October Weeks's Blog

The first week of my new era has been wonderful.

Over the weekend I moved between relaxing and decompressing, and rearranging my small apartment so that the energy and environment matched what I wanted to create. Monday saw me at my favorite place in the world~ the ocean. Words cannot fully express the calmness and stillness and joy that fills me when I’m by the sea, with the salty air and sea breeze and sand around my feet. Tuesday to Thursday, I had a strong pull to purge through my things again, so I did: everything from my mug collection to my clothes. I ended up rearranging and redecorating again as well, and now my space feels more me, and more supportive of what I’m calling in for the rest of this year.

I am also energized by the fact we are in the ‘Ber months! I do try to enjoy the other seasons, but at heart, September – December is my favorite time of year. I thrive in the cooler air, the changing of seasons.

The redecorating and rearranging, the clearing of my space, has been wonderful for my writing. I have gotten through six chapters of revisions for one of the books, and I can now see why the book didn’t feel quite ready to call complete. Progress has been made on other books as well, so I am quite the happy writer.

Taking things slow over the weekend, followed by taking the time this week to go through things and rearrange my apartment, has given me a clarity that has been missing. And it allowed new energy to fill my home and creative space.

I am currently drinking my morning tea and listening to soft, classical piano music. Easing my way into the day and enjoying the slower pace.

If you follow my spiritual blog, you’ll already know this, but I wanted to share this part of my life journey on my author blogs as well. This first part is from the announcement on my spiritual blog:

I’ve made the decision to leave my full-time job, which will happen next month. I have been thinking about doing so for over a year and a half, but I was always terrified at the prospect of not having something lined up, and also terrified that my creative and spiritual gifts could not sustain me. But with the New Moon in Leo, a wave of “Oh, there will be no more of that way of thinking!” came rushing through my soul and the fabric of this human body. The moment I made the decision that it was time to jump, time to truly take the leap and trust myself and my path~ even without a large safety net~ I felt peace. A peace that was so utterly calming to every part of my nervous system. Instead of terror, I felt joy and excitement. My creativity opened up. I felt myself shift into flow instead of force and panic.

I have never felt that in all of my 47 years on this Earth.

I do not expect this to be always be easy, and am deeply grateful that this option is available to me. But it’s time.

In terms of my writing, I have always (and will always) write stories and share my writing…even if only five people are reading it. But I’ve never truly put all my faith behind this passion of mine~ I am choosing to do so now. Whether that be my flash fiction or full novels, I am choosing to give my creativity my full backing. Writing fills my cup, it brings me joy, and has always been an outlet for me. Looking back on my publishing journey, I realize that I rushed through at times, trying to keep up with others instead of listening to my intuition. I’m giving myself that time and space now.

My focus will be my creativity, and my spiritual work (which you can find HERE if you don’t already follow): giving both the time they need to flourish.

I am so excited to start this new chapter, and to see where the next part of my journey takes me and my writing.

I forgot to mention the other day that I finished the latest round of edits/revisions on The Scrying House. It needs one more light pass then it’s done and ready for the editor! So, that’s two out of the four books in revisions that are almost out the door! On top of that, I am six chapters into the Shards edits/revisions, which I didn’t print out like I planned to. I just started doing them on the laptop and before I knew it, I was six chapters in.

Quite happy that I am on track with all the books!

This story was written about four years ago as part of a vampire/horror/dark fantasy challenge. It is a little over 1400 words. Enjoy!

Warnings: this is a vampire/horror story, so there is blood and death.

Copyright@OctoberWeeks

Hot shower. Hot shower, hot shower, hot shower.

            Kit Halloway chanted those two words over and over as she marched up the long stairway to the sixth floor, heavy grocery bags in each hand. All she could smell was the grease and meat she’d been serving at the fast food restaurant down the road, where she’d pulled a double-shift. Her feet ached, her back ached far more, and all she wanted was a shower and some dinner.

So, of course, the elevator was broken and she had to walk up to the sixth floor with heavy grocery bags.

            “Thank the gods,” she muttered as she finally reached the door to her floor. “Fourth time in eight months that damn elevator has broken down,” she murmured as she took a left to the end of the hall.

            She was seriously starting to think the thing had it in for her.

            When she reached the door to her apartment, she carefully moved her hand to the knob while balancing the bag.

            The door was locked.

            “Are you kidding me?” she murmured irritably. Then, after taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door, praying her roommate was home as planned. “Tessa,” she said loud enough so she could be heard through the door. “The door’s locked and I have a bunch of groceries—could you open the door, please?”

            No answer.

            Kit knocked louder, shuffling the bags slightly. “Tessa?”

            Please be home, Tessa. Please.

She really didn’t want to put the bags down and fish the keys out of her purse.

            Kit pounded twice on the door, surprised the nosy neighbor to their left hadn’t opened her own door to complain about the “ruckus”.

            “Tessa!”

            Leaning her ear against the door, she strained to hear for movement. After a few moments, her heart sank. She set the bags on the ground then fished her keys from her purse. Irritation started to turn to anger—which she knew was unjustified as she was just having a bad day—as she slid the key into the lock and turned it.

Opening the door, she found that the lights were on in the kitchen and living room, but no sign of Tessa.

            That was unusual. If Tessa left the apartment, she only left the hallway light on.

            “Tess?” she called out as she maneuvered the grocery bags into her arms. “You home?”

            Silence.

            Once she had the door closed—kicking it closed with her foot—Kit made her way to the kitchen, which was open to the living room, and set the bags on the counter then set her purse down as well.

            Reaching into a bag, she grabbed the orange juice and walked over to the fridge. As she did so she noticed that Tessa’s purse was on the work bench to the left of the refrigerator. That made her pause: hand on the fridge door.

            “Tess?” she called out once more. Again, the inquiry went unanswered.

            Anxiousness began to coil slowly in her gut, replacing the irritation, as she looked down the dark hallway past the living room. The apartment was so quiet that her ears began to ring, which only deepened the unease sweeping through her.

            Her roommate, and best friend, would never leave the apartment without her purse. Not even if she was visiting a neighbor on the same floor.

            Placing the juice back on the counter, Kit grabbed a large knife from their gourmet set—Tessa being a chef, the set was top-of-the-line. Slowly, with her gut now in a tight knot, she made her way to the hall, preparing herself the best she could for the worst possible situation while praying for the best. Especially when she saw the light coming from under the door of the bedroom.

            Something was wrong.

            Swallowing the lump in her throat, she called out one more time. “Tessa? You okay?”

            Leaning close to the door, she listened intently, and when she heard no sounds of sleep—Tessa was known to lightly snore—the worry turned to fear. A fear that something horrible had happened and Tessa couldn’t call out.

            Stamping down her fear the best she could, she placed her hand on the knob, took a deep breath, and then opened the door: her grip on the knife tightening as she pushed it opened wide.

            The sight before her made her heart skip a beat, and the knife slipped in what seemed like slow motion from her hand.

            Blood covered the off-white sheets and pale purple blankets of the bed. One of Tessa’s arms was stretched out while the other was at her side. Her head was turned towards the door: eyes open and full of fear. Her mouth slightly agape, and blood covered her neck and chest. Legs bent at the knees, pointing towards the door as well.

            “Oh God,” Kit gasped then rushed to her friend’s side. She quickly checked for pulse—her hand shaking. “Tessa! Tess! Damn it,” she cursed as her fingers slipped on the blood as she tried to find a pulse. “Calm down, Kit, calm down. She needs you.”

            Shit. She couldn’t find a pulse.

Kit moved her hand to the other side Tessa’s neck, hoping to find a pulse, but her fingers slipped into gash.

With horror, she turned Tessa’s head: a large, gaping wound, about two inches long and an inch wide, still oozed blood. Starting just below the jugular. Her hand covered the wound as she fought panic, and she suddenly realized that the blood was warm, and so was her friend’s skin.

This just happened. “Shit. Shit.”

She ran into the bathroom, grabbed some towels, and ran back to Tessa, swiping the cell phone off the nightstand before pressing a towel to Tessa’s neck with as much pressure as she could as she grabbed Tessa’s landline on the night stand.

Why the hell didn’t you grab your cellphone, Kit!

“That’s not going to work, poppet.”

Her entire body froze at the deep, male voice behind her.

A cold breeze ran up her spine suddenly: the man’s breath on the back of her neck.

How did he get behind me so quickly after speaking? I didn’t even hear a sound!

“Come now, poppet.” A pale hand pressed gently against hers, the one that held the towel to Tessa’s neck. His skin was ice cold. “Let her die. She’s already kissing the other side,” he whispered in her ear, sending icicles up down her spine.

Tessa…

Looking down at her friend, realizing that his words meant Tessa was still clinging to life, Kit unfroze—her hand pressing the towel harder against the wound. “No.”

“Let her go,” he said calmly and softly.

Steeling herself, she replied forcefully, “No. Let me call for help.”

He chuckled, and the sound rolled through her in a wave, caressing her bones. “She sealed her fate long ago.” His fingers dug into her hand. “But I will make you a deal—I will call for help, keep her alive long enough for them to reach her, if you agree to replace her as my pet.”

Confusion rattled her, her eyebrows furrowing. “What do you mean? Tessa is no one’s pet?”

His lips brushed her cheek, and then sharp teeth grazed her skin. She stilled her once more.

“She is indeed my pet, as so many others have been through the centuries. If you want to save her, I suggest you make a quick decision, Ms. Halloway.”

Centuries? The confusion deepened, but worry and panic about Tessa’s well-being was a far greater force. She couldn’t let her die, and she was betting he knew that. “How will I know how she fares?” she whispered.

“I will make certain you know. She has two minutes left in her if I don’t stop the bleeding. Choose. Trade your life and freedom for hers, or you both die.”

That was not a choice. She’d die for Tessa, and the guilt from not trying to save her would be all-consuming.

“Save her.” She was confident in her choice, though she knew whatever he had planned for her would most likely be a living hell.

“Good girl.”

Dizziness rocked through her a split second after his words: a strong arm wrapped around her as she started to fall forward, blackness edging her vision.

His pleasure touched her mind—somehow she felt it—as her body went completely limp.

“Goodnight, poppet.”

With those words, the darkness swallowed her.

I’ve mainly been writing in my notebooks this week. So far, I have written several scenes for the fourth Tuck Houston book as well as a few flash fiction pieces and a new romance book. I’d say about 90% of new words this week have been in the notebook. The 10% on the computer has been on a new YA book and working on Saint’s second book. I am happy with all the new words.

For revisions, I am making progress and am still on track for all four books. So excited!

I’ve also been reminiscing about the first urban fantasy books I read—from the 90s to the early 2000s—and that sparked a series of new story ideas (I know, we are all so shocked by this J ). So, I have a bunch of ideas written down in a separate notebook for that.

I’m also reading a few new books, and enjoying them, which means I will be posting about them on here once I’ve finished reading. Two are fiction, two are non-fiction.

All in all, the writing is flowing and progress is being made a good pace.

I wrote and published this back in 2020, and originally published it as a free short horror story (though Amazon would not allow me to list it as free, Kobo and B&N did). I pulled it about three years ago, and it’s been sitting on my computer ever since. I’ve decided to post it here on the blog as part of Summerween~ it’s campy horror, in the realm of the old 80s slasher movies, so bear that in mind before reading. The bare bones of this story came from a walk I took in 2019, with the son of a friend at the time, and we brainstormed the bones as we saw things. But I didn’t write the story until a year later. It took a good while for the actual story to form around the bones.

This is a little over 3k words, so it’s a longer post than usual. The image in the promo is part of the original cover art I had done. Enjoy!

copyright@OctoberWeeks

Beesville Survival Camp—an outdoor survival camp for boys aged seven to seventeen—was home to Troop 107. It had been my home away from home since I was six, and now, at nineteen, I was one of the head counselors.

The boys and other counselors had just started building the bonfire when one of the troop leaders pulled me into the office. He didn’t need to speak for me to know what the meeting was about.

“I can explain. I—”

Jake Payne held his hand up to silence me. “I’m sorry, Jenner. But what you did during the kayaking trip was against every rule we have. Every rule you’ve been taught, and followed, since you were a boy. I do not want your excuses—you know better.” He shook his head, the disappointment clear on his face. “Come dawn, I personally will drive you back to town. You are no longer a troop counselor, and you are not allowed back. Ever. What you did, and the other complaints we’ve received from the kids…we can’t let it slide.”

I fought the urge to shout, balling up my hands into tight fists behind my back. All I had done was see if ten-year-old Basil knew what to do if he flipped his kayak. Yes, I’d flipped it for him, but he was aware of what to do.

Not my fault the kid’s reflexes weren’t fast enough. At least I flipped back over before he drowned.

“Go pack your things.”

And just like that, I was dismissed. I’d known him long enough to know that no argument would work, and no amount of begging would either. I turned on my heel and walked out, somehow managing to look calm and collected as I made my way to my private cabin, which I’d built the summer I turned fifteen. I didn’t speak to anyone, I didn’t look at anyone—I went straight for the cabin as anger coiled tighter and tighter in my belly.

I could feel my jaw tightening and loosening but I had no control over either, it seemed. I tried to control the clenching and unclenching as I opened the screen door and flung it open.

That bastard! I worked years, through the courses, through the training, and rarely made mistakes. “Fuck you,” I mumbled through clenched teeth as I grabbed my duffle bag and began to pack.

I stuffed everything into my duffle bag with no care—I didn’t care.

The last thing in my dresser made me pause. A faux-gold bumblebee emblem—the logo for the troop. I carefully picked it up and ran my fingers along the edges and over the top, feeling the worn out ridges.

I’d made it when I passed my survival training and it was one of the few things I found precious in life. A mark of my manhood, of my journey, of my success.

As I looked at it, my rage grew and I fisted it in my hand. Sounds sharpened around me: laughter, shouts, happy children. I couldn’t take the sounds—all of them grated against my senses, feeding my anger.

I packed my bag, and then grabbed my camping gear and left the cabin. No one was paying attention to me as I walked out and toward the woods, and if they were no one said anything or tried to stop me.

Knowing Payne, as well as the others, I was certain that if I’d been seen, they would have called after me.

As I walked deep into the woods, I followed the path to my favorite off-season camping site. Just a little opening in the trees where I could set up my tent and have a small fire without being seen from the campground. Though, if Payne came looking for me when I didn’t show up for dinner, he would know where to look. He was the only other person besides my parents who knew it was a favorite spot of mine to escape.

I doubted he’d waste his time, though, since he knew I was capable of taking care of myself overnight.

Maybe he would, after so many years of knowing me. But the thought of seeing his face only made the anger deepen.

When night fell, I began to wonder if my anger would lessen enough for me to sleep. Footsteps interrupted my thoughts, just as I was opening an MRE by the fire.

Payne came into view on the path: he stopped on the other side of the fire, and let out a heavy sigh.

As I’d thought, the fire in me grew at the sight of him.

“Jenner, come back to the campground. There’s no need to be out here on your own.”

“I can’t stand the sounds,” I answered honestly as I set the MRE down on the rock beside me. “The children, the counselors…all of you.”

He furrowed his brows as he regarded me, and then a flash of regret swept his features. “You cannot be trusted with the safety of these children, Jenner. It was not an easy decision to make—this is your fourth incident, which is one more chance over the three–strike rule. I spoke will the other counselors several times this year. What’s happened to change you? You were one of my best up to this year.”

Hiding the full extent of my anger, careful to mask it as if I were simply upset instead of raging, I replied, “Nothing is wrong with me. I haven’t changed—all of you have.” I shook my head. “This troop has been my life for as long as I can remember. I’m not going back just to have it shoved in my face that I’m being kicked out.”

Payne shook his head, holding up his hands as if surrendering.

Every motion he made fed the fury in my belly. “Say what you came here to say and then leave. I’ll find my way home in the morning.”

“Come back to camp, say your goodbyes, and I will drive you home in the morning.”

I chuckled. “Goodbyes?” A thought struck me then. I did want to say farewell to something—the camp itself. My second home. “Fine. I’ll eat and then gather my things and return to my cabin. The only thing I want to say goodbye to is the actual camp, so I’ll wait until you’re all asleep to do that. I’d like to leave at dawn, before anyone else wakes up.”

He stared at me, thinking it over, and finally he sighed again. “All right, Jenner. If that’s the way you want to do things. Your fellow counselors have been your friends for years, maybe say goodbye to them, too.”

I shook my head. “You included them in the decision to kick me out. Why would I say goodbye when you no longer want me around?”

He wanted to say more, I could tell by the way his jaw tightened as he looked away for a moment.

Had he expected less from me? Less anger, more understanding?

His gaze met mine, and he nodded. “See you back at camp. I assume you don’t want my help tearing down camp.”

“No. I don’t.”

After a few seconds of holding my gaze, trying to see if I would change my mind, he walked away.

I didn’t start eating until he was out of sight. If I dragged out the MRE and tear-down, everyone would be getting ready for bed upon my return. But I knew that was a foolish wish because tonight was the Bee Fire, so the boys would up later than usual.

Cruel, making me hear the laughter, the good times. Salt in the open wound.

I picked up my MRE, dreading returning, and ate as slowly as I could stand to.

When I returned back to the campground, the troop and the counselors had gathered around the Bee Fire—a large round fire pit toward the middle of the camp. The kids sat on the ground and watched Paddy, a fellow counselor, as he told them a story.

I went into my cabin and set my bags on my mattress, trying not to listen to Paddy. He was using a microphone to ensure all of the kids heard him, so I could hear him loud and clear through the screen door of my cabin.

As the anger gripped me harder—how that was possible, I don’t know—I saw a mask and a note on my bureau.

Walking over, I read the note first:

Jenner, I hope you will join us at the Bee Fire. It was always a favorite of yours.

~Jake

I took the mask in my hand, my fingers smoothing over the face of a bee. I’d always served the story-time treats to the kids wearing the mask, in the dining area. For a moment my anger faded as memories flashed in my mind.

I placed the mask on my face and looked in the bathroom mirror.

And suddenly, my anger turned into something else. I calmed, and understood what I could do to satisfy the anger. No one was taking anything from me.

One last round of treats.

Going through the last drawer in the bureau, I found my “bee” suit and put in on: black pants, a yellow and black long-sleeved shirt, and a pair of bee wings I’d made when I was ten years old—since then I’d fixed the straps that went around shoulders to fit my grown body. Then, I fixed the antennae over my head: I already had on my yellow and black boots.

Not perfect, but close enough.

I made my way to the kitchen, which was to the far right of the Bee Fire, making certain that only the counselors and Payne could have possibly have seen me.

In the firelight, Payne’s expression showed shock and then relief.

Good. Let him think he’s won something.

As I walked into the kitchen, I saw Craig fixing the treats. “I’ve got it from here. You go enjoy the storytelling.”

He looked surprised. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” I smiled. “One last thing I can do before leaving.”

“Jenner, I…”

“It’s okay, Craig. I get it,” I said as I patted his shoulder twice. “I do. Now go. I’ll be out in a minute.”

After a hesitant moment, Craig walked outside to join the others.

Looking at what he was laying out on the serving tray, I decided that I would give the kids one last good round of treats: I finished setting the cookies around the outside of the trays, and then I took the s’mores ice cream sandwiches out of the freezer and put them on the inside of the trays. After placing them on the end of the serving counter, I then placed the cups of chocolate milk and water out. In the milk I mixed in crushed Benadryl to make certain that they would fall asleep faster. The chocolate would hide the taste fairly well.

As I returned to the kitchen to tidy up the mess, I heard the boys clap and cheer. Soon after, I heard the familiar heavy steps of Payne walking into the dining area.

I turned—he was smiling, of course.

“Thank you for getting this ready, Jenner! We have one more story after the boys have eaten, and then to bed with them.” His smile faded. “I’m sorry this will be your last night with us, but I’m glad to see you doing this one last time.”

I nodded, hiding the anger boiling in my belly just at the sight of him. “One last time.”

The kids came loudly into the area, lining up as they usually did. Smiling, happy, excited. I turned my attention to them, and my anger grew. Because of them, I was being kicked out of my home. Because one of them couldn’t cut it as a Bee, I was losing the only joyful thing in my life.

How I managed to make it through to their bedtime without losing my composure, I don’t know. Once they were to bed, I did say final goodbyes to the other five counselors before making my way to my cabin.

I seethed inside, so deeply that I could almost feel the fire burning through me.

Once I knew everyone was asleep, I straightened my bee suit up and then strapped a machete to my left calf—just in case I needed it. Then, I quietly left my cabin and made my way to the kitchen again. Just outside the main part of the kitchen was a locked metal cabinet. Unlocking it, I reached up and grabbed the liquid rat poison—the best on the market. Then, I made my way to the medical office, where I took the bag of the syringes that were used for allergic reactions and the diabetics.

I brought everything back to my cabin, and once the poison was mixed, I carefully drew it into the syringes. I had enough to inject all of the boys as well as the other councilors and Payne.

My entire being calmed as I did so, and I was almost zen as I walked over to the first cabin.

We had twenty-five boys this year, and they slept in two different long cabins. Thanks to the Benadryl, even the light sleepers were out cold, which made what I was about to do easier.

I made my way through the first cabin, carefully injected them where I thought the poison would be ingested faster. Rat poison had to be ingested in order to work.

The second cabin went the same way.

I moved to the first counselor cabin afterward, still feeling zen but knowing this part would be harder since they were all my age or a few years older.

The first three went smoothly, but I tried not to get overconfident.

I came to Craig’s cabin, and for a moment I paused. Taking a deep breath, I carefully entered, cringing a bit as the door squeaked.

Craig sat up slightly, trying to focus his eyes. “Jenner? What’s wrong, man? Why are you in here?”

I walked up to him with a normal gait. “I apologize, Craig, but I can’t let this lie.”

He moved to stand. “What are you—”

I pushed him down and stabbed the needle into his neck, forcing down the poison as fast as I could.

Craig turned, and before I could move away fast enough, his fist connected with my face.

I stumbled backward, seeing him grip his neck.

“What the hell did you do?” he demanded as he closed in on me.

I gripped the machete and loosed it from my leg sheath as I got to my feet clumsily. “You did this to yourself,” I replied, and then, as he reached me, swung the machete and hit him in the neck.

He stumbled back, gripping his neck again. “Jenner!” he half-shouted.

I moved on him before he could say more—burying the blade into his throat. “You did this to yourself,” I repeated, and then moved quickly out of the cabin as he gargled blood.

Thankfully, the next counselor went far more smoothly, as the others had.

Payne’s cabin was set back slightly from the rest, closer to the wood line.

I knocked on his door. A few moments later, he answered.

Shock moved over his features as registered that it was me in my Bee suit, and I had blood on me.

“Jenner, what’s happened!”

“We need to talk, Jake,” I said calmly and then stepped back as he hesitated.

He walked outside and took me in under the light at the front of the house. “What have you done?” he asked as he looked away, toward the other cabins. “What have you done?”

I sighed. “You all decided to take this from me, and I can’t have that. This troop is mine. This campground is mine.” I gripped the syringe in my hand tighter. “No one is leaving here.”

Even in the dim light, I could see him pale, and I took joy in his fear.

“The children have nothing to do—”

“You chose his words over mine! Didn’t take into account the full details!”

“Jenner, you need to calm dow—”

The rage pumped through me as he spoke and I reacted, lunging at him and driving the needle into his chest.

We tussled, and fought, and he tried to reason with me but his words and his actions were in vain. I picked up the machete and with two slashes I had him on the ground. As I watched him dying, it wasn’t enough.

I dumped the rest of the syringes out of the bag and one by one I injected the poison into him before discarding them.

Save one.

The one I’d stabbed into his heart.

I broke the syringe off, leaving the needle embedded in him.

The medical examiner would find the needle, and they’d figure out the symbolism pretty quickly.

Only honey bees leave a stinger. But that didn’t matter: the needles that I left in their hearts brought me a strange calmness.

I stood, shaking and relieved.

Then, I walked to the Bee Fire, lit it once more, and waited. The sounds of groaning came, the sounds of vomiting, and I was motionless as I stared into the fire. I’d injected a lethal dose into all of them: some of them a little more just to be sure that they would die this night.

Time meant nothing, and wouldn’t for another day or so.

So I waited until all was silent, and then made my way to each body, leaving a needle in each heart.

As they had stabbed all of theirs into mine.

Afterward, I washed myself in the lake, changed my clothes, gathered what I needed, and disappeared into the woods.

Thirty-Two Years Later

“Are you really going to reopen the place?” the realtor asked as she handed me the paperwork for the camp. “You know the history…”

I looked at the camp before me and then met her gaze, smiling. “Of course. I think it’s time for new beginnings.”

“Even with the killer still loose?”

“Jenner won’t come back. He would have by now. I’m taking all safety precautions to ensure that the new camp will be completely safe.”

She nodded, still seeming unsure. “You’re probably right, about Jenner.”

I shook her hand. “Trust me. Jenner is long gone by now.”

A smile formed with that assurance. “You’re right. Good luck to you.”

I nodded, and then she got into her car and left.

Joy overtook me as I took in the rundown camp. I breathed in the fresh air.

Finally, I’m home.

This flash fiction piece was inspired by a picture I saw of a Ferris Wheel, which was followed by a video prompt I made about every time you crest the top of the ride, your reality shifts. I wrote this last in about twenty minutes this past Tuesday~ enjoy!

copyright@OctoberWeeks

Maybe something was wrong with the fried dough…

That’s what you keep telling yourself as the Ferris Wheel rounds the bottom once again. Your stomach drops as the ride slows then stops halfway to the top. You seriously consider just jumping off the ride at that moment. You may break a bone, but you’d live.

As the ride begins to move again, you consider closing your eyes, but choose not to. You have to see if it happens again. Have to know if the first two times were just a trick of the eye or some strange bend of light.

The knot in your stomach coils tighter as you crest the top…and again, the world before you shifts just slightly, just as it had the first two times.

The first time you crested the top, the sunlight had shifted slightly more to red. The second time, birds flew by that had colors you had never seen before. Now, the layout of the fairgrounds had shifted ever-so-slightly, just enough for you to notice something was wrong.

When the ride goes around once more, you stop at the top, and every time you blink, the changes are more noticeable. There’s no way to explain away or ignore them, to blame it on a bend of light: apocalyptic colors of green and gray, the grounds overcrowded or barren of life, zombies, ghosts, a beautiful day but the sky is fuchsia, and no one seems to mind. In fact, they delight in it.

Every single time you blink—no matter how fast or how slow—reality shifts.

As the ride moves again, and begins to slow at the bottom, everything returns to normal. You hesitantly get off the ride, moving through the crowd again until you find a bench to sit on. As you sit, the noise of the crowd dulls, and you try to get your bearings, try to figure out what had just occurred, what you had just experienced.

You look upward and see six butterflies coming toward you, thinking at first that they were such a calming sight. But then, as they move around you and in front of you, one lands upon your hand. You bring it close as you smile, but that smile fades quickly as you inspect the insect, and the knot in your belly grows so tight you become nauseated.

Though the body seemed normal in color and shape, the wings of the butterfly are made of the thinnest strands of silver metal: you can feel the difference as one of its wings flutters against your skin. Just enough of a touch to alert you.

When the butterflies leave you, your gaze returns to the crowd. Standing, you look around and nothing else seems wrong or out of place.

But as you look toward the Ferris Wheel, you notice the color has shifted slightly. In that moment, a realization sinks deep into your bones, and the world seems to narrow as you stare at the ride.

You are not in your original reality…and you only have four hours before the fair closes to figure out how to get back.

You may be wondering why I’m posting flash fiction and shorter works, and the honest answer is that…I want to. I love sharing my stories, and these shorter works are easy to share on the blog and my Tumblr. Some of them have been sitting on my computer for years. A few of them have seen an editor because they were published in collections or I self-published them, but the majority that you’ll see will have only been edited by me. So far, readers have been enjoying them, which makes me incredibly happy, so I will continue to share these short pieces with you~ whether I wrote them years ago (or decades ago), or they are hot off the press. I may even pepper in old high school stories I wrote for kicks! Because those…are classic (if you hear laughing, it’s mine).

Many of these were also inspired by my love of sharing stories around a campfire.

At least one will be posted every week here, and I’ll sprinkle in my romance ones over on my Libby Bishop page soon as well.

Back with another piece of flash fiction. I wrote this around the same time I wrote The Red Leaf, and briefly considered turning it into a short story, but ultimately chose to keep it flash fiction. This is light horror/cozy YA paranormal. Enjoy!

copyright@OctoberWeeks

As you moved along one of the aisles of your school library searching for the history book you needed, the eerie feeling of being watched overcame you. Looking around, you saw no one around you so you brushed it off.

It’s quiet and no one else is around right now—it’s just nerves.

That’s what you kept telling yourself as the feeling intensified. Your gaze constantly straying from the bookshelf to try and locate whatever was causing the feeling. You are a calm person, not easily frightened.

Gah! Where the hell is this damn book so I can get out of here?

“It’s right here.”

You jumped at the sudden male voice behind you, but before you could turn around to see who it was—and ask how in the world they read your mind—the boy reached out and pulled the book from the shelf. He handed it to you and you took it, relieved that it was finally in your hands.

“Right in front you but you didn’t see it,” the boy teased. “As usual.”

Your spine straightened with recognition and all relief fled. No, no, no.

 That teasing voice belonged to a boy who’d died three months prior. A boy who’d made it his mission in life to make your high school days a living hell.

“Speechless, Bookie?” he inquired with amusement.

Bookie had always been his nickname for you. Because reading is the worst crime ever, apparently.

Slowly, you turned around, and sure enough there he stood: tall, muscular from his years of competing in swim meets, short hair spiked slightly, beautiful eyes. “Of all the teenage jerks in the world, why did it have to be you?”

His trademark smirk appeared, and he gave you a wink. “Bookie, don’t be like that. I’m here to help you. If I’d have known you could see ghosts while I was still breathing, I wouldn’t have been so mean to you.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Oh? Is that so?”

He folded his arms. “Oh, definitely. Now, about me helping you help me.”

You rolled your eyes at his slightly arrogant tone. “Again, of all the teenage jerks, why did it have to be you who haunts me?”

Today, I’m sharing another piece of flash fiction I wrote years ago, and it was inspired by a prompt someone gave me. I can’t remember the exact prompt, but it had to do with realizing that the person calling your name wasn’t the actual person. I had a lot of fun writing it, and this is actually the story that made me begin to realize that not every story I wrote had to be a short story, novella, or novel. Some stories can be short and sweet…and even just one sentence long.

You’d always been a light sleeper, so waking up in the middle of the night was a common occurrence. At times, you had no idea what actually woke you. Tonight, however, that was not the case.

“I need you downstairs, sweetie!” your mother called for the third time.

You groggily rolled out of bed and shuffled into the hallway, pausing to make certain you weren’t having some weird dream about being beckoned. After all, your single mother worked the night shift and normally was asleep by three o’clock in the morning, not calling out to her fifteen year old daughter.

“It’ll just take a moment!” she assured.

Tired as you were, you still picked up on the hint of breathlessness as if she was in the middle of doing something, which only served to hasten your steps toward the stairs.

Suddenly, hands grabbed you from behind and yanked you into a bedroom just before the stairs. You gasped, and then your breath caught in your throat as you met the worried but protective gaze of your mother.