Conversation hearts have been around for well over 100 years. The originals weren’t hearts, but circles with scalloped edges and much larger that what we’re used to today. They also used to have some pretty cringy sayings like, “Married in white you have chosen right” and “Married in pink, he’ll take a drink.”
In Redveil, love isn’t a gift. It’s a debt. When the past comes calling, there is no escaping. After all, forever means forever.
About the Author:
An avid traveler, Raven Lee, has never met a spooky tale she didn’t love. Raven haunts northeast Oklahoma with her family when she’s not showing you what lives in the dark. Learn more about Raven here: https://linktr.ee/AuthorRavenLee
Wee Willie Winkie – A Seattle Coven Tale by Robert Herold
Fun fact #1
Several months ago, one of my brothers confessed to me that when we were little nippers and our mom would recite “Wee Willie Winkie” to us at bedtime, it would freak him out. I thought: There’s a story here!
Fun fact #2:
Wee Willie Winkie is a nursery rhyme originating in 16th-century Scotland. The original rhyme had Willie Winkie rapping at the windows and calling through the locks, asking, “Were all the children in their beds? It’s now 10:00.” When The Real Mother Goose was published in the early Twentieth Century, the time was changed to 8:00. My guess is that modern parents said, “To heck with this !0:00 thing. Get to bed by 8:00!!”
About Wee Willie Winkie
Children in Edinburgh, Scotland, disappear are presumed dead. Steven and Hu Metcalf are brought over from the States to help with the investigation and they discover a curse hundreds of years old. Will they become its next victims?
Excerpt
Rory grabbed a blank sheet of paper and a black pen, then drew a large outline of a head. Now, what should it look like? He wanted to make it particularly frightening, grinning at the potential for mayhem in the future. A little payback for slamming the door in his face.
He drew two dark eyebrows slanted down with hatred above a pair of beady eyes. A nose featured a prominent wart, and a large, wide-open mouth revealed a mass of long, razor-sharp teeth. A red pen provided blood that ran from either side of the creature’s mouth. Rory used a green-colored pencil for the creature’s complexion. He held the page up to admire his handiwork.
Rory glanced at his window. A creature with a reddish face and a mouthful of sharp teeth stared in. Rory froze as it snarled and locked eyes with him.
Got the skin all wrong, he realized. It’s red.
The window glass exploded outward.
Rory gripped the edge of the desk, but it proved useless. He shot out of his chair, headfirst, toward the huge gaping mouth of the creature.
About the Author:
Seattleite Robert Herold is a horror writer and author of the award-winning Eidola Project novels, which follow a team of 19th-century ghost hunters who become ensnared in deadly supernatural investigations, and the award-winning Seattle Coven Tales, about a grad student who gets targeted for blood sacrifice by a modern coven of witches. linktr.ee/robertheroldauthor
Is Mallory Ander’s trying to kill her mother? Or is something in possession of her? And is it tied to The Devil’s Book, an old manuscript in the family’s possession?
A few favorite lines from the story
“Look Mal, there are things going on in this town right now…bad things…and they’re happening on my campus.”
“What kind of things?”
“Exactly what you just said. Devil worship. I talked to the police this morning. There was a fire last night. An old house burned down. Some kids from the college were trying to raise a demon.”
“Why would the police talk to you about that?”
“Because they were my students.”
Fun Fact:
I’m more of a pantser than a plotter. My stories never turn out the way I planned. That makes them more fun to write since I’m uncover much of the story as I go. The dog that pops up in this story was not part of my original plan. He seemed to write himself in the story.
What was the most difficult thing about writing in conjunction with the other authors
I didn’t find anything about writing with other authors difficult.
What was the best thing about writing in conjunction with other authors
Knowing that I’m part of something. The fun of waiting to see what everyone else has written.
Lafayette Cemetery No, One is a New Orleans cemetery haunted by an ancient, malignant Irish demon. A photographer and a writer who visit this city of the dead find themselves enmeshed in a fearful nightmare of murder and insanity as the demon hunts any who has seen it and lived.
SERIES INFO: 13 different authors each wrote a stand-alone, horror short story in the series and the stories all released on Friday the 13th.
We hope you enjoy them all and that they bring a chill to your spine. We would love to hear from you. You can find us here: Friday the 13th Facebook Page (!! Link the page) Get your Fright on…
One Good Turn Deserves a Murder by Lisbeth L. McCarty…
Interesting Fact:
This story was inspired by the true story of a Russian family who all perished in 2013 from rotting potatoes in the basement.
Find it here:
Is there ever a perfect murder? There is when you never get caught.
A grandmother uses her knowledge of chemistry to figure out a clever way to murder her obnoxious son-in-law.
Excerpt:
I opened my home to my daughter and her family, allowing them to move in. I have been nothing but kind and generous to all of them. That’s why no one will ever suspect me of murder.
About the Author:
Lisbeth L. McCarty has worked in the three most hated professions—as an investigative journalist, an appellate criminal defense attorney, and a mime. For more than 40 years, she explored the fascinating aspects of the criminal mind. She loves that she got paid to read and write—two of her favorite things to do. Her website is www.lisbethmccarty.com. You can read her monthly blog at https://lisbeth.substack.com.
Fun Fact: Something Wicked was originally developed as a romance. It lay dormant, while I focused on other projects. When I returned to it, I realized it had all the makings for a horror story with romantic elements. It is darker than I first intended but I am thrilled that this story is finally complete.
Find it here:
When Ashlyn Turner receives a cursed antique scrimshaw doll from her overbearing mother, she dismisses the ominous warnings as mere folklore. But after her fiancé suffers a horrific accident and her best friend’s behavior turns erratic, Ashlyn realizes the doll’s sinister power to punish betrayal. Enter Luca, a mysterious expert on cursed objects, who vows to destroy the doll before it claims more lives. As Ashlyn uncovers dark secrets among her loved ones, she must confront a chilling truth: the curse cannot be broken, and anyone could be next.
Excerpt:
Grant whistled as he drove from the grand hotel. Everything was going exactly as planned. Ashlyn might suspect his infidelity, but she was going through with the wedding. He hadn’t given her enough reason to call it off. He and Olivia had been careful. His long hours at the office were the perfect cover for his affair. Sweet little Ashlyn was so trusting.
He cruised down the long, winding driveway that led from the hotel parking lot. Too bad he couldn’t hang around and enjoy the lifestyle his newfound wealth could afford him. But he and Olivia would surely be found out if they stuck around. Even worse was that he had to go through with the marriage to a woman he didn’t love. A brief marriage. He comforted himself with the thought.
Ashlyn wouldn’t truly own her inheritance until marriage. Little did she know, the silly clause in her father’s will would be her undoing. He allowed a sneer to curve his lips. The family was so old-fashioned.
His headlights cut through the black night, and he accelerated hard, enjoying the excitement of speeding along the treacherous roads. An adrenaline rush-almost as thrilling as committing murder. He laughed, digging in his pocket for the flask of whiskey. Just as his fingers closed around it, something large and quick appeared in front of the Jaguar.
The flask flew from his hands, and he let out a scream, trying to swerve to keep from hitting the animal. Too late. The stag seemed to leap toward him, landing with a thud of grinding metal and shattering glass.
Antlers as wide as the car smashed through the windshield. Pain like he’d never known pierced his chest. He stared in horror at the antlers impaling him to the leather seat. The stag writhed its legs, attempting to break free. With each movement, excruciating, burning agony seared his lungs.
What the fuck?
He fumbled his phone from his pocket, his fingers barely working. Funny how his entire body was screaming with relentless pain, yet his fingers felt numb.
Finally, he punched in 911.
The operator’s words seemed to come from a distance. “911, please state your emergency.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but instead of words, blood gurgled to the surface. Somewhere, deep inside his torture-wracked soul, someone or something seemed to whisper the words…All those who betray you will suffer.
About the Author:
Krysta Scott is the author of the novel, Shadow Dancer. Since publishing her first book through the Wild Rose Press, she has published two novellas in the Martini Club 4 series and eight novellas in the Friday the Thirteenth series. Something Wicked is the latest story in the series. When she is not writing, she can often be found watching Hallmark movies, true crime shows or reading a good thriller. She is a retired attorney who lives in Oklahoma with her husband and dog.
Please help me welcome today’s guest, Jill Arlene Culiner…
Please tell us a little about yourself. Where are you from? Where do you live now? Pets?
Hello Alicia. I was born in New York and raised in Toronto, but I was one of those kids who ran away from home at seventeen. I’ve lived in many countries—England, Turkey, Greece, Hungary, Germany, Holland—and now live in a 400-year-old former inn in a small village (population: 450) in the west of France. My wild garden is a classified wildlife protection area; therefore, my three rescue cats have to stay indoors (which they don’t mind at all). Even my huge rescue dog is a wuss who prefers staying inside and getting lots of hugs.
Where did you get the idea for Words for Patty Jo? Are your characters based on real people, or did they all come from your imagination?
Patty Jo’s story was a girl I went to school with. She was beautiful and gentle, but she had a terrible family. In order to escape, she made bad choices. Years later, I decided I had to write about her and give her a different life story. The same is true for David, the other main character in the book. I knew him well—he was the sort of idealistic person who believed that education and kindness would change the world. Of course, both Patty Jo and David are fictional characters, very different from the originals. Both are composites of many people I’ve met; their stories, although taken from real life, are those of others.
How did you come up with the title?
That was easy. In the beginning, Patty Jo is a shy, secretive girl who never answers a direct question and hates talking about herself. Years later, David, her former boyfriend, begins writing a short story about her, and he gives it the very appropriate title, Words for Patty Jo.
What genre have you never written that you’d like to write?-
I’ve written romances, mysteries and creative non-fiction travel books, but this is my first Women’s/General Fiction book. However, Words for Patty Jo can also slip into the Literary Fiction category because of the style, language, and theme.
How much of the book is realistic?
I would say pretty well all of it is realistic. I’ve told other people’s stories, singled out those who have been courageous enough to change their destiny.
Have you written any other books that are not published?
Many. They are sitting snug in my computer and getting dusty. Words for Patty Jo was one of those forgotten, pushed-aside manuscripts. I began it twenty years ago, then gave up and filed it away. Why? Because I had no idea what it was. Twelve years later, I looked at it again and began to see its possibilities. I completed a first draft, but still didn’t believe in it, so it went to sleep for a few more years.
Two years ago, I dusted it off, inspected it. By now, I was a more experienced, disciplined writer, and I finally understood how this story had to be written. After that, it became an obsession. I needed powerful images; I wanted beauty, and reality, and rebellious, wonderful characters. Therefore, I re-wrote every single chapter many times, went over and over the manuscript until each paragraph sang.
Do you have another occupation other than writer? If so, what is it and do you like it?
I am a social critical artist. I create satirical scenes of daily life in little boxes. I also draw caricatures. My house and my work can be seen here: https://www.jill-culiner.com
Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?
Patty Jo and David first meet in the late 1960s, but they don’t see each other again until forty years later. Thus, Words for Patty Jo is not strictly a romance. The main themes are social class, the search for identity, and personal courage.
Blurb:
A passion for books creates a lasting bond between teenage Patty Jo and David, but small-town prejudice and social differences doom their romance.
After a summer of reading and falling in love, David heads for university, foreign adventure, and a dazzling career; Patty Jo marries slick, over-confident Don Ried.
Yet plans can go horribly wrong. The victim of her violent husband, Patty Jo abandons her home and children to live on the streets of Toronto. David, a high-ranking executive in Paris, is dismayed by the superficiality of corporate success.
Forty years later, Patty Jo and David meet again. Both have defied society; both have fulfilled their dreams. And what if first love was the right one after all, and destiny has the last word?
Excerpt:
Together they cross Main, turn the corner. It’s hot on the back streets, away from the lake breeze. Stuffy hot. Tar oozes from sidewalk cracks; front yard sprinklers send out iridescent rainbow mists, dampen their legs as they pass, perfume the air with wet green. What he wants to do right now is run through those shimmery cascades, leap like a little kid because he’s sky high, walking a beautiful blonde home on a sunny summer afternoon.
Of course, at eighteen, if you walk down the road with a girl who makes you tingle, you can’t be childish, ruin everything by hopping around and cheering.
“Why do you have to go home?”
She raises tense, square shoulders. “Why? Because it’s four thirty. I have to be there by four thirty.”
Which isn’t much of an explanation. Perhaps she has a date. Perhaps she has a boyfriend, is waiting for the phone to ring.
“Because?” He holds his breath.
“Ma and Pa will raise hell if I’m not.”
That’s all? Except the sentence, the whispery voice, both beg answers. From the corner of his eye, he watches the way she moves. Likes it. An unusual stride, loose-hipped, swinging. Infinitely appealing. The tallish, slender frame, those jutting hip bones, the strong shoulders held back—all suggest a hidden force. As does the defiant way she carries her head.
“And where do you live?” she asks in an indifferent tone, one that belies the question mark. They are crossing over at Waverley where the houses get smaller: stucco framed by old cars and junk heaps, fronted by sagging porches with pitted paint.
“Riddle Lane,” he says, his answer as short as hers. He’s not proud of his address at the moment. True, he’s never really thought about the swanky house set into the trees with its separate servant’s wing, herb garden, three-car garage, the sandstone embellished by white ceramic bricks—all definite signs of luxury. Now, here on Waverley, he’s apologetic, almost ashamed.
For the first time, he wishes he, too, were on his way home at four o’clock, returning to one of these modest bungalows where parents are “Ma” and “Pa” and bicycles are propped against drooping fences, or plunked on cement driveways. It’s what? Homey? Relaxed? Or is he imagining a harmony that doesn’t exist?
Writer, social critical artist, and impenitent teller of tall tales, Jill (J. Arlene) Culiner has crossed much of Europe on foot, lived in a mud house on the Great Hungarian Plain, in a Bavarian castle, a Turkish cave dwelling, a haunted house on the English moors, and beside a Dutch canal. She now resides in a 400-year-old former inn in a French village of no interest where, much to local dismay, she protects spiders, snakes, and weeds. Observing people everywhere, she eavesdrops on all private conversations and delights in any nasty, funny, ridiculous, sad, romantic, or boastful story. And when she can’t uncover salacious gossip, she makes it up.
She has won the 2005 Tanenbaum Prize in Canadian Jewish History, the 2024 Canadian Jewish Literary Award for Memoir, and was shortlisted for the Foreward Magazine Prize and twice for the Page Turner Awards.
I will be sharing each story in the latest Friday the 13th series, and today I am featuring Diafthorá by Jon Minton…
Fun Fact:
Διαφθορά, or Diafthorá, the Greek word for “corrupted,” draws its inspiration from several sources. Frank E. Peretti’s ‘This Present Darkness’ informed the story’s depiction of spiritual warfare between angels and demons, while the central angel’s moral decay mirrors earthly corruption, inspired by the tyrannical and licentious nobleman of the opera ‘Don Giovanni.’ Much of the mythology comes from the Book of Enoch, an apocalyptic text that recounts the fall of angels who loved humans. Set during the Western Schism—a period when papal Italy and France struggled for religious dominance—the story reflects the inherent flaws of theocracy. I hope you enjoy the bloody tapestry woven from this historical and literary inspiration.
An angel falls not from rebellion, but from love. As jealousy turns sacred judgement into slaughter, a bishop must choose between heresy and hell.
Excerpt:
“Today we celebrate a holy union during turbulent and dividing times. May the Lord, who turned water into wine at Cana of Galilee, bless this union with everlasting love. As you share this cup, may your hearts become one—firm in faith, rich in mercy, and sealed in holy covenant.” He handed the cup to Palmina, who brought it to her chest but waited to drink—as rehearsed.
“Let this wine be the fruit of your house,” Sergio continued, “the sign of peace between your names, and a bond of gladness in sorrow and plenty alike. As Christ sanctified the feast with His presence, so now may He dwell among you, and let no bitterness rise in the cup you share. Benedicat vos omnipotens Deus.”
Palmina lifted the cup and drank before handing it to Gian, who finished the wine.
“May your love be steadfast as the vine clinging to the arbor, and may your house—”
Gian coughed. “Excuse me,” he whispered.
Sergio smiled. “May your house bear fruit in the eyes of men and angels alike. In the sight of these witnesses—”
The groom belched; a stench of sulfur rose between the three of them. Gian blushed.
One person in the audience failed to hold a chuckle, but covered it with a forced clearing of the throat.
Sergio hurried, trying to save additional embarrassment. “And under the blessing of the Holy Mother, do you, Palmina Turati, take Gian Visconti as your husband? To honor and obey as the Church honors and obeys the Holy Father?”
“I do.”
“And do you, Lord Gian Visconti, take this woman to be your wife? To have and to hold for eternity?”
“I do,” he said, voice strained, sweat pouring down his face, eyes bloodshot.
Sergio hoped it wasn’t contagious and cursed the man for going forward with the event if he was sick. A little embarrassment might be just the lesson he needs. “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife. Lord Visconti, you may kiss the bride.”
Palmina closed her eyes and stood still, waiting.
Gian leaned in, looking uneasy on his feet, and coughed, spitting blood and bile onto Palmina’s dress. Her eyes burst open in shock as he clutched at her.
His hose darkened as if he were pissing himself, but Sergio recognized the blood pooling at Gian’s feet.
About the Author:
Jon Minton is an American speculative fiction writer based in Oklahoma City. He is a software developer but has always been passionate about a great story. Find out more from jonminttonbooks.com
Friday the 13th might be unlucky…but if you like to read horror short stories, then it’s your lucky day! Another series of Friday the 13th Horror Stories releases today. Check them out…if you dare…
Please help me welcome today’s guest, Margot Johnson…
He can’t face another loss…and she won’t stay
Krista is a professional figure skater who performs on cruise ships, a world away from the prairie town of Blue Sky where she is maid of honor at her best friend’s wedding. The handsome best man, Tate, is a small-town guy, former hockey player, and single dad.
Why not accept his invitation to trade her glamorous life for a temporary coaching position in the middle of nowhere? After all she’s been through, she needs a fresh start. But soon, complications with the ice show, her newly adopted dog, and her inconvenient attraction to Tate send Krista spinning off balance faster than a flip jump.
Who knows what will happen by spring…if she lasts?
Excerpt:
“Do you like weddings?” Tate murmured after the rehearsal as he escorted her down the aisle toward the lobby.
She felt slightly awkward with her forearm tucked through the crook of his arm. “I do.” She almost laughed at her choice of words and glanced over to see if he noticed. His tanned face, blue jeans, and brown sweater made him look strong and outdoorsy. The dark shadow gracing his chin only added to his rugged appeal. He’d probably look even better in the suit he’d wear at the wedding service tomorrow.
But seriously, why did she choose the words I do at a wedding?
“Does that mean we’re married?”
He quirked an eyebrow in a charmingly irresistible way. Instantly, butterflies fluttered in her stomach, and she wished she could bat them all away and return to her normal, in-control self. “I hope not.” She glanced over and laughed. The idea was so far-fetched it was funny.
“Whew.” With his free hand, he wiped his brow. “You scared me for a minute.”
“Aren’t you already married? You have two beautiful daughters.” She shouldn’t pry but couldn’t resist finding out more. Not that she was interested in a man right now.
“Nah.”
His voice sounded almost wistful and trailed off like he might have a story he didn’t want to share. She recognized the vague signs of weariness and disappointment she carried inside too. He must be divorced, and maybe he still felt the pain of the split.
“I’m a single dad. I take it you’re unattached too?” His statement was more of a question.
“Definitely. Happily. But I love other people’s weddings.” After what she’d been through with Zach’s continual barbs, she wouldn’t open her heart to another man for a very long time, if ever. How could she find the energy? Did she have the confidence? How could she trust she wouldn’t get hurt? Now, all she wanted…well, what did she want? She could use a break in her life, like intermission in a play, to regroup and find a new path. She needed a fresh start, plain and simple.
Margot Johnson writes feel-good stories about women who chase their dreams and find romance along the way.
She is the author of seven romances–the novels One Winter in Blue Sky, Some Other Way, Love Takes Flight, and Love Leads the Way and three novellas in the Merilee Tours series–Let it Snowball, Let it Melt and Let it Simmer. Her characters can’t possibly find their happy endings…or can they?
Before turning her focus to the fun writing life, Margot held leadership roles in human resources and communications. When not writing, she loves to connect with family and friends, volunteer with SK Writers’ Guild, and walk at least 10,000 steps a day (except when it’s minus 40 degrees outside!)
She lives with her husband in the Canadian prairies.
Author Alicia Dean 