical portion of the work to be done on the project. He’s one of my odd customers that I deal with on a frequent basis here in Prudhoe and while I don’t mind his mumbling and heavy breathing, the smell of his greasy hair and his unwashed FR clothing does get to me after a while.

I’m sitting in my chair and he’s talking me through the scope of the electrical work as he leans over the one-line drawing, pointing out the changes he makes a strange snort. A glob of green-brown goop spatters across the white paper. It’s all I can do to not recoil from the snot rocket he’s just blown across the package. Without missing a beat, he wipes it away with his hand and keeps talking, mumbling and of course, heavy breathing. With as much stealth as I can muster, I pull a yellow post-it note from my desk and attach it to the page. I want to let our documentation tech know to re-print that one.

We finish the review, and he leaves. Admittedly, I’m laughing a little to myself over the yet another awkward OD2 encounter. I go down to the mechanical piping office to talk to my co-worker who has to deal with him on a fairly regular basis as well. As I relate the story, while both she and the other male engineer sharing her office start to laugh, they insist I close the door so they can tell me what he did while he was in her office (reviewing the mechanical portion of the same package).

“So what did he do?”

“Well we were reviewing the package,” O—- said, eyes wide. “And  he’s looking at me and talking about the pressures on the line, then all of a sudden he turns his head aside and says, ‘But you’re so hot,’ then turns back and keeps talking to me like nothing happened. He did it more than once.”

I look at C— the young EIT sharing her office and mentoring under her. “Yeah, I heard it too, it was so weird, like an aside in a cartoon or a movie.” They were both laughing, albeit, a little nervously.

“What a creep,” I replied. Then it hit me. The constant mumbling when he’s in my office. As some of you who follow me know, I don’t really hear that well. Due to a head injury, I sometimes have trouble processing speech. He was doing it to me too. I just couldn’t hear him/understand him. Of course, now we start talking to all of the other female engineers we know. Aaaaaaand as expected, Every single one of them has a weird/creepy OD2 story.

Now we wanted to write it off at first as maybe these guys are just socially awkward/clueless that their behavior is totally inappropriate. They have issues, so they just don’t understand. We had a lively debate with some of our male co-workers that really gave us pause. They felt that these guys knew exactly what they were doing, they were just using their awkwardness as an excuse to get away with inappropriate behavior.

What do you guys think after reading my descriptions of the ODD DUCKS? Are they truly clueless and just don’t know any better? Or are they taking advantage of the fact that they won’t be called on their behavior due to their awkwardness?

Thanks for reading! Stay tuned. We’re prepping for our first Chicken Run of the year, so my next blog post will be a humous story about the time I harassed the ptarmigan–shame on me!

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Creepy McCreeperton

Part 1 of my series on Sexual Harassment in the WorkPlace

I hear the door to my office creak open behind me. It’s late in the evening and I am in my office alone, trying to polish up a few things before I head back to camp for the evening. Before I can even turn around, he’s already barging in, moving closer to my desk.

“Hey Daniella, I heard that you have a cabin in the interior of Alaska.”

“Uhm…yeah. Do you have something electrical to talk to me about?” I ask, keeping a straight face. I know the answer to this question before he even opens his mouth. He’s a mechanical piping guy. He knows nothing and has nothing to do with what I do for work.

“Well, no.” He stammers.

“I don’t have time for chit-chat,” I reply bluntly. “I have deadlines and I am working. Please leave my office now. Thank you.”

His jaw drops. He glowers and stiffens a little, but he stomps out down the hall, slamming my door as he goes.

Now for some of you reading this exchange, this may seem a little harsh. We “girls” have been trained to be “nice,” “polite,” accommodating even. If I have learned one thing from my male co-workers, it’s that I am here to work. It is perfectly acceptable to draw distinct boundaries in the work place. Particularly around those who make me uncomfortable.

Now to give a little context around this particular exchange, there are many types of sexual harassers out there. The ones that we see in the news are the more overt kinds. You know, the ass-grabbers, the ones who make lewd comments and jokes, the ones who try to get girls drunk and assault them. I could go on and on, but I am going to focus on a subtler kind. There’s a kind of guy who flies under the radar, but quite frankly is possibly the biggest workplace predator, because he often escalates to these other behaviors, but he carefully selects his victim, grooming her to make it feel as if it is her fault when he makes his move. I call this guy, the Creepy McCreeperton, or how about just Creeper for short.

Now, throughout my career as a technician and engineer, I have had many male colleagues as mentors and friends. But there have always been clear boundaries established from the get go. The Creeper immediately starts trying to bend or push these boundaries.

Creeper moves in on his prey subtly, coming in to talk about work, but then moving on to other subjects, usually his favorite, sex. He works hard to find out what her interests are so he has ammunition. Creepers can be married or single. He’ll often open up to her about his own relationship problems, gaining her sympathy by trying to get her advice on his own relationship woes. Then he’ll try to get her to talk about her problems, so she can see just how much they have in common. The irony is that over the course of my career, it is usually the other men I work with know who the Creepers are, and warn me about them early on. Sadly, they don’t feel very empowered to do much about them.

The Creeper I mentioned above was notorious for stalking the young female engineers I worked with. He preyed on the fact they were too nice to tell him to go away. He always managed to come to their offices when they were working late or alone. He would often bring legitimate “work” to talk about so he had a reason to be there, but then sway to the subject to personal matters (sexual).

When they would tell me about it, I would try to drive home to them that they didn’t have to put up with this behavior. Establishing boundaries for professional behavior is perfectly acceptable. Guys don’t worry about being nice. We shouldn’t either. We should worry about being professional We’re here to do a job, not be someone’s eye candy.

Now, to give a little more info on said Creeper above, he didn’t give up after the incident in my office. He would try to find ways to talk about “personal” stuff with me, even though I made it clear I had nothing to say. Usually by trying to stop me in the dining hall or corner me in the gym and comment on my workout attire (yes, he was a true gem). I finally had to let him know that I had spoken with my supervisor about his behavior, and if he did not desist bothering me or other females in my department, we would be taking further action (further action was taken, because I guess he didn’t think I knew about the other women he was bothering).

Yes, I will add a small caveat here. We’re all adults, and some people do date in the work place. And that’s fine, but no one should feel coerced or harassed. It is acceptable to tell someone that their behavior is inappropriate without fear of reprisal. In fact, when I let my male co-workers the depth and level of was going on, they were outraged and incensed. It’s guys like that that give men a bad name. Most of the men I have worked with wouldn’t dream of doing anything like that. They have daughters, sisters and other female friends. They knew the guy was a “creep” but they couldn’t believe the lengths to which the guy would go.

We’re all human and we make mistakes. Speaking for myself, I have somethings said things I should not. People have said things around me that they should not. I try to give people (at least for the first offense) the benefit of the doubt that they are not trying to offend me and that they are a decent person. My usual response is something along the lines of crossing my arms over my chest, giving them a grin while I raise an eyebrow and saying, “Really?” And that’s more than enough for most of my technicians to know they’ve gone too far. We’re in a new era. Women are entering into professions and places that have been dominated by men for millennia. The amount of change in the industry both in attitude and support towards women has been staggering. There’s still along way to go. But that change needs to come with an open mind on both sides. We have to look at each other as human beings and partners, not adversaries.

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My Review of BK Bass’s The Ravencrest Chronicles

https://kyanitepublishing.com/home/catalog/ravencrestomnibusone/

“So, what book/author is your writing most like?”

I don’t know about you, but as a writer, I think that is the question I hate the most. While there are plenty of stories and authors out there who inspire us, we all are trying to write a different take on the same old song and dance. We try as authors to bring an original spin to the myths, fables, legends and even genres that are embedded into our cultures.

“What has been will be again,

What has been done will be done again;

There is nothing new under the sun.”

Ecclesiastes 1:9

I think what I enjoyed most about BK Bass’s the Ravencrest Chonicles is that it was NOT like anything I had read before. I have always read a lot, and I was a huge fan of the Dragon Lance Series as a kid. I’ve read Tolkien and just about every Stephen King book there is. I can’t tell you that he’s like Tolkien, or RR Martin, or Stephen King. But if you’re a fan of any of the above, you will like Bass’s Ravencrest. This writing is the cross-section of Fantasy meets Gothic Horror. Rather than a novel, Bass weaves together a collection of novellas, short stories and poems that paint a dark and compelling picture of a bustling port town full of colorful characters that is being haunted by something…supernatural.

Now, I said in the previous paragraph that his writing wasn’t like a particular novel or author, but his setting of Seahaven reminded me of many of the seaside towns I have lived in since ditching the small desert town I grew up in and joining the Navy. I can taste the dank salt air, and feel that bone-penetrating chill that comes from the moisture that never dissipates with the seasons. I can picture Seahaven’s close-packed-hastily built buildings nestled against the rising cliffs. A crowd of sorts, clamoring for the wealth of trade coming from the sea, all the while, ignoring the dark shadow hovering over the city above, in the form of the nobility. At the start of the story, I wondered why the hell the people in the town put up with it, but Bass does an excellent job answering that question.

Oh…that’s why…You know, I have to admit, I would so be on the first ship out of this place…just saying.

Bass does a great job of showing and not telling in these stories. As previously mentioned, I love Tolkien, and Martin. However, Tolkien’s never-ending descriptions left me wanting to scream “are the hobbits ever going to get to the freakin’ mountain?” Or in Martin’s case, his need to not only describe every detail of a character’s appearance, but the ornate and in-depth details of their clothing (I found myself wondering at times, Is this Westeros Fashion week or something?).

Instead, Bass jumps right into the action, showing me his characters. I got the impression of this cutthroat town of Seahaven as being a sort of medieval Mos Eisley. A melting pot of thieves, murderers, pirates, whores and devils. Meanwhile Bass pulls back the layers on a very unwilling protagonist: Gareth Vann, master thief, turned unwilling hero. Gareth along with his rag-tag network of sparrows, young orphans like he once was, and pirate friends, will defend the city against the shadows encroaching from above and below.

What I also enjoyed about this story was that Bass keeps you guessing as to who is the good guy and who is the bad. At the risk of spoilers, I will leave it at that. But I did really enjoy how no one is quite as they seem.

**I do have to say, the end story—I totally saw that coming, but I enjoyed every…delicious…minute of reading it.

Finishing this book, I felt a quandary. It left more questions than it answered, but in a good way:

  • What’s Helen’s backstory?
  • Is Marcella going to get more of a story of her own?
  • Am I going to get to hear about the origins of the Bloody Wench and her first captain?
  • There’s lots of references to sirens, so will that be a legend Bass brings onboard in the next book?
  • There’s lots of hints about Hatha, will she get a story of her own?
  • And many more…

Okay, dammit. I’m hooked. When’s the next book, Bass? I’m waiting.

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A Drink of Darkness-The softer side of Eve

Tihatnu Pass, dmshepard, Alaska, travel

My last post on my antagonist Eve was rather dark and disturbing. While barely a rough draft, I thought I’d post a softer side of my seductive villain Eve.

Eve curled her body around Helena, shuddering, holding her close as she kept her mind in step with Helena’s as she slept. Mind throbbing with every blow, every contraction as the baby within Helena’s body died. Her heart broke along with Helena’s as she heard the brutal words from her murderous husband. She pressed her lips to Helena’s hair, careful not to touch her skin. Using her gloved hands, she stroked Helena’s face as she cried out, reliving the worst night of her life in her dreams.

“It’s okay, Angel. That bastard is burning in hell. I promise. I only wish I could have put him there myself,” she whispered through clenched teeth. Her own body trembled, blood boiling as she saw and felt Helena’s pain and agony.

You’re so lovely Helena, she thought. I wish it could just be you and me, running our own business together somewhere. Somewhere where I don’t have to read the nasty thoughts of men all the time. You could paint and sketch and I could cook. That would be lovely. Just the two of us, not a care in the world.

The she sighed, plunking her head against the pillow. The world doesn’t work that way. The world revolves around money and power. And for now, men control all of that. The only way to get any is to take it from them. Eve twined her fingers in her silky platinum curls, wrapping Helena’s nude body firmly in the satin sheets. Helena batted with a satin gloved hand. Eve smiled, wishing she could touch her skin, but the gloves were a necessity until the herbs worked their way out of her system. Eve’s mind wandered as she watched her sleep. I wonder if she has what it takes to make it as a vampire. I hope she does. Most don’t last the first year. And if they do, they choose to go back to being human, its too much. I wish she were awake so I could look into those pretty eyes and make love to her again. Maybe later.

“What are you doing, Eve?” Bianca asked, petticoats rustling as she stepped into the room.

“Daydreaming,” Eve said. She gave Helena another squeeze. Bianca put her hands on her hips and pursed her lips.

“Be careful not to get too attached too soon,” she said. She ran her fingers over her bodice, toying with her favorite knife. “You never know what can happen.”

Eve let out a long sigh and gazed up at the ceiling. “I know. I remember how much you loved Calista.”

Bianca scrunched her forehead, face hard for a moment. The brass bed creaked as she sat down on the edge. She gazed down at Helena, then closed her dark eyes. “It was her choice. She decided immortality was not for her. Sometimes I think she was far wiser than I. I just didn’t know our time together was going to be—so short after that…” Bianca hung her head for a moment clutching at her skirts. “Sometimes, I think she made the right choice. But then—so did I. If I hadn’t chosen to be a vampire. I never would have met her. We were born 200 years apart.”

Eve sat up and reached for Bianca’s hand. “I’m sorry, love.”

“I—I’m not,” Bianca said, holding Eve’s hand for a moment in return before rubbing at her own eyes then smoothing her hair. “I couldn’t save her from the yellow fever in New Orleans after she decided to be human again. But at least I had time with her. I would like to think that my immortality will lead me to other wonderful souls like hers.”

“That’s a lovely thought Bianca,” Eve replied. She looked down at Helena as she murmured in her sleep. She focused her mind on changing Helena’s dreams, giving her something softer, sweeter to dream about until she could come back up and focus her energy on seduction. She disentangled herself from Helena, tucking the sheets and blankets around her. She tested the thick leather collar around Helena’s neck, ensuring it was securely locked and fastened to the metal bed. “I suppose I should change.” She ran her hands over her gown, emerald satin gleaming in the lantern light.

“Yes,” Bianca replied. “We have the five men who came back with us from the saloon…” her eyes went to the door as her lips drew in a hard line. “And then McNabb showed up with a friend. He’s specifically requesting Liz. They both want to—play with her.”

Eve’s stomach knotted. She rose from the bed and walked with Bianca to the door. “She needs to feed anyway—she did a lot better last time. With two of them—maybe we won’t have to kill either.”

“But are you up to it? Do you think you can control them, her and yourself?” Bianca asked.

Eve’s breath came faster. She wanted to be angry, to snap at Bianca for questioning her abilities, but she knew Bianca was right.

“I will, if I feed first. I’ll need your help. I need to focus when we’re down there. I can’t let them get her too wound up. She starts flashing back to what her family let those men do to her,” Eve shook her head as they locked the door behind them, leaving Helena sleeping and went into their own boudoir. “Bianca—I have never experienced anything so horrific. And the fact that it was her own parents—turning a little girl into some sort of animal. Because they wanted money. Letting her be gang raped, humiliated. They kept her in a cage, Bianca. They did so many things that were just unbelievable. And not just to her, but to her other siblings. Selling them off to the highest bidder like they were objects not people.”

“There are some truly disgusting people in the world,” Bianca agreed unhooking the back of Eve’s dress and holding it up while she stepped out of it. “While my own psychic abilities have increased over the centuries. Mine are just enough that I can manipulate them on a basic level. I don’t even want to think about what you deal with. I can’t imagine being completely immersed in someone’s thoughts and feelings.” Bianca turned so Eve could help with her dress.

“Sometimes,” Eve said, “It’s amazing. Like with Helena. Her pleasure and innocence just coursed through me like—like a river. Imagine having your own orgasm, but then having Calista’s at the same time.”

Bianca threw back her head and laughed as she wiped herself down with neroli and jasmine water. “I don’t know if I could handle that. It might be too much. Calista was a true Creole. She could bring men and women to their knees just by casting a glance in their direction. I swear, all she had to do was brush her lips against my neck and was ready to scream for her. She probably had a voodoo doll made of me the first night we met there in the French Quarter.” Bianca ran a silk cloth over her now heaving breasts, closing her eyes against the memory. “The only other lover I had that compared to her was Marissa.”

“Why did Marissa leave?” Eve asked. “Fabiyan won’t say anything. I’ve tried reading his mind, but it’s like a steel trap when it comes to her.”

Bianca re-applied rouge to her cheeks and painted her lips. “I wasn’t there that night,” Bianca admitted, adjusting her corset. “We were in France at the time, right before—you know.” She drew a line over her throat. Eve nodded. “I was in Paris with Heloise and Sasha. We were working the taverns, gathering information on the activity. The unrest just seethed in the city. It was like a pot, getting ready to boil over. Demyan and Marissa were at Versailles, working the royals. Something happened when they had to escape the palace. Some rift between them that she wouldn’t forgive. He met us outside of Paris. She vanished. She writes me from time to time. Her psychic powers are a lot like yours. She always seems to know where we are. She keeps trying to convince me to leave him and come to her. Part of me wants to, but then—I don’t know.”

“I wish I could have known her,” Eve said, as they made their way down to the parlor full of eager, waiting men. Not even in the room yet, and her temples were already starting to throb from their lust and desires.

“There was something about her,” Bianca said. “And it wasn’t necessarily how she looked. She claimed to be related to Cleopatra. She was Greek, Macedonian and Egyptian. Who knows, maybe she is? She’s a far older vampire than Demyan.”

“Well maybe someday,” Eve said. They both squared their shoulders and plastered on sunny smiles for their clientele and dinner for the evening.

Thanks for reading! A Drink of Darkness is still progressing. I hope to have a complete rough draft soon.

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Pulling a Pig

So I shared this article yesterday, but I realized that this really bothered me. And when I mean really bothered me, the event I am about to relate happened over 14 years ago. I should be over it right? It was just something someone said to me. It wasn’t the first time I have been bullied or picked on for not fitting society’s standard of how a woman should look or act, and it wouldn’t be the last. But this particular encounter left me shaken to my core, and haunts me to some level until this very day. When I read this article, written by Stephanie Yeboah about her own painful experience, I was sitting waiting for an appointment. I broke down crying. Memories of that night came flooding back. I knew I had to share her article. I have included a link below:

https://www.refinery29.com/en-gb/pull-a-pig-dating-pranks

The incident from long ago played on repeat in my head, keeping me awake last night. It had been something I had had shoved to the recesses of my mind, along with all of the other insults and snubs about the way I do and do not look. But reading Ms. Yeaboah’s experience, and the kind words I have gotten from friends after sharing her article, I decided to go ahead and relate what I went through, and why it bothers me so much to this day.

My apartment during college was in Seattle’s wonderful Capitol Hill Neighborhood. One of the things I enjoyed the most was the ability to walk from my apartment just a few blocks and go to any number of affordable restaurants, bars and shops. I had a favorite bar I would go to most nights since it was only a block and a half from my apartment. I would often bring a book or even my homework and get a beer and just enjoy the small, popular neighborhood pub.

One night, as I sat at a booth in the back, reading a book, a guy started to chat me up. Now this small dive had a group of definite regulars, but I had never seen this guy here before. This took me completely by surprise. If you follow me much or know me very well, I make mention often that guys don’t tend to notice me. I’d like to think that I’m not ugly per se, just incredibly average. But it was incredibly flattering to have someone (for once) notice me sitting alone and ask about what I was reading (It was my electromagnetics homework, exciting, literally. Do I know how to party or what?). He talked me up as if he was actually interested in me.

He sat down and offered to buy me a drink. I had already had a few, and I had class then next day. I declined. This seemed to irritate him. He kept pressing me to have another drink. I thanked him politely again but declined, growing more and more uneasy with his attention. Something seemed off. He became even more agitated. He continued to talk to me though. He finally invited me to leave the bar with him, stating that his place wasn’t far away. Feeling red flags popping up like daisies, I thanked him again but said I had class the next day, and I wasn’t interested.

Apparently, this was the wrong thing to say (in his mind). He stood over my table, balling up his fists, sputtering.

“Go home and study? You can’t be serious,” he said, slurring his words as he slurped his beer.

“No really. I have to get this done,” I said, tapping my pencil to my book.

“You can do that later, you should come home with me instead tonight, it’ll be a lot more fun than this crap.”

“No thank you,” I replied, putting up my hand. Inside, my heart was hammering. The bar was crowded. While he was making a commotion, no one was really paying attention, other than his group of friends standing near the pool tables watching and laughing. It dawned on me that they had put him up to this somehow. It was some sort of joke.

“What do you mean? You can’t turn me down,” he growled. The hair on the back of my neck stood up at his words.

“Thanks, but I’m really not interested. I have work to do.” I pointed to my book and notebook.

He flipped my book shut and leaned closer. “An ugly b—h like you should be grateful that a guy would even talk to you. Let alone take you home. I bet you go home and f–k your books.”

His words cut to the quick, but his body language and his demeanor made the bile rise in my throat. One part of me wanted to lash back, say something just as cruel and vicious. Many epic comebacks were whirling in my head. Fortunately, common sense prevailed. I refrained from saying anything, and managed to not cry while his d-bag friends dragged him out of the bar. He continued to slur obscenities about how ugly and unworthy I was as he stormed out with his buddies.

I sat at the table for a while, stunned. I waited long enough to be sure that they were gone before I shoved my books into my backpack and beelined it back to my building. I didn’t want to be caught alone on the street by him and his friends. Once home, I broke down and cried. I don’t consider myself a coward, but I was afraid to go back to my favorite dive bar for a long time.

As I mentioned before, this wasn’t the first time I had been bullied or snubbed for my looks or lack thereof, and it wouldn’t be my last. But this encounter left me shaken to my core.

I had never told my husband about it, and really, I tried not to think about it after that day. I just took it as a bad experience with a jerk and moved on. But after yesterday I told Ray about it and we had a long, interesting conversation. This scenario plays an integral part in encounters I have had, not just about my appearance, but my role as a woman in engineering and technical roles.

The man at the bar didn’t see me as a woman or even a person. He saw me as merely an object. Something to be used and discarded with no feeling. Something far inferior to himself. When I had the audacity to reject his advances, he couldn’t believe that this thing, this creature thought itself to be too good for a guy like him. It should be a given. I mean, in his mind and world, he’s entitled to far more beautiful women than I. Women’s bodies are at his disposal. I’m just a joke, a bet he’s out to win on a random weeknight with his friends. How dare such a lowly creature not only reject him, but humiliate him in front of his peers?

I have seen this same rage and frustration as I have advanced both in the Navy and as an engineer. While many men I have worked with have been fabulous peers, mentors and advocates, there are those who see my presence as a threat. There are some men who still see women as far inferior to themselves in every way. When a woman like me shows up in the workplace, they do everything they can to derail her career. It can be subtle, just minor disrespect on the jobsite. Or it can be blatant sabotage, cutting her off from information, spreading lies and rumors, trying to undermine her position.

It can be a tough pill to swallow sometimes. I have relied on my competence and my integrity to carry me through. There have been many times I have gone home and cried into my pillow, because, let’s face it crying at work is perceived as weakness (and I’m a total bawler).

I’m at a great point in my life. I have made a career out of not having to rely on how I look to succeed. I am considered a technical expert at what I do. When I walk into a facility or a jobsite at work, I’m greeted with comments of:

“So glad you’re here”

“We know the problem is going to get solved now”

“Daniella can fix anything”

Believe it or not, that feels infinitely better than being told I’m pretty. It’s something that no one can take away from me. It is not something I was born with, it’s something I earned. My biggest goal and mission in life with my writing, my engineering and my public speaking is to help others to achieve that same feeling, no matter who they are, where they came from, or what they look like.

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My Review of Sam Hendricks What They Deserve

While I am on a writing binder at the moment, I do occasionally take a break and treat myself to a new novel or novella from a writer I stalk…uh…I mean—follow on Twitter. This month I decided to snag Sam Hendricks What They Deserve.

http://sjhendricks.com/

This is a dystopian novella set in a post WW III Seattle. In her story, Seattle has seceded from the Reformed United States and is under the control of a dictator. According to what they have been told, everyone must wear a special patch, the Inevix, to prevent the advanced weaponry from killing them. Having lived in Seattle for six years after I got out of the Navy, and a few of my own stories are set in this fun Pacific Northwest city, I was instantly intrigued by her premise.

Seattle waterfront in Summertime

Sam weaves a very fast paced tale of a high-powered couple in the regime. She paints a picture of a troubled and distant marriage, torn by years of war, a son who has died and another who is not with them for other difficult reasons (resisting spoilers as much as I can). The main character Summer, works in the broadcasting industry, pushing the propaganda of the Republic of Seattle. Sam never tells you Summer’s age exactly, but she does a great job of showing you a woman who is on the older side and worried about her looks in front of the camera and in public. Then her husband Max, the Republic’s Chief Technology Officer is accused of murder on the night of the Republic’s big gala.

I enjoyed Sam’s characters. Sometimes I find that when I read about tech, people tend to veer into stereotypes. Sam creates realistic, relatable people going through tough situations. Her characters are battered, somewhat beat-down and weary. From the very beginning you get the sense of a group of people clinging to whatever good things they can, while going through the motions of life. I hope she does a few prequels and spin-offs. I would like to read more about Summer’s sister Wednesday. Both her activities prior to the beginning of the story and what will she do after (Once again, resisting spoilers with everything I have). I would like to hear more about her sons and her mother. I think their stories individually would make great novels.

My only beef with the story is that in some places it is a little too compressed, and the action gets a little confusing. In places it jumps a little, making me say, wait, what? Then I re-read, it and I’m fine. I felt that this story could have easily been drawn out into a full-length novel. I would have loved to see more about their movement through post-war Seattle. She does a great job incorporating many Seattle elements and neighborhoods, so it would have been fun to stretch it out and have her characters encounter some of the quirks of downtown while they try to make their escape (the steep hills, the Seattle Under Ground, the locks, the old South Lake Union Trolley). I felt Sam definitely has the talent to pull this off. Maybe in a spin-off or sequel? Please?

Overall, an intriguing premise and a great, quick read. It left me curious for more of the world and characters that Sam created. She leaves you with the sense of: it’s over, but it’s not.

Can’t wait to read more of her work. Below is a link to Kyanite’s Q&A of her Novella

https://kyanitepublishing.com/welcome-to-the-world-what-they-deserve/
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Eve from my horror Novel A Drink of Darkness

Sometimes you start writing a story, get most of the way through and realize that some of the characters need more work. In your head, they are fully developed, colorful and living, but in your manuscript, they are flat and one dimensional.

That’s what happened with one of my antagonists, Eve. As I hit the 30K mark I realized that while I fully understood her complexity and backstory, I hadn’t included much of it in the plot. I decided she deserved a bigger part in the story. Now my novella is turning into a full-blown novel.

For my blog, I decided to include a scene revolving around Eve.

TRIGGER WARNING!

THIS IS DEFINITELY DIFFERENT THAN WHAT I HAVE WRITTEN IN THE PAST. IT’S A LOT DARKER, AND WAS DEFINITELY HARD TO WRITE FOR A MULTITUDE OF PERSONAL REASONS. IT VERGES ON THE BORDER OF EROTICA, BUT IT ALSO REVOLVES AROUND SEX ABUSE. IF THIS BOTHERS YOU. PLEASE READ NO FURTHER.

The man’s eyes rolled back and his jaw slackened, drool dripping down his wiry brown beard. His head lolled against the back of the chair as Bianca whispered against his neck. His arms dropped to his sides, limp, like two dead fish. She took a rag and cleaned his neck.

Eve laughed as she came in behind her. “Pathetic, you would think they would put up some resistance.”

“Not even a struggle,” Bianca purred, “They never do. Not when they think they’re going to get their cocks serviced. It’s almost too easy. And even easier to make them believe I did anything. They’re so starved for female attention; their minds are so easy to manipulate.”

“I know,” Eve agreed. “I try not to look too deeply at what they’re thinking. It’s disgusting, the things they think they want to do to women, and specifically to us, just because we’re whores and they’ve paid for it.” She shook her head as she shuddered. “But at least it makes it easy to control them.”

“But you think the would at least wash. They’re so—disgusting.” Bianca continued to prepare the area of his neck, then his wrists as he lounged back, smiling and moaning.

Her stiletto gleamed as she removed it from the sheath in her bodice. She poked it into the flesh of his clavicle, not hard enough to pierce the skin, but just enough to elicit a moan from the mesmerized man. “What shall we do with this one? He had the nerve to try to put his hand up my thigh under the table tonight.”

“Drain him. We’ve already got his gold. When we’re done feeding, we’ll have him walk himself out to his claim and just fall asleep in the snow, still thinking about enjoying you. He’ll die a happy, frozen man.”

“What about our two ‘Men of the Law’?” Bianca asked, flashing her teeth as she pulled his hair back exposing his neck. Eve came closer, sitting on the stool next to the man, picking up a wrist and examining it.

“I’ve already got them entranced in the next room. Along with that Carpenter. They’re for later. Demyan thinks they’ll be helpful in securing our new position here. But for tonight,” she licked her lips. “We’re going to initiate our pretty new friend Helena in her dreams show her what becoming one of us could mean,” Eve said, taking a bite of his muscled wrist.

“Mmmn, she’ll be a treat when we finally get to have her. Too bad it will only be a dream tonight,” Bianca drawled as she made a precision cut with her knife at his throat, then sucked as the blood trickled from the incision. “She’s got a delicious body, but so sweet and innocent too. Hard to believe she was married.” She flicked the knife between her fingers.

“Show-off,” Eve giggled in-between drinks at his wrist. “But I know what you mean. I could practically taste her innocence. But as to being married,” Eve rolled her eyes and wagged the man’s wrist she was drinking back at Bianca. “You’ve seen it for yourself, half these men don’t know how to pleasure a woman, and the rest don’t care. They just want to satisfy themselves. I’d be surprised if her dead husband ever made her come.”

“I know what you mean. I think the first time I ever came was when Demyan and Marissa made love to me after they taught me how to drain my husband. We threw him in the Grand Canal under the full moon and watched him bob away,” she said with a giggle. “Best Carnivale I ever attended.”

Eve threw back her head and laughed. “Sounds like you were heart broken.”

Bianca simpered and nodded as she drank, “She’ll be a lovely little sister. Better than that wretched, feral thing we turned to make up for losing Natasha.” The man continued to moan and writhe as the two women drained his life’s blood.

“Have you fed her tonight? We need to keep building her powers, at least until the solstice or we turn Helena.” Eve asked as she sat back on the ottoman next to the chair, satiated.

“I gave her regular food. Haven’t brought her a man yet tonight. Can’t seem to break her of the habit of draining them completely,” Bianca said eyebrows drawn together as she lifted her bloodstained lips from the man’s neck. “Which of the men downstairs do we want to give to the little bitch?”

“I’ll go read their minds and bring one up. I’ll make sure it’s one that won’t be terribly missed, just in case. Meet me at the bottom of the stairs. You can take one up to hypnotize for later with the others, I’ll take one downstairs for Liz.”

Eve stood up, daubing her lips with a square of black silk. Bianca walked away, cleaning her knife and re-sheathing it between her breasts. Eve leaned over him, chanting a few words into his ear. He obediently rose from the chair and made his way out of the room and down the stairs. She followed him down to the parlor, where Demyan sat playing cards with the men who had made “appointments” for massage for the evening. She helped the tranced miner with his jacket and shooed him out the door into the subzero night. Then she turned her enchanting smile on the eager party crowded around the red velvet draped card table.

“Who’s next?” she asked as the three remaining men perked up, adjusting their collars and belts as they set their cards down. She scanned their minds. The two law men and the Carpenter were already unconscious in the spare bedroom upstairs, waiting for later. Swiftwater Bill, considered to be one of the “Kings of Dawson” sat to Demyan’s left. She’d let Demyan deal with him. He was too well-known and famous to take a chance. Doc Anderson sat to his right, and was one of the two “medical professionals” in town. He called himself a doctor, but in reality, he was little more than a charlatan. Selling laudanum and other opiates and potions, pretending to have medical training with a fake certificate from Harvard. Really, he was an expert at bleeding sick people of their money, literally and figuratively. Eve couldn’t wait to bleed him later. Robert McNabb, sitting directly across the table was a well-to-do miner who had struck it fairly rich in the fall, but not necessarily of great importance. She’d have to be careful. She telegraphed her thoughts to Demyan.

She placed her hands on her thigh, adjusting one of her garters. “Mr. McNabb, Doctor Anderson. Why don’t you follow me?” she said, adjusting the black lace on the top of her corset. Bill frowned, while Doc Anderson and McNabb rose, eyes glued to the sway of her hips and the bobbing of her breasts as she talked.

“Don’t be sore,” Demyan said to Bill, pouring him more whiskey. “They’re obviously saving the best for last. You’ll have the benefit of a two for one deal, being the last customer of the night.” Placated, Swiftwater Bill sat back in his chair, puffing his cigar and sipping his whiskey as they settled into polite conversation. Eve knew as soon as the door closed behind her, Demyan would begin his own enchantment. He would manipulate his mind and feed on the rich, pompous man.

Bianca stood at the bottom of the stairs, her large breasts barely contained by the burgundy satin corset. She licked her lips and fluffed her raven ringlets as the two men approached.

“Bianca, darling,” Eve said with the men in tow. “Why don’t you take the good Doctor upstairs, make him comfortable for his massage.”

“Absolutely,” She replied with a giggle. “Please follow me,” she said, taking his arm as they walked up the stairs.

“Mr. McNabb,” Eve whispered in his ear. She shoved him up against the wall and ran her hands down, caressing the bulge at his crotch, “I get the impression you’re a man of more unique tastes. Would you care to try something, a little—darker, more painful tonight?” She knew what his answer would be before he did. She’d already read his thoughts, had started manipulating them. He fantasized about tying women up, about doing cruel things to them. He was just the right candidate to introduce to little Liz in the basement.

“Yes—oh yes, please,” he panted, tangling his fingers in her hair while giving her ass a squeeze though the silk of her tap pants.

She kissed his lips, darting her tongue into his mouth. Her temples throbbed as his disgusting, lustful thoughts poured into her brain. Her rage built inside as his thoughts swirled, flashes of brutal scenes. Binding her to a bed, choking her, whipping her with his belt while he groped her small breasts. If she hadn’t already fed, she’d rip his throat out herself. She clawed at his clothes, snapping away buttons in pretend passion. She yanked her head back from his, coppery taste of blood against her tongue as she nipped a fraction too hard in her bitterness.

“Patience, Stud,” she gripped his muscled wrists, forcing them to his sides. “Follow me to our playroom. Bianca will join us as soon as she’s done with the Doctor,” Eve promised with a smile.

The man followed down into the chilly basement level without a question as she tugged him along by the ornate silver and gold buckle holding on his belt. At the heavy cellar door, she paused, pushing him against the wall once more. “Wait here just a moment Stud, let me make sure she’s ready.”

“Who’s ready?” he asked, his voice husky with need.

“Our other friend, Liz. She likes to be kept tied up, waiting, in pain. It’s her little turn on. We only introduce her to special customers who we think can handle it. Most customers are a little too uptight for that kind of thing.” She smiled wider at the gleam in the pathetic fool’s eye. He was hooked, salivating at the prospect of torturing a willing woman. He’d follow her to hell at the crook of her finger. She didn’t even need to use her powers to trance this disgusting sadist. She kissed him once more time licking the blood she’d drawn from the cut on his lips.

“You’ll pay for that,” he growled, toying with his belt buckle as he leaned back against the wall.

“Mmmn, I can’t wait,” she simpered. She turned away and eased the door open, guts boiling at the thought of him laying even a finger on her in the way his thoughts implied.

Just like that night. Like that old lecher. He thinks I’ll let him choke me, whip me then rape me. I’ll show him who’s in charge. She thought to herself, igniting the candles in the room with the snap of her fingers. So many of them, so many are like that. Disgusting. She flickered her eyes around the room. The lumpy mattress and bedding on the floor lay in a tangled mess. At least she ate the mush Bianca gave her. Eve thought, taking in the empty bowl next to the bed. “Liz, come out. It’s me, Eve,” she called, bracing herself, hands ready for the attack.

A pair of red eyes glittered from the closet in the corner as a chain rattled. Eve stiffened her spine and glared back as a low hiss filled the room. Less than a heartbeat later, the girl sprang from the closet, lunging at Eve with her hands and snapping her tiny fangs. She jerked against the chain attached by a thick piece of leather locked to her neck. She fell to the floor, whimpering, her sheer blue silk chemise stained and torn to shreds. Eve reached down gripped both wrists. She yanked the girl to her feet and locked her arms into the iron manacles dangling from the ceiling. Then she grabbed a leather bit from the wall. Gripping the girl’s jaw in her hand she examined her teeth.

Still not very well developed, but razor sharp. She forced the gag into the girl’s mouth as she continued to sob and writhe. Next she bound her feet far apart as she continued to struggle, her plump pale skin jiggling as she tried to free herself.

“Liz,” she said, stroking the girl’s tangled toffee-brown hair. Her gray eyes darted up to meet Eve’s. “You really need to stop this behavior, you know.” The girl moaned and nodded. “I’ve brought you a little present. Are you hungry?”

Her head bobbed up and down and she smiled behind the leather gag. “Please? Please?” Eve recognized the garbled word despite the impediment.

“Of course, love. But only if you promise to behave,” Eve cupped handfuls of breast and pinched her nipples as the girl squirmed and squealed. Her head lolling back as Eve licked her neck. “Now, precious, are you ready to entertain our friend? I will do so much more for you if you obey me. I know you want to make me happy.”

She nodded once more, eyes shining. “Yes, Mother Eve.” She mumbled.

Eve stepped back, stomach churning once more as she ground her teeth. She grabbed the leather crop from the wall and held it up so Liz could see it. Liz wriggled and moaned. Eve closed her eyes, gripping the leather-bound rod hard enough her hands ached. She hated using the girl’s strange proclivities like this. She shook her head, we’ll get her fed, then we’ll civilize her later. She can’t help what happened to her, what those cruel people did to her. Men and women. How could they do that to a mere child? It’s not her fault she now confuses pleasure and pain.

She turned back to the door, swallowing bile as she plastered a smile on her lips, easing it open. The man leaned against the wall, still fiddling with his undone belt, his erection straining against the canvas of his pants.

“She’s ready and waiting now,” Eve purred, taking him by the wrist and leading him into the candlelit cellar.

Eve’s temples throbbed, head pounding as his sick thoughts hammered their way into her brain. He licked his lips, taking in the sight of Liz writhing and moaning with her hands high above her head, her half-naked body exposed for what he thought was going to be his pleasure. He never even gave a second thought about such a young girl in a state. His twisted brain immediately jumped to torturing Liz on repeat.

“This is special,” he said, stroking her hair as he positioned himself behind Liz. He lifted her chemise and began rubbing himself against her exposed backside. Eve’s jaw ached from clenching her teeth.

Bianca better hurry up and get her ass here. I don’t know how long I can watch this.

“Give me that crop,” he said, holding out his hand. Eve’s own hands shook as she placed it into his.

God are they all like this? Disgusting sadists who like to hit women. Like that night with Lord Walshingham, when he came to my room. Thank god Fabiyan was also visiting. He was able to stop him in time-before it got too bad. And father knew…that was the worst part, He condoned it because we were to be wed. She rubbed her temples, forcing herself to focus on the glow of the candles as her touched the crop to Liz’s face. She wanted to put her hands over her ears, block out the sound of the squeals and whimpers coming from Liz’ gagged mouth as he began to slap her plump body with his hands and the crop, raising small red welts. Liz turned into his abuse, eager for more. Eve clutched at her stomach, tightly bound under her black satin corset.

No more, I can’t watch this. She told herself, shaking her head. She rushed forward, arresting his wrist mid-strike. “Save some for later Stud,” she managed to stammer. “We don’t want to wear her out too much,” she whispered in his ear. He nodded, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he relinquished the crop to her. I can’t let him wind her up too much. She’s already so hard to control. I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop her.

“I want her on her knees,” he said, yanking Liz’s matted, sweaty hair. Liz cooed and drooled, panting hard as her eyes flickered to Eve’s. Eve’s stomach knotted again. She nodded to the girl and she smiled at Eve behind the gag.

“Of course,” Eve said, offering up a fake smile. “Let me take care of that. Step back please.” He obeyed, breathing hard as he stoked his cock, bulging beneath his pants.

She moved her hands up to Liz’s restraints, meanwhile she whispered in the girl’s ear. “Remember, you won’t get your reward unless you obey.”

“Yes Mother Eve,” she mumbled in return. Eve shuddered, as Liz’s rage and lust pulsed through her. She tried to read her thoughts, use her powers to quell the swirling maelstrom. It was like trying to douse a raging inferno with a single bucket of water.

I hope I can control her. How can I control her if I can barely control myself? This is utterly disgusting.

She bound Liz’s wrists behind her back with rope and helped her to kneel. Liz rubbed her head against Eve’s stocking-clad legs like a cat, moaning and whimpering. Eve stroked her hair, hand shaking, then she removed the leather bit from her mouth.

“That’s so beautiful,” McNabb said, stepping closer, dropping his hands to his pants. “When I’m finished with her, I’ll take you on next. I’d love to tangle my hands in that red hair while I ride you, beautiful. Show you what a real man can do. I’ll wrap my hands around that pretty white throat, put you in your place. Beneath me.” He chuckled as he unfastened his belt, then his pants, dropping them to the floor as he placed himself in front of Liz.

“I can’t wait,” Eve lied, holding on to Liz’s shoulder as she strained forward, eager to feed. A noise at the door caught her eye. Bianca stood at the threshold, arms crossed, lips pursed. Eve let out a long sigh, relieved.

He glanced over his shoulder, tangling his rough hands in Liz’s hair. “I’m a lucky man tonight. Looks like now it’s a real party.”

“Indeed, it is,” Bianca drawled, hamming up her Italian accent. Her satin heels echoed against the rough stone floor as she slinked across the room. She positioned herself behind him, running her hands up and down his torso as she pressed her breasts into his back. She slid her stiletto from her bodice and sliced his shirt open down the front. She tugged it open, exposing the pale skin of his chest.

“This is the best night of my life,” he moaned as Eve urged Liz forward on her knees. Liz chortled with glee as her lips closed around his now exposed cock. She released Liz, then ran her fingers through his hair, jerking his head back and exposing his neck for Bianca.

“What—What—oh my—g!” he began to cry as sharp teeth began to dig in to sensitive flesh. Eve cut off his cry by clapping her lips over his mouth, tasting copper as she bit into his tongue and flesh. Bianca made a few precise incisions in his throat and began to lick the crimson stream flowing down his neck. As his struggles weakened and he began to grow limp, Bianca and Eve lowered him to the floor. Liz pulled her head back and giggled, chin and cheeks smeared scarlet in the flickering candlelight.

“Yes, you’re doing good tonight,” Eve said, stroking her face. Liz rubbed her cheek against Eve’s leg once more, smearing gore against her gossamer silk stockings.

Bianca tutted in disgust and re-sheathed her knife. “So now what?”

Eve nudged him with her toe, as much as she wanted to watch Liz finish him, she knew that wasn’t the answer tonight. “I’ll send him home. Disgusting pervert. I’ll make him think he slipped on the ice and bit his tongue while taking a piss.” She dragged him toward the threshold by his legs. Once out of the room at the bottom of the stairs, she whispered in his ear. He obediently got up and re-arranged his disheveled clothes. He staggered up the staircase.

“He’ll be back you know,” Bianca said.

“I’m counting on it,” Eve replied, turning her attention to cleaning up Liz. “We have to teach her somehow. She needs to learn to drain them slowly, not always kill them. He deserves to die, but we’ll do it some other time.” She washed Liz’s face and neck vigorously while the girl purred and cooed. Bianca rolled her eyes as she smoother her curls.

“I think you’re wasting your time,” Bianca said, motioning with her hands toward Liz as she groveled on the floor from Eve’s attention. “You can’t save her. My telepathic powers are no where near as good as yours but even I can see that her mind is rotten. She’s crazy. You don’t endure that much torture, have that many men gang rape you for that many years and come back. You just don’t, Eve.”

“What should we do with her then? Just put her out of her misery like a horse with a broken leg,” Eve spat, gripping the gore stained rag in her gloved fingers.

“Yes,” Bianca said. “Once we get a true third, that’s exactly what we should do. She’d be better off.”

Eve’s temples throbbed as she bared her fangs. Before she could raise her fist to slug Bianca, cold fingers circled her wrist, arresting it mid-air. Bianca was shoved back several feet as Fabiyan appeared between them.

“That’s enough for tonight,” he snarled. “Bianca, go upstairs and get everything ready for our ceremony. Now.” He continued to hold Eve’s wrist as Bianca slunk from the room. Her steps echoed on the stairs. Liz cowered at Eve’s feet, eyes wide as she gazed up at Fabiyan. His own eyes glowed crimson as he stared Eve down.

“Eve, you have to learn to let it go. You’re going to have an eternity to exact your revenge for what was done to you. You don’t have to do it all at once. And Bianca’s right.” He ran his hands over Liz’s hair. “She’s too far gone. You’re going to encounter lots of wounded creatures like her, Love. You can’t save them all. We have to be careful to whom we grant immortality. An immortal with no reason, just rage, can be a dangerous beast walking the earth. We should never have turned her.”

Eve’s knees turned to water and her arm went limp in his grasp. She closed her eyes, desperate to not look down at the girl still quivering against her legs like a beaten puppy. She nodded.

“Let’s put her to bed, then we need to get to work.” Fabiyan said, stroking Eve’s cheek with his fingers.

She sighed. They finished cleaning up in the basement, and locked their monstrosity away for another night.


            At the sound of the door creaking closed, the candles snuffed. A haze of gray smoke created shapes in the darkness as she opened her eyes and giggled. The harsh guttural sound echoed against the stone walls of the crude basement, filling her with delight. The silver shined orange and red the glow of the stove beyond the reach of the chain around her neck.  She ran her fingers over the ornate metalwork of the man’s belt buckle, rage and lust surging as she remember the power of having her lips around his sensitive organ and drawing blood. All while Mother Eve stroked her hair.

            I was good. She said I was a good girl. She’s so happy with me. Mother Eve loves me. Not like that vicious cunt Bianca or that evil man Demyan.

Mother Eve and that cruel witch Bianca had been so busy bickering that they hadn’t noticed it fall from the man’s clothing when he was on the floor. Concealing it beneath her legs, while they argued, she shoved it under the mattress with her foot for later.

            Blue and white sparks flew in the dark as she raked it back and forth against the crude stone floor, sharpening an edge.

            She tested the metal against her thigh, waves of pleasure and pain radiating, making her moan as a ragged slash appeared against the old cut marks on her pale skin. She threw back her head and moaned in ecstasy as the gouge resealed as if it had never been.

            Soon, she promised herself, tucking her new toy under her mattress and sticking her thumb in her mouth. I’ll free myself of this stupid chain. I’ll show Mother Eve just how smart I am. Just how happy I can make her. I’ll get rid of nasty Bianca and Demyan. I need to figure out who this ‘other’ is. The one they want to replace me with. Mother Eve will never let them hurt me I can tell. Not like the other people. She gives me pleasure and tells me how special I am. She rescued me for the real monsters. I owe her my life, and I’m willing to pay.

            She snuggled under her blankets, watching the wrist irons sway from the ceiling above. I’ll clamp Bianca to the ceiling. Then I’ll show her real pain. I’ll show the world pain. She drifted to sleep with her jumbled thoughts of rage, lust, love and revenge.

Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for more blog posts on this and my other horror and Romantic Suspense stories.