Nope, it’s not Game of Thrones, nor is it Hamlet. It’s The Ghosts of Grief Hollow, the sequel to his macabre tale The Tear Collector (recently renamed The Tears of Grief Hollow). It’s amazing when you get to the end of a book, and think, what the hell did I just read, but in a good way. I really enjoyed Shawn’s first offering, and if you read my review, it was a tough act to follow. Once again, Stephen King’s It blended with Monster Squad, Shawn manages to up the ante on the horror and thrills, taking us back to the tiny Appalachian town of Harper’s Pass. Its haunted and troubled past comes back to bite its descendants in a big way.
The Markland X grew are trying to settle back into some sense of normalcy after grappling with the evil spirt of Samantha Mellinger, whom they (thought—spoiler alert) vanquished in Grief Hollow. Of course, if it seems too good to be true, it is. In this sequel, their loyalty and trust to one another will be stretched to the breaking point. And, like in the first novel, the kids realize that they are on their own. They know that either no one will believe them, or in the case of their one adult ally, Detective Holt, he’s become too wrapped up in his police work and in the unravelling of his marriage to pay attention to what’s really going on—until it is too late.
Shawn builds up some compelling new characters in the sequel. Lady Zuuva is an intriguing local legend that plays into the darkness of Grief Hollow. I didn’t think Shawn could top the centipede scene from the first book, but dang, I’m not sure which was creepier, the scene with the roots, or…well, I’ll put it this way, if you have phobias about giant bugs, this book is probably not for you.
Speaking of trigger warnings. All of them. Yep. With this book Shawn pretty much nails every trigger you could think of and does it beautifully. Kind of like Game of Thrones. This book is not for the faint of heart, and don’t get too terribly attached to any character. Shawn will kill your favorite character ruthlessly. And I love it.
Thanks for reading! You can also check out my unique brand of Alaska Backcountry horror, The Dark Land series
Some places were never meant for humans to trespass.
Or, what if Voldemort won, and he was female instead and kind of kinky?
Better Than Dead was a wild departure from Eric’s Henchmen series. In this piece of speculative fiction things that go bump in the night: sorcerers, vampires, ghouls, gorgons, giants, basically every fictional magic creature in the pantheon have revealed themselves to be real and are living openly with humans. His main character, Ace Colton, is a Lead Slinger, paid by the banking industry to go after magic users who have robbed banks. After pursuing two targets and finding a still living head on a broom handle, Ace realizes something out of the ordinary is going on in town—that’s saying a lot for a city teeming with the paranormal. From there the situation only spirals into the Twilight Zone. Forget brainless zombies. Corpses are coming back to life with an agenda. They can’t die until they fulfill their task—whether inane or bloodthirsty. Ace teams up with Tabitha, a vampire with her own agenda. They’ll dodge ghouls, hit squads and mythical creatures while trying to uncover the necromancer responsible for the chaos before the entire city falls to darkness. Not that it was such a great place to begin with, but Ace doesn’t want to spend his days as something in between dead and alive.
Buckle up for a fun, fast-paced noir action story with a flawed anti-hero and some great twists and turns (and quite a bit of kinkiness…Ava and the machete, OH MY!).
Ace is not a perfect hero. In fact, there’s quite a few times you want to smack him upside the head. He’s good at what he does—he shoots guns and fighting—but at times he’s slow to pick up on the clues. This makes the story and character more realistic, since he’s figuring things out, rather than having everything come together seamlessly. At first Ace is portrayed as a stereotypical, alcoholic “Humphrey Bogart-type character.” As the story progresses, the feelings and emotions, both good and bad, in the relationships between Ace and the various women in the story: Jezebel, Tabitha and even Ava show a lot of heart.
Since I have read a few of Eric’s novels at this point, I can really see his development as an author in this tale. His other novels tend to be just action-packed fun. What I liked most about the novel overall, was the underlying moral theme that Eric delivers without being too preachy or heavy handed. Human beings have a terrible track record of how we treat those who are different than ourselves. What would we do if we found people (or creatures) with magical capabilities living secretly among us? In Better Than Dead, they are feared, vilified, exploited, used for government experiments, sometimes they are tortured and killed. Using the backdrop of a heartless city with no mercy, he paints a realistic portrait of human nature.
I’ll be interested to see where Eric takes this character and story next…there’s going to be a sequel, right?
Thanks for reading! My Alaska backcountry horror novels The Dark Land and The Devil’s Valley are available on Amazon.
The legend of the headless ravine is steeped in blood. Its thirst for human blood never sleeps, even in the dead of winter.
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.
Here is the beginning of a horror story inspired by the interior of Alaska where we have our cabin. Let me know what you think. I previously just published the very beginning. Here is the intro and the first Chapter. This is still a rough draft, but I am having a lot of fun with it.
The cabin at night.
The Headless Valley
Bryan took another swig of the Wild Turkey from the metal flask. Shoving it back into the cargo pocketof his camopants, he coughed and examined the track in the half-frozen sprucebog. He re-adjusted his pack; freeze-dried ash, willow and spruce needles crunching under his boots as he gazed into the mist.
Where’d that stupid fuckin’ moose go?
He mumbled to himself, breath making a white vapor in the early evening air. He gripped his rifle harder, fingers aching in the bitter chill.
Better not have fuckin’ lost it. Knew I never should have left my four-wheeler. He wheezed and blew a snot rocket, then tugged his camopants over his pot belly.
His head whipped at the sound of snapping branches further down the narrow valley.
It’s almost dark, but fuck it, I’m not going back empty handed after coming all this way. He said to himself, creeping along through the thick brace of willow and spruce.
A chill went up his spine and his skin prickled under his woolen shirt as he came into a misty clearing. A cave gaped in the hillside above. The dark opening like the slack jaw of a drunk whore with no teeth. A sensation of being watched intensified.
I—I should go back to Miss Penny’s old lodge. It’s late—I don’t want to hack up a moose tonight anyway. I’ll try again tomorrow. Plenty of dumb moose out here. Don’t need this one. He thought, guts churning as his eyes searched the thick mist.
The spruce bog came to life around him in the rapidly dimming light. Silence broken by the snapping of branches and crunching of leaves. Yellow eyes, standing a little shorter than himself, appeared in every direction. Dark shapes forming in the silvery shadows.
“Fuck you! I’m leaving!”he shouted, voice cracking as a stream of wetness trickled down his leg to his boots. Urine hot in contrast to the clamminess of his skin. He stumbled back, bumping into spruce trees, their spiny frozen needles clawing at his all-weatherjacket and pants. Willow branches whipped his face, knocking his knit cap to the ground and exposing his nearly bald head to the freezing air. Breathing hard, he continued to try to push his way back out of the clearing.
The yellow eyes grew larger as they drew closer. He fired his rifle, discharging every bullet. Gunfire split the air, mingling with the rising sound of branches cracking. Boot catching on a hummock of moss, he sprawled backward rolling against his heavy pack, limbs flailing like a turtle. The useless rifle flew from his hands. His final scream cut short as the yellow eyes hovered above.
Rosamunde’s Journey
Rosamunde
slogged through the hard-packed snow, the Iverson’s cozy roadhouse long behind
her now. Heavy frost and snow graced the bare branches of spruce, willow and
alder. The skeletal limbs shuddering from time to time in the later winter
breeze. Her breath came faster, leaving frost around the mouth and nose of her
gray facemask as she focused on sliding one ski in front of the other. The
scraping sound against the snow as she built a steady rhythm echoed in the
otherwise silent boreal forest. As she found her stride, digging each pole into
the trail created by the arctic cat by Dick just a week before, she was able to
forget about the heavy straps of the pack digging into her shoulders, and the way
the belt pinched the tender skin of her hips as she dragged the sled along
behind her.
She
looked up at brilliant azure late winter sky. The blinding yellow sun hung just
above the trees. Ice crystals hung in the air, creating a shimmering sundog.
She wanted to stop and admire the beauty, but she needed to keep moving. A
clear cloudless sky on a day like this meant one thing, a bone-chilling cold
night. The sooner she got to the lodge and got a fire started, the better.
As
she built a steady rhythm, her mind began to wander. At least I don’t have to break trail. Then she shuddered at the
reason why she didn’t have to break trail. Dick had made multiple trips to Miss
Penny’s old lodge in the last few weeks. First to retrieve her body after he
and Ulrik had found her mauled and delirious on the floor. And then another
trip last week to clean up the mess and lock everything back up.
Why did she come out here alone? Rosamunde
asked herself, chest aching not only from the subzero temperature as she gulped
air, hauling her heavy load, but from her thoughts of Penny’s death. Why didn’t she tell me she was coming out
here to look for Bryan? I would have come with her. Maybe I could have helped. She
closed her eyes for a moment, gliding along. She thought of the last entry in Miss
Penny’s old diary, dated the night she was probably injured. Her desperate
longing to find her son echoed in every word she wrote. It ate at Rosamunde
that the older woman had faced it alone. Not only that, there was the letter,
written on simple hospital stationary just before she died, asking Rose to come
out here and try to find his remains.
Bryan’s remains.
The
thought made her shudder. They had all grown up out here together at the lodge.
Though Bryan had sometimes made her life miserable, no one deserved to die like
that. And he wasn’t the only person she knew who had disappeared out here. While
Miss Penny had adopted and fostered scores of abused kids like Rosamunde, Bryan
was Penny’s only flesh and blood son. It had been two years since Bryan had
disappeared into the Wrangel-St. Elias back country on a hunting trip, vanishing
without a trace. Miss Penny had been crushed. The only initial clues had been
his sleeping gear left behind at the old lodge.
Then
last September, the Alaska State Troopers caught some teenagers in McCarthy joy
riding in his four-wheeler. They led the police to where they’d found it parked,
out by a dry campsite, down by Dan Creek. Beyond that, the trail went cold
again. In such a large, uninhabited region, no one had the resources to scour
the back country for a young man everyone was sure was dead. Not to mention he had
been such an asshole when he was alive, no one terribly missed him anyway. No
one except for his mother.
A
rustling in the trees louder than the sound of her skis scraping along the snow
made her pause. Her hand dropped to her pistol at her waist as her eyes scanned
the frozen understory of the forest. A pair of eyes blinked at her, a furry
face blending seamlessly with the ice and snow. The large cat moved its head
again, giving away its location.
Rosamunde
gripped her pistol. The lynx blinked again, eyeing her and cocking its head to
the side. She expelled her breath in a long white cloud that froze instantly in
the subzero air. The cat already had its dinner hanging limp in its large
jowls. The white snowshoe hare, the large feline’s favorite prey, had been too
slow today. The lynx eyed her again, then slinked away into the brace of spruce
and willows, padding gracefully on top of the snow with its huge paws that
acted as natural snow shoes.
The
forest grew quiet once more. She shook her head as a new chill went down her
spine. The hair stood up on the back of her neck and she looked around,
scanning the snowy wood for other signs of life.
You’re just spooked. Yeah, something
could be out there, just like that lynx, but you need to keep moving. It’s
going to get really cold as soon as that sun sets. You need to get to the old
lodge before dark. Edna said there’s plenty of wood, but you need to bring it
in from the shed. Still, why do I feel like I’m being watched?
Rosamunde
adjusted her face mask and goggles against the brutal cold and checked her
compass in the alpine glow. Miss Penny’s
old lodge should only be a few more yards, she thought to herself, snapping
it close again and clipping it back to her jacket. The snowy boreal forest faded
into soft shades of violet, navy and lavender as the sun dropped below the tree
line. The black spruce trees casting long shadows all around, creating sinister
shapes on the gleaming snow. Doubt set in as she shivered, the sweat permeating
her underlayers.
Why am I doing this? Following the
last wishes of an old woman who was probably hallucinating when she died? Rosamunde
asked herself for possibly the hundredth time today.
Because she loved you, Rose, the
voice in her head scolded. She was the
only person who ever loved you. It’s the least you can do after everything she
did for you.
She
thought back to the funeral last week and her encounter with Aaron, when he had
given her the diary.
“Hey
there beautiful,” he’d said as she stood by the closed casket, gazing at the
pictures of Penny and all of the children she’d adopted or fostered over the
years, including herself and the man who spoke to her now, Aaron.
Before
she had even turned around, her skin was already crawling at the tone of his
voice. “Hi,” she replied, wiping her eyes with a shaking hand as she took a
step back. Already he’d moved in far too close for her comfort. The smell of
his cheap cologne overpowering the heady scent of lilies and roses arranged around
the casket.
“Look,”
he said, running a hand through his thin, fine brown hair. His beady blue eyes
scaled up and down her black sheath dress. “I know this must be tough for you, I’m
glad you were able to make it into town on such short notice.”
She
nodded, taking another step back as he made a motion as if to touch her arm. “Yeah,
fortunately they were able to get me on a flight down from Prudhoe, I’m on
leave for the next few weeks.”
“Great,
listen we started going through some things Mary had with her, and I found her
old diary, and a note she wrote when she was in the hospital. It was addressed
to you. Looks like she wrote it just before…” His voice trailed off, and his
eyes slid to the casket.
She
nodded, tears filling her vision again. He pulled a brown leather diary out of
the sports coat of his jacket and handed it to her.
“Thanks,”
she replied, a chill going up her spine as his clammy fingers brushed hers. She
couldn’t explain why she found him so repulsive. Other women seemed to find him
charming. His date hovered nearby, glaring at the two of them, fluffing her
long blonde hair.
“Well
I should be going. See you around.” He said, managing to pat her shoulder. She
shuddered a little as he walked away then chastised herself. He’s never been anything but nice. Sure he
was really creepy as a teenager, but he seems to have grown out of it. She
shook her head at the memories. When she read the diary and the simple letter enclosed
within, she wasted no time making plans to travel out to the old lodge.
Her
long sigh echoed in the air as she kicked off through the hardpacked snow as
she continued along, following the trail made earlier in the week. Under her
parka and multiple layers of gear, sweat trickled down the small of her back
and between the cleavage created by her bra despite the subzero air. Her
shoulders ached from the heavy pack, and the belt attached to her hips continued
to rub as she dragged the small sled through the ice locked boreal forest. Her
lips curled up in a relieved smile as the old wooden lodge came into view. Its
lower windows boarded up with plywood, but the fortunately wooden porch free of
snow. Probably from when Ulrik and Dick
came out to get her. Rosamunde thought, closing her eyes against tears.
Increasing her stride, she quickly crossed the small clearing to the large log
cabin. Dragging the sled up the stairs onto the sturdy porch, the warped wood
creaked as she eased her pack off her shoulders setting it down and looking
around.
She
rubbed her aching shoulders and looked back at the trail she’d made to the deep
snow. At least I made it before dark, she
thought to herself she pulled her pistol from its holster and tugged her
headlamp on over her balaclava. She worked the combination lock on the front
door and heaved it open. Holding her pistol high, she entered and searched the
gloomy interior. Creeping through each room she listened for sounds of
intruders, either animal or otherwise. Satisfied that nothing was disturbed,
and everything was still securely boarded up, she went back into the main area
of the Lodge and lit the ancient propane lantern by the cast-iron wood stove.
The
lantern glowed to life, casting light and shadows around the room. She assessed
the pile of wood next to the stove.
Enough for tonight, and just to heat
this room, and I’ll need
to melt water too. She thought to herself, I should get more before it gets much darker. Who knows how cold it’ll
be tonight and tomorrow. And I’ll need more when I sled out to the service
cabin near Dan Creek. May as well get it now.
She dragged her pack and sled inside, pulling the sled with her food and rifle in the kitchen. She unlashed the rifle from the sled and set it on the rack next to the front door, taking off the safety. She unloaded the dry goods and her packages from the sled, so she could use it to haul wood. Next she wandered over to the other side of the wood stove where the bed platform set back in an alcove. The old wooden platform creaked beneath the weight of her pack. Her gut sank as she spied a sleeping bag with familiar initials embroidered at the bottom: BSC. Next to the platform on the floor sat a-half empty bottle of Wild Turkey. She picked it up with the tips of her fingers and moved it to the counter and the old kitchen. Rosamunde thought back again to the letter Penny had written on her deathbed, tucked into her old diary.
Wow,
Brian really was here. I wonder why Penny thought I could find him when the
troopers couldn’t.
Maybe I can. They don’t really have
the resources to do it. And we all grew up out here. I know the places he might
go. So would Ulrik. Maybe I should have asked him to come along. She
grew warm at the thought of spending the nights alone out her with the tall
handsome dark-haired man she grew up with, who she’d idolized since she was a
girl. She shook her head. No, Ulrik hated
Bryan even more than I did, he would just try to talk me out of it anyway. But
even he would agree with me, this is the best time of year to cross the spruce
bogs. But to I really want to go out to “Headless Valley” alone?
Stop that, that’s just a story
Ulrik’s Nana used to tell us when we were kids. It’s not real.
She eyed the bottle of Wild Turkey again, thinking of Bryan’s constant run-ins with the Troopers and Penny’s desperate wish for him to get sober. She swallowed hard. She saved so many of us, me included, but she couldn’t save her son from his addictions. She deserved so much more. I should have told her how much I loved her. The thoughts swirled through her head as Rosamunde looked around the lodge, taking in the weathered logs and the well-worn chinking. Tears filled her eyes as she noted the cast iron pots, still hung from their familiar nails on the wall. The cabinets that Miss Penny’s father had made by hand still stood against the far wall, Rosamunde had come here just two—Or was it three summers—to help re-paint them. The door to the downstairs bedroom was closed, but she knew that room by heart, having slept many nights there, being rocked to sleep by either Penny or Ulrik or Keira after being rescued from her own broken home. Rosamunde turned back toward the door. Her guts clenched at the sight of the dark stain visible in the lantern light in the middle of the floor. Penny, that’s where she…
Rosemunde
swallowed hard against the lump in her throat, then she squared her shoulders.
Get a fire built, then go get wood and snow for before it gets completely dark.
You can think about Penny, how she died, and Bryan and the plan to find his
remains later. Maybe you can even clean it up later tonight. It’s not like
you’ll have anything else to do other than read a book and sleep after it gets
dark. She drew a deep breath and
turned her attention to the wood stove.
Log
and kindling loaded into the stove, she struck a match, then sat back on her
heels and watched it take hold, crackling and popping as it began to draw. Her
skin prickled on her arms, and she looked around the room, almost as if
expecting to see something watching from the shadows. Stop that, she told herself. You
already checked everything. Go get wood before the temperature drops more. She rose to her feet and went back into the
deepening twilight, taking a pair of old wooden snowshoes from the rack next to
the door and clicked on her headlamp. She made her way around the to the
woodshed on the south side of the lodge, dragging her sled again. She loaded it
with wood twice, floundering in the deep snow. She paused once or twice in her
work, certain she heard a noise coming up the trail. But all she could hear
when she focused was a distant howl of a wolf, or the light breeze rustling
through the forest. Otherwise all was still.
She deposited one load of wood next to the fireplace, then the other load just outside the door to the cabin. She filled buckets with snow and set them on and around the stove to melt. Then she went back out onto the porch, hanging the snowshoes on a hook outside. She glanced around one more time at the empty clearing around the cabin, the woods were nearly completely dark, faint stars beginning to twinkle in the clear cold night above. The antique Coca-cola thermometer next to the door already read 25 below by the light of her headlamp.
Damn, it’s going to be chilly tonight, and it’s not even six o’clock yet.
She
went back inside and bolted the heavy wooden door behind her. She pulled off
her face mask and goggles then her parka and snow pants hung them all on the
sturdy hooks next to the front door. She readjusted her belt with her pistol
over her fleece pants. She yanked off her boots and pulled a pair of thick
socks from her pack along with a clean dry T-shirt and sweater.
I
really need to get out of these sweaty clothes, she thought, shivering in the still chilly cabin.
The fire had warmed things substantially, and her pots of water were melting,
but still cold. I really want to wash up before I put on a clean sweater.
She crouched down to throw a few more logs into the stove and paused, hair
rising on the back of her neck.
There
is a noise coming up the trail, she
realized. She dropped her hand to her pistol at her
waist and glanced at the front window the Lodge, still covered in boards and
plywood. Why didn’t I think to remove the
boards? Her heart pounded faster as the pounding, sliding and heavy
breathing got closer. Hand shaking, she pulled her pistol as heavy footsteps
thumped against the wooden porch and the doorknob twitched.
“Who’s
there?” she shouted. “Identify yourself!”
“Open
up, Rosamund. It’s me, Ulrik.” A deep voice bellowed.
She
re-holstered her pistol and sprinted to the door, hands trembling as she rushed
to unbolt it. Ulrik stood on the threshold, stomping the snow off his heavy
winter boots. His two hulking malamutes sniffed the air behind him as they
wandered the clearing, investigating scents in the snow. She stepped back, heart
fluttering, breath coming fast now as she gazed up at the mountain of a man, gray-brown
eyes blazing as he looked her over through his winter gear. She backed toward
the bed platform, crossing her arms over her chest. He threw back his hood and
tore off his face mask.
“What
the hell do you think you’re doing, girl?” Coming all the way out here?
Alone? This time of year?” He shouted, hands on his hips. His tanned high
cheek bones flushed.
Her
heart sunk at his words. Then her pride flared at the implication in his
comments. Putting one hand on her hip she poked the air with the other.
“What
you mean? You say that like I’m clueless. I’m just as capable in the backcountry
as you are. Hell, you taught me everything I know.” She shouted back. “I
have my pistol. I can defend myself against any predator, four-legged or
two-legged.”
Ulrik
caught his breath at her retort, taking in her flashing hazel eyes and golden
hair in front of the fire as she stood her ground, defiant. “I–I’m sorry.
You’re right. I sometimes forget you’re not like the other women I’ve known, Little
Bird.” He said running his hands through his thick black hair. She pursed
her lips and her porcelain skin flushed a deep rose at the use of his personal
nickname for her.
His
blood ran cold and his hair rose on the back of his neck as a pair of yellow
eyes blinked on the dark bed platform behind her.
“Rosamunde,”
he said dropping his voice and easing his rifle off his shoulder. “Don’t
move. Stay perfectly still.”
Her
pretty hazel eyes widened, but she froze in place. He closed the distance with
a steady slow stride as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. He could now make
out a shape in the sleeping alcove behind her, crouched in the shadows. He
placed his rifle over her left shoulder, aiming for where the baleful eyes
still blinked out of the dark recess.
“When
I count to three, drop to the ground, pull your pistol, okay?” He mouthed,
gazing directly into her eyes. She blinked twice while her full coral lips formed
the word “okay” in return.
One…Two…Three
Taylor Highway Closed
Hope you enjoyed the beginning of my little story. My next blog post will be the legend for which this post is based, and some of the background information on this region of Alaska. Thanks for reading and stay tuned.
