New Stories: Hawaiian gods, cigarette smoking, and werewolves

Another issue of 101 Fiction is out! This time, I've got one tiny tale in the black-and-white-themed issue, 'Aumakua. Hawaiian gods and troublesome little girls!

The other stories are really wonderful, especially W.M. Lewis's Celebrity. Gobsmacked by this one. Read it!

The Husband is posted at my DA account, since it's original home, The Corner Club Press, appears to be defunct. "The Husband": I took a nap, and when I woke up, the dog on my chest had become a husband. Speculative fiction about Sudoko, drumming, and, er, friendliness. ;)

Exclamation points and emoticons! Have I been body-snatched by a teenage pod alien?

And one more, if you're in the mood for a bit more reading today: the November issue of Bloodbond is out, with short stories and poetry about shape shifters, and it includes my story, "In the Northern Territories." Werewolves, my friends. Werewolves. They can be great neighbors, as long as you abide peacefully.

xx
RS

"Bloodbond" Now Out! Werewolves and vampires and shape shifters...

And shapeshifters, oh my! 

Alban Lake Publishing, home of Aoife's Kiss, a magazine of specfic, and publishers of stand-alone horror and SF novels, has just released "Bloodbond," an anthology of werewolf, vampire and shapeshifter fiction and poetry. Included is my short story, "In the Northern Territories":

Calvin Kilfoil shot the wolf that had been coming around his farm--but come morning, it is not a wolf, but his wife's body laid atop the kitchen table. Faila's father had never been fond of his daughter's husband, but is this murder? He watches Calvin--watches, and waits, along with the rest of the small, isolated town deep in the northern woods. Because blood will *always* tell...

GREAT selection of stories! I just finished reading, and I was really blown away by a couple of them. If you want some good, shiver-inducing fiction, and you want to support a small, independent press, there's no better way to do it than by buying a copy of Bloodbond today!

FF's Monthly Contest: Grimdark

Fantasy Faction's monthly contests are fun and casual, and the results intriguingly varied. For this month's theme, they chose "grimdark."

I've heard grimdark bandied about in the twittersphere, but never gave the term much thought. It sounds relentlessly oppressive, doesn't it? So I read the discussion thread on FF and did a bit of research, and gave it a go. It was tough not to insert a bit of humor, and honestly, I'm still not sure I've got a good grasp on grimdark. Humorless, dark atmosphere? Mounting casualties? Visceral images of the bloody and beheaded kind? Sad endings?

Maybe. I'll have to do more research. I was careful not to read too much of it in one day, as I didn't want it to influence my own story.

My stab at grimdark is Chirp. A witch's son, a pox-ridden queen, and the language of birds... and arrows.

I suggest if you read the entries that you especially pay attention to ACSmyth's A Deadly Game. Initially thrown off by the somewhat cliche title, man, I got drawn in and was appropriately shocked. Great tale, well told.

Days of Madness: The Embalmer

The Days of Madness are upon us. Don't shut your eyes, or you'll miss the best part--the unburdening. It happens so quickly, like the flash of an especially sharp knife!

The Embalmer is my entry into Chris Allinotte's Days of Madness. Gustav is an embalmer, and goodness knows, those poor people don't make enough money. If he takes just a bit here and there, isn't it his due? After all, a man needs a pint at the end of a hard day's work. What a pity that the newest corpse in his care just doesn't seem to want to give up its share. But don't worry, Gustav is determined and talented...

The Days are a full ten this year, darlings. I recommend you start at the beginning, with Angel Zapata's gritty, poignant, The Arrow Arrives Ahead of the Hunter (love love love). And check out the illustrations--Niall Parkinson did one to accompany each story, and I am THRILLED by what he did for The Embalmer. Niall's work is graphic and fluid and a real discovery for me. So, so happy.

Each day's story has been a unique interpretation of the Days' theme this year, "Hidden Horrors." And what a fabulous line-up. Ten great stories--last one's tomorrow, so get caught up!

Review: Kathe Koja's The Cipher

Read Kathe Koja's The Cipher yesterday, which won the Bram Stoker in '91, among other awards, and was nominated for the Philip K. Dick. I mention the awards first because it will give you a clue as to the nature of the novel: intense, horrifying speculative fiction. Young Nicholas and his sometimes-girlfriend, Nakota, discover a black hole in the janitorial closet of his apartment building one night. Not too large, square-shaped, and black beyond black. Nakota is instantly fascinated, and while her fascination turns to obsession and becomes--extremely quickly--darker by degree, Nicholas is more or less along for the ride.

Until he accidentally touches it.

You're pulled into the story right away, dropped right into awful happenings, and Koja lets you know you're in for a roller coaster of terror. And then she makes good on it. Because of course, someone has to put things in it, someone must touch it, and the mystery and tension and horror can only grow, spiraling into sick, twisted desperation.

Ultimately, it's not about a black hole--it's about loneliness, about marginalization, about outsider culture, and about the darkness inside all of us. But except for the last couple of pages, you're never hit over the head with it. The Cipher could easily sit beside Conrad's Heart of Darkness.

If I've got a quibble, it's that I don't care for Koja's writing style. I previously read Under the Poppy, an alt-historical fiction that has some of these same themes, and I honestly hated it. But let me state that Koja has many fans, who adore her style, and find it "lush," "evocative," etc.

And be aware, it's a mindfuck. Big time. Made me have weird, weird dreams last night.

Review: Poe by J. Lincoln Fenn, winner of 2013 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Contest

This year's deadline for the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Contest is almost upon us: March 2, my dears. Time to finish that novel you've been working on and get it submitted by Saturday.

Or, if you think that's a tad outside your reach, you could read the winner of last year's contest in the SFF/Horror category, Poe by J. Lincoln Fenn.

I chose option two.

Poe is the story of Dimitri, a recent college grad working at a newspaper in a small town in New England, writing obituaries. His parents recently died in a fiery car crash, and he's stashed some of their belongings in a closet in his tiny apartment. One day, he finds his father's ring in one of the boxes. He puts it on and...

Ghosts. Spirits. Murder. Demons! A magical grid of evil numbers. Grimoires.

As the small town of New Goshen loses citizen after citizen, Dimitri must unravel the truth of what's going on, from why he woke in a morgue after having been submerged in an icy well for three hours and declared dead, to the unknown ghost who's leaving messages in magnetic poetry on his refrigerator, to who his parents really were.

I don't know what I expected from the contest, but I was somewhat surprised. Poe is a fairly deft mystery with solid writing, and the voice of Dimitri, the main character, is clear enough that you can picture him in your head. He's engaging, sometimes a knucklehead but bright enough, and he's much like any young guy in his twenties--a feat many writers would like to pull off, but usually don't. The mystery itself is twisty, and while it never truly scared or even thrilled me, I enjoyed figuring it out along with Dimitri.

If I had any criticisms, it's that the writer seems a bit enamored with shows like Supernatural and Buffy--hey, is that a bad thing? No, but I think the writer aspires to Joss Whedon-clever and falls a bit short, though the dialogue definitely is a cut above most books. And the motifs are a bit, "Seen that before." And, of course, our hero occasionally makes the dumb move that we just know we wouldn't make! Minor crits, though. Really. Overall, Poe is a fun read. As Publisher's Weekly called it, "gothic pop with a literate edge." Yep. Enjoy.

Reviews: Hill's NOS4A2 and Cline's Ready Player One

Three stellar reads in two weeks. I reviewed Toby Barlow's Sharp Teeth yesterday, and today, it's Joe Hill's jolly Christmas tale, NOS4A2, and Ernest Cline's totally awesome Ready Player One.

First up is Joe Hill's NOS4A2. A story of a woman with the power to access the inscape -- which, Hill subtly tells us, is available to all of us, in a darker version of If you can dream it, you can do it! -- Vic McQueen can find things by riding her Raleigh bike across a bridge that was demolished years before. Years later, the Raleigh gone and Vic convinced that her past troubles and adventures are all the product of psychosis, she comes face to face with the reality of the inscape when another person, whose own inscape is a demented version of a Christmas wonderland populated by ghoulish children, returns to finish the job he started years before, when Vic escapes his clutches and burned down his Sleigh House.

I hear there's a lot left unexplained by Hill, and I'll agree, to a point. But in a book as chock-full of stuff as this one, what do you want? An epic? It would have to be The Stand in length to answer every question. And frankly, I don't want all the answers. (BTW, I seem to be reading a lot of Amazon reviews lately where people criticize an author's too-neat ending, everything tied up, all questions answered--jeez, louise, what do you folk want?)

Here's why I'm satisfied: like each of Hill's books, it's a fast, sharp, ride, where you're hanging on for dear life as you barrel along with Vic over the bridge and into the place where monsters live. It's got some damn fine writing, and some likable characters. Including Charles Manx, riding along in his 1938 Rolls Royce Wraith, picking up children and delivering them to Christmasland, where they can play forever and ever and ever... (cue Have a Holly Jolly Christmas! and pictures of desiccated skulls hanging from rollercoasters while kiddies with needle teeth and rusted kitchen knives dance around)

If I've got one problem with the book, it's that Vic doesn't realize until nearly the end that Manx actually believes he's doing something good for these kids. It's sick, it's twisted, but those are his children. Manx is a far more believable villain than many I've read, because despite the fact that he's sucking these children dry in order to live forever himself, he cares for them.

NOS4A2 is also, for better or worse, an homage to his father and, indeed, to any number of horror books and films. I loved finding the references (probably missed more than half of them), almost like Easter eggs in video games. Which brings me to....


Ernest Cline's rad dystopian, Ready Player One. In the near future, civilization is in tatters, but if there's one thing you can count on, it's that technology will save the day! Or at least provide a total escape from the fact that you live in the bottom trailer of a stack twenty trailers high, with fifteen other ragged souls ready to beat your ass for whatever little you've got.

Wade Watts, senior in virtual high school, has got it slightly better than that. I do mean, slightly. He's got skillz, yo, and a few friends (who, of course, he has never met in person), and he's got something a lot of high school seniors haven't got: a goal. His goal is to find the Easter eggs left behind in the OASIS by its creator and, ultimately, win a few billion dollars.

The OASIS is the virtual world nearly everyone inhabits when they aren't working. Everyone's got an avatar, everyone's got a place they like to hang out, somewhere far different than the reality they all live in. The best part? The worlds of the OASIS are mostly '80s reference material: villages, dungeons, entire planets that are detailed recreations of, say, Blade Runner. (dude, that's what I'd hit first) And because the OASIS's creator was a child of the '80s and a total nerd, he's hidden the clues to his little puzzle around the OASIS and you won't find them unless you've totally boned up on your '80s trivia. So--and this is awesome--eighties culture is back, baby!

Because it's the key to a better life, everyone's involved, peripherally or in a big, all-consuming way.  Wade Watts is in, big-time. In fact, he solved the first clue! Except, now, everyone wants to know who he is, how he did it, and most of all--they want to stop him from making it the rest of the way.

Maybe I adored this because I'm a child of the '80s and a total nerd. Maybe it's because, like NOS4A2, it's a fast, thrilling ride. But there's a real sense of glee here, as, like in NOS4A2, you recognize the references. FFS, there's a Q*bert reference! And all the worlds, man... I could've put on the glasses and spent a few days (weeks, months) exploring the OASIS.

My only (tiny) niggle is that while I liked Wade, he didn't have a real hero's journey. There was no change, no metamorphosis happening. Some might argue there was, but it's very small. On the other hand, I really just loved tagging along with him, and meeting--finally!--his online friends.

And I really want to play a few hours of Ms. Pac-Man now.





Three great books--I recommend them all. What a way to escape the dreary fuckwittery that this winter has become. Now, anybody got any recs? I really need a new one. Besides these three, I attempted two others--attempted. One was a self-pub, and it was free, and I won't say anymore except that the problem I continually run into with self-pubs is that the authors have not gotten themselves an editor. GET A GOOD EDITOR. I can't get into a story that's filled with grammatical errors, spelling errors (HOW is that happening in this day of spellcheck? HOW?), and punctuation errors. If I'm re-reading sentences to understand what you meant, you did it wrong. And frankly, a lot of them read like first drafts. I know you're excited to have finished it, but please, spend some time and polish it.

I've been there. I've put out drivel. Maybe I had a good idea, but it needed more work. This I've learned. Now my output is slooooooow, but honestly, the stuff I've been working on is way better than previous work. It's tough, but it's fun. :)

The other book was a Brandon Sanderson fantasy. Quickly becoming one of the most popular and, I think we can say this now, prolific fantasy writers around, I had to finally give one of his books a try. Not for me. I can see why many love his stuff, but I couldn't finish the one I started, and I won't be giving any of his other stuff a try. It's totally a YMMV situation. You may want to check him out if you haven't already and if you're into fantasy.

That's it! Tell me what to read next!

Horrifyingly Good News

So much news today. All good.

First, An October Birth got a DD over on Deviant Art. Really thrilling, especially considering this Daily Deviation comes after it was rejected three times by various magazines. One was a form rejection, and two were personal, explaining how it did not fit their 'zines. It's a tough story, I admit, with horror and sadness wrought by incest, and after doing a lot of research, I couldn't find a good fit. I guess DA was a perfect home!

*

Next, I've got two pieces of micro-fic in 101 Fiction's December issue, Hijo and Stages. The theme for the issue was a deliciously morbid two-fold delight: "undead" and "winter." And I love EVERY ONE of the stories in this issue! Each one is a perfect little gem, hard and glittery. Congrats to my fellow contributors, and thank you to editor, John Xero.

*

Last, voting is on for Fantasy Faction's monthly story contest (November's theme: doors), and my short story, "The Dragon in the Attic," is one of six vying for fame and glory! Despite the title, it's horror. Seems to be today's theme :)

The submission thread, where you can read the pieces (each under 1500 words) is here. The voting thread is easily found.

Please vote! I did; there were two that really grabbed me, and it was tough to decide which one to vote for, but I did it and SO CAN YOU, my pretties!

*

Well, this is a lot of horrifically good news. I feelz like a real writer today, yo.

While nothing else is under submission, two short stories and a creative non-fiction essay are finished... but I have no idea where to submit them. Sometimes my stuff is a bit wacky. I dunno. Maybe I'll start my own publishing company for weirdos like me. If there are any out there. Doubt it. Probably alone, playing solitaire.

/P.M. Dawn reference

xx

RS

Review: The Traveling Vampire Show by Richard Laymon

It's a hot August morning in 1963, and 16-year-old Dwight is mowing the front lawn, shirtless. Along comes his two best friends, Slim (a girl) and Rusty, with a flyer that Rusty pulled down in town, advertising a Traveling Vampire Show. One night only, at midnight, adults only--natch.

And so begins the game of "Where's the shirt?"

Just kidding. Kind of. Richard Laymon's novel, winner of the 2001 Bram Stoker award, is replete with violence and a few truly terrifying scenes, and finishes with a nuclear boatload of WTF horror and gore. But I think I'm going to remember this one for the escalating sexual tension that laces nearly every page of the book (including those WTF gore-tastic scenes at the end), a sexual tension carried along by a nearly unending swapping of shirts: Slim is often borrowing one of the boy's shirts, or their shirts are ruined and must be abandoned, or they swap for odd reasons. This leaves our boys with typical teenage angst regarding their bodies, and typical teenage boy lust over seeing a naked female back or one of the many, many, many side-boobs. In addition, there is much abandoning of underwear for dubious reasons (it's in the dryer??? you couldn't find another pair? in your own house? and no shorts?), and except for the females over forty, bra wearing is mostly disregarded. Actually, we may assume that the mothers in the bridge club aren't wearing bras, either, because. Just because. It's that kind of a book.

Here's the thing. The events of this book take place over a single day, starting in the morning with Dwight mowing the lawn and culminating in their eventual visit to the Traveling Vampire Show. Stretching the various movements of a pack of teenagers on a summer day might be okay--look at Stephen King's Stand By Me, to which this is inevitably compared. The swirling emotional maelstrom that is a teenager is well-documented here, if taken to extremes. The issue is that, eventually, the reader just wants them to get to the damn show, already.

By the way, when they do, it's pretty much well-worth it. And it keeps entirely to the over-the-top sexual tension and violence of the rest of the book. Is there really a vampire? Are they really in danger? Will Dwight and Slim ever get it on? Why the hell are there so many vicious dogs running around this little town?

Find out the answers to the first three yourself. As to the fourth, if you figure it out, let me know.




And should you be confused by this review, let me say this: I'm confused. The writing is clear, the characterizations are strong, the story is unlike any other I've ever read, and to be fair, there are apparently a legion of Richard Laymon fans who appreciate his style of blatant eroticism and horror. But it was the kind of book which left me feeling disturbed for atypical reasons. And wondering why people would swap worn, sweaty socks with each other. Because eww.

Overall? This is unusual, unique horror, and for four bucks, it's well worth the price of admission to the show.

Book Review: Horde by Ann Aguirre

Holding your breath for that other book review? Sorry, I work weekends, and I'm just getting to it.

I talked about two books, both the third in their respective series, being disappointments. And while I've found much less to grumble about with this one, there are still a few issues.

Prolific author Ann Aguirre, who writes a lot of YA and who competently handles genres from dystopian, sci-fi, to steampunk while melding genres at will, took on the zombie novel with the first of her Razorland sage, Enclave. It was a Kindle Daily Deal in September, and with its fairly solid reviews and interesting premise, I was intrigued.

Deuce is a young girl living underground, in what used to be the subways, in a small enclave. Her people divide themselves into three archetypes, Builders, Breeders, and Hunters. She's always yearned to be a Hunter, has trained for it, and is about to be given her opportunity to prove herself against the "Freaks" as they're known. Her only problem is that she's just been paired with the outsider, Fade.

Fade's already lost one partner, and because he wasn't born into the enclave but rather found them and was warily accepted into their ranks on the basis of his fighting skills, everyone pretty much avoids him. Deuce isn't pleased.

Soon enough, she and Fade are caught up in dangerous assignments and, worse, Deuce is beginning to realize that perhaps the enclave isn't as well governed and well-run as she thought. Independent thinking comes with some difficulty to her; Deuce long ago drank the punch. But with the evidence piling up in front of her eyes, and with their own ouster and her friends' apparent backstabbing, she must learn the truth of the world below and, frighteningly, above.

As she and Fade learn to rely on each other and fight their way through a post-apocalyptic landscape, they develop a more intense relationship that goes beyond hunting partners.

And if you've ever thought that what a good zombie novel is lacking is hot and bothered romance, you would be right!*

I finished Enclave in a single day, immediately purchased the second book, Outpost, finishing it in a day, and then I waited impatiently for a month until the last of the series, Horde, was released. Are the first two that good? Oh, yes. The third? Well...

Let me get past some basic issues with the series: While Aguirre is a terrific plot master, and she can write action scenes like nobody's business, and she deftly handles the "hot and bothered" parts with spine-tingling aplomb, the actual nuts-and-bolts of the writing is difficult to ignore -- if you're as anal as I am about things like tense and, mostly, paragraph and sentence structure. Clunky sentences abound, not to mention an astounding number of paragraphs that consist of unrelated ideas. There's an awful lot of telling, not showing, as well. And sometimes, dialogue -- especially Deuce's -- comes across flat.

I used to be heavily involved with the Harry Potter fandom, and I was always receiving rec's for fics. Some of them were awfully written, and when I would say that, people would say, "Yeah, but the story is GREAT!" I learned that for many, story trumps all else. I, personally, like a total package -- a well-written, grabs-you-by-the-throat story. But since I managed to get past my misgivings and fly through the first two Razorland books, I imagine many of you will, too.

But the third book. Woe, the third book.

Much as I discussed in my previous post regarding my disgruntlement with Lynch's Republic of Thieves, authors with great ideas tend to start out gangbusters, but then fall flat. So did the Razorland series. It's my opinion that Aguirre wrote herself into a corner, starting out with Enclave and not really visualizing how this all might turn out. Book three, Horde, ends with a deus ex machina -- of sorts. Yes, some hints were dropped in book two, but still, there are so many holes that it loses a lot of credibility. In addition, someone really needs to be in charge of continuity. For instance, in book two, Deuce catches her first sight of the Freak encampment, and she thinks, "It must be a thousand strong." In book three, Morgan asks her how big the horde is, and she replies that she can't count that high, but she saw 500 beans once and it might be more. What? Unfortunately, that happens way more than it should.

Additionally, there's some pseudo-science thrown in to validate the change the Freaks/Mutants are going through, and the speed with which they are changing. There's an entire timeline that doesn't make much sense.

Suspension of disbelief is paramount in order to enjoy most fantasy, sci-fi, etc books. Just don't stretch it too much. Horde, unfortunately, stretched mine to breaking.

Aguirre is a very popular author, for good reason. While I'm ultimately dissatisfied with the ending to the Razorland series, there's a lot to like, and I would certainly give her other books a chance. As for the Razorland series, if you like dystopian YA, and you want a female protagonist who is bad ass while still caring deeply for her friends and partner and who is often altruistic, look no further. It's got that in spades.





*As you probably realized, it's not about zombies at all, in the typical sense, but mutated humans. I thought it was a zombie novel at first. But mutated humans are every bit as good as zombies and deserve the same respect! ;)

Reviews: Lindqvist's Horror Short Story "Itsy Bitsy;" SF classic "Flowers for Algernon"

As far as vampire books and movies go, nothing can touch the cold, brutal elegance of Let the Right One In. With Halloween around the corner, I may have to watch it again (the Swedish version; I hear the American film is quite good as well but I'm not interested). In the meantime, author John Alvide Lindqvist has a free horror short story available, Itsy Bitsy.

Frank is a paparazzi photographer intent on getting a debt-clearing photo of an actress and her  secret boyfriend. To this end, he's set up camp in a tree on the property beside theirs, with his camera trained on their pool area. When the elusive couple finally appears, Frank clicks away. The results are not what he expected, and when he returns to the spot to figure out what happened, he finds that he was not the only one waiting for someone to come to the pool.

I read reviews before I buy. While I try to avoid spoilers, in this case, it was the lack of spoilers which threw me -- not well reviewed, most readers found the story vague and confusing, and often said they had no idea what happened at the ending or what it meant.

I decided, hey, it's free, and Lindqvist's style and imagination appeal to me, so I'll give it a shot. That said, if I had gone in without reading reviews, I would have figured out what was going to happen by the middle. Instead, I thought that I must be wrong, and I waited for the inevitable cloud of doom to descend on the ending.

While I can't speak for everyone, obviously, let me say this -- the ending is not ambiguous. Lindqvist laid the groundwork and left clues all along, and while the requisite horror "monster" in this case is completely strange and somewhat amorphous, it's just what he puts on the page.

Was I horrified? Not really. The last horror book to electrify me was Hill's Heart-Shaped Box. That's a pretty high bar. But I was quite fascinated and, truly, felt tension and dread at Frank's demise. In addition, the style is fantastic (I'm starting to believe all Swedish writers have a terrifically crisp style that turns words and phrases on their heads) and the pace is brisk. It's not bad, it's a quick read, and it's free. Get it.

*

Flowers for Algernon is often called science fiction (sure, sure, I can see it), but it's far more potent as an allegory for man's search for knowledge. To that end, Keyes often clubs the reader over the head with references to the Biblical Garden of Eden, characters in the university's science department who are arrogant and cold (and therefore destined to fail), and Charlie's own insistence on being seen as a real person. Despite that, Keyes has written an astoundingly powerful and clean, subtle story arc that delivers the message and leaves the reader transformed and emotionally wrecked.



Yes, I was a wreck when Flowers ended. All along, Keyes kept me uncomfortably glued to the page, with scene after scene of the awful, joking treatment that Charlie receives at the hands of his "friends" in the bakery or the distant repugnance he's handled with by the professors at the university where he receives experimental surgery to turn him into a genius. Deft and knowing, Keyes exploits our fears of the mentally retarded, our feelings of superiority, and puts us squarely in Charlie's place. And when Charlie's intelligence grows--past the point where it can be measured--he is once again beyond the realm of understanding, and left alone, by himself, to bear the brunt of fear and hostile jealousies.

Charlie's humanity is apparent throughout, and his struggle to understand, in an extremely short amount of time, what has happened to him not just after the surgery but during his entire life, is compelling. With flashbacks to a tortured, misunderstood childhood and present-day fumblings with women, he is a fully-rounded character like no other in fiction.

I'll make the assumption that everyone, even if you haven't read it, knows Charlie's and Algernon's stories. But that's no reason not to read this; while I felt Buck's Pavilion of Women was thought-provoking (see my previous review), Flowers far outstrips it and packs a wallop of an emotional punch, as well.

                         

Open House

Open House

Wretched wardrobes, derived from walnut and beech--no children disappearing into them, not today, but in ten years' time, twelve, oh, the solidification of the quantum theory of developmental archaic chaos! The doors bore strange motifs, red lacquer lotus blossoms, ebony roots in a swirling tangle, a giveaway to the disgraced mathematician. We set the dolls inside, cornhusk and acorn and slightly damp dog tongue. Said the words. Lit the flame. And stepped back, shutting the doors to all three.

The open house would begin in a moment. A steal, this place, at one-forty. And fully furnished, of course.

Gravity

Gravity

When we were ten, lying on the grass and dreaming animals out of clouds, Eli said that the only reason we stayed on the ground was because we wanted to. That if we let go – really let go – we would fly off the earth and into the sky. He said that if we were very quiet, we could feel it.

I did. Underneath my shoulder blades first, then down my back, and finally my legs. It felt like TV static. I was barely holding onto the earth. The clouds overhead swam by. I could float up to them. Nothing was holding me down.

I was so dizzy, I almost fainted.

#

In science class when we were thirteen, we studied the earth’s crust. It’s flimsy and moveable, hence the mountains and new continents every millions of years. Underneath, there are miles of molten rock, like syrup. Eli said later, over trays of formaldehyde rats, that nothing kept the earth’s crust from peeling up, if it wanted to. Pieces could crack off and go flying into the sun or to Venus or black holes.

I had studied the model, and I agreed that nothing pinned it down. What if I wanted to stay here, but my section of crust decided it’d had enough and was ready to fly?

From then on, I had dreams (mostly good) in which I left the earth behind, sitting on a magic carpet of dirt, and flew through space.

#

Gravity made no sense to Eli. Gravity was the earth’s desire to hold onto you. I tried to explain, having had AP physics classes, but Eli had C level English and pottery, and he threw me vases and built me clay icebergs with little penguins looking up and they cluttered my room, along with the poems he wrote about them.

I told him he’d never graduate if he didn’t understand gravity. He said he understood it perfectly. He had his hand under my shirt at the time, and so I didn’t argue.

#

On a ledge just off the cliff trail, where we’d scuttled down, displacing rocks with our butts and sneakers, we shared his big army jacket and watched gulls fighting over territory. The moon came up at last, huge and white, and Eli kissed my face and told me the space between the stars was dead space, and if you fell off the earth into space, you had to be careful to avoid it. Stick to the stars, he said. Stay close to them.

I asked him, Like lampposts? And he said yes, that you should stay in the pools of starlight. Unless you were very brave, but hardly anyone’s that brave.

I told him I was, and the moon showed his lopsided smile before he kissed me again, saying, Sure you are, kid.

#

Eli said nothing at all before he walked onto the tracks and let the 12:20 to Old Saybrook scatter his body like an exploding star. They found a knuckle, bits of bone, splinters for a mile. I walked the tracks myself for six months afterwards, hopeful and terrified I’d find a piece of him. 

One night, crying into the lawn in the shadows of our house, I wiped my nose on the sleeve of my sweatshirt and decided I wouldn’t waste my time like this any longer. I had college apps to finish filling out, a sweet dog, friends who’d always thought Eli was weird. I couldn’t waste my time anymore on a dead boy, someone who hadn’t even cared enough about me to say he was leaving.

The house was dark except for my bedroom window. It was far after midnight; I couldn't fall asleep anymore before two or three, at least. My parents had taken to letting me do this, or any strange thing. I was grieving. It was the grieving process. It was another step, this crying in the backyard or walking the tracks until dawn.

I got to my feet, weary of it all finally, weary of Eli’s ghost in my mind. My knees through my jeans were cold and wet, my shoes damp. The shadows were gray and black, the underside of the old oak a dark nothingness.

Dani.

After a moment, I relaxed. The ghost in my mind. I started for the house.

Dani, are you there?

I stopped breathing. From that nothingness, flat black, no sense of depth, again: Dani. Dani.

I stepped towards the tree. Closer. Listening, listening. Another step; I reached a hand at the shadow, eyes watering.

Come here, Dani.

I ran for the house, didn’t stop until I’d pounded through the kitchen and hall and into my own room, thrown myself on the bed, and sat there staring at my white, white reflection in the window.

When I fell asleep, hours later, it was the same old dream. Lifting off from the earth, a hill of shivering dirt beneath me, hand on an old oak tree to steady myself.

#

I’d made a decision, and his ghost was banished. I counted up the years: twelve. And he hadn’t even left me a note.

Applications went out, I ate dinner at a normal time with my family, I studied, I stayed away from the beach, the tracks, and the backyard. I put his pottery in boxes, wrapped in towels, and cried when my dad said that maybe it’d be worth something someday, now that Eli was –

It was a stupid thing to say, yes, and his red face and stuttering words knew it. For the first time in a month, I left the house to walk.

#

It was snowing on the beach, with tiny flakes dissolving into the ocean. I wondered if the fish came up to snatch at them, realizing then that they had nothing in their mouths but more water. I put my tongue out, and the stars shed their particulates, washing down on me cold and crisp. I shivered in my coat, toes scrunching against the sand that had crept in my shoes.

I wasn’t lost anymore; I was just uncomfortable. I wanted to go home.

I came to the tunnel beneath the tracks, remembering what we’d done there, once. Only a year ago. Kept warm, that’s what we’d done last winter. Kept warm beneath the train tracks.

When I walked into the tunnel, the darkness was absolute, the moonlight snuffed out. I walked on, slowly, a hand out so I wouldn't bump against the stone wall. The parking lot was on the other side. I waited for sand and gravel to turn to asphalt beneath my feet.

But he stopped me.

There, in the darkness. Dani, is that you?

I paused, muscles tensed.

Dani.

I stared into the blackness, trying to see what was there. Maybe it was a trick. Or a bum. Or a kid I knew from school.

Dani, are you brave?

I put a hand out, feeling for the wall. Instead of cold stones, nothing at all enveloped me, not even air. A terrible absence of everything brushed around my fingertips, curled and waited.

Dani, are you brave enough? Come here.

Eli, I whispered. I put up my other hand, both arms stretched out, and no wall before or next to me. I couldn’t see anything.

Are you ready to fly?

My heart pounded, that familiar static feeling creeping up my legs, my back, tickling the back of my neck. I could let go if I wanted to. I closed my eyes, imagining us on that summer day, our sneakers touching as we lie next to each other. I reached for his hand, shivering at the shadow of something brushing against my fingers, reaching for me.

Dani.

I wanted to fly. To him. With him. 

I stepped into the blackness, the nothingness, and outside, snow fell and stars were bright and oceans cold, and under the train tracks, I lost my breath and, at the last moment, I remembered what he’d said: Stay in the pools of light. Stick to the stars.

But it was too late, and I couldn’t breathe anymore. Too late, and I fell into dead space.

Eli.

5 Things, mostly scary

1. My friend Joanne sent me a kit so I could make my own monster. Because previous attempts using various household objects and the neighbor's little brat turned out badly. The results of the monster kit, however, seem to point to the fact that I am incapable of creating a monster, unless it is literary and atrocious. Which happens a lot. Srsly. Here is my Joanne's monster:

Why, yes, that is electrical tape. Also notice that only one eye is lit up. Once, for a second, I had both eyes lit up. Then neither. Now, one works intermittently. I shall call her Monster Bunny. There was an attempt at using pipe cleaners for arms, but there was a superglue accident, and... I say no more.

2. Rugosa_Rosa won a copy of my chapbook! Here is Bob picking out the name:

Also, Bob said, "Congratulations, lady."

3. Via NewPages, How To Pet A Kitty. I have laughed and laughed. So, so true.

4. Author Erin Cole is hosting her annual 13 Days of Horror!

A short horror story every day. Three days so far. Haven't read today's, but the first two? Gruesome and spectacular! Whoooo! Loved them! Smart and different and YES, creepy! Scary! I love it! And you should read every day's story. Ahem.

5. That is all. Have a creepy day.