In my latest #Fridaythe13th story, Sandcastles, our killer uses the beach itself as his murder weapon. But can people really drown in sand? And how realistic is quicksand portrayed in stories?
Drowning in sand, also known as sand aspiration, is a real risk. It can suffocate and crush you at the same time, causing respiratory asphyxia due to thoracic compression. Tragically, children have perished this way, even in sandboxes.
And while quicksand might rapidly swallow a character whole in a book or movie, this isn’t realistic. The human body is less dense than quicksand, so you will only sink partially…until panicked movements by the victim cause more liquidation, which will make them sink further. Despite its name, quicksand provides a slow, dramatic death, giving the victim ample time to deliver tearful goodbyes, profess love, or reveal plot twists.
Who can forget the Swamps of Sadness in The Neverending Story? RIP Artax.
About Sandcastles:
How far will one woman go to avenge her brother’s murder? She’s not sure the police deserve to capture the murderer and have the news hail them as heroes…and maybe the Sandcastle Killer deserves to see the inside of a grave rather than a cell. Kindle or paperback.
Excerpt:
“You’re awake,” he said, a lively lilt in his voice.
“David…why?” she sobbed, seawater filling her prison, feet kicking up the wet silt turning to mud. She sunk her fingers into the sand as she tried to claw her way up, only for one wall to collapse. Mud washed over her feet, rising to her ankles, then her shins. “David! I’m going to drown.”
“Yeah, careful with that,” he said from a distance. “Trying to claw at the walls will make it worse.” David took the same, lectured cadence July’s father might use to remind her that improperly insulated windows would run up her electric bill.
She felt herself sinking, pressure on the soles of her feet as the earth sucked July into the abyss, slowly, as if Mother Earth were taking the time to savor her morsel.
“Hey, you want to see something?” he shouted, even further away. “Get ready to catch.”
She screeched for help as loud as she could, tendons in her neck straining. A shiver ran up her spine when her feet hit a dramatic temperature change and her body slipped further into the quicksand.
“C’mon, now. You won’t catch it. On three. Ready? One.”
“Help me!”
“Two.”
The mud crept up her chest, a chilling reminder of David choking her unconscious earlier. She peddled her legs to stay afloat, thighs burning in the sludge.
“Three.”
She recognized her cell phone as it arced through the air. She struggled to get a hand free, but snagged the device before it fell into the mud.
“Did you catch it?” He laughed. “It still has the SIM card, if you think you can call someone.”
What is it about a picture? Especially on a phone, the bright LED makes the vibrant colors pop. Even in the sun’s glare, the sandcastle he built was clear, July’s grave lurking in the background. Her eyes succumbed to the picture’s gravity, and she stared at its magnificence before the mud stole her vision, hearing, and breath.
Author bio:
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.
The third of thirteen creepy tales of murder and mayhem on Friday the 13th… (and one of my favorites. I recommend you check out the other Beaver stories, Stripesand Blanks. He’s a psychopathic hoot :D)
Claws by Christopher Farris
Fun Fact:
Claws is a reimagining of a short story I wrote years ago. It was called Wild Things and focused on Elizabeth (the femme fatale from Claws,) her strained marriage, and the bear she built a creepy connection with. You can find it at Coffin Bell, here: https://coffinbell.com/wild-things/. It is free to read.
Find Christopher’s Friday the 13th story here…
Blurb:
Beaver went to the mountains to live in the peace. Unfortunately, he didn’t bring any with him. Now a mad creature is on the loose, the bodies are stacking up and the woman of his dreams is set to take the blame. Life never seems to get easier for Beaver but then, Beaver has never been easy on life. One way or another, he’ll claw his way to what he wants. He always does.
Excerpt:
She checked there weren’t nobody listening, you know with the kids in the house and all, then she leaned in and whispered, “Did you ever kill a man, Josiah?”
I got to say, I wasn’t expecting that. I don’t know what I expected, but not that. I considered lying but she had those eyes and they was practically undressing me. I throwed caution to the wind. I couldn’t help myself. I nodded, once, nervous.
She caught her breath, give a long sigh and leaned in closer. I could smell her faint perfume and feel the heat coming off her. “Who? More than one?” she asked and put her hand on my knee again. “Tell me.”
About the Author:
Christopher Farris lives in a very old, very small house in a very old, very small town nestled deep in a valley of the Boston Mountains of Northwest Arkansas. He is not a hillbilly, but he is trying. He has four well-adjusted children and the two best granddaughters available.
His horror novel, The Fountain, was published by The Wild Rose Press in January of 2021. His Christmas novel, Intersection: A Trucker’s Christmas Carol, was published in November of 2021. Both are available at Amazon.com as are his other Friday the 13th stories.
The fourth series of Friday the 13th horror short stories is now available. In each, a murder takes place or a body is found on Friday the 13th. See if you can spot the other recurring elements. Dive into these short horror reads and have a frightfully great time!
****** Only 99 cents until the witching hour when the price goes up! (Well, until around midnight :))
For the series buy link, click on the below:
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Spit on a grave by Tamrie Foxtail
Fun Fact:
When I was in high school there was a cemetery across the street. It may sound odd, but it was a quiet place to study and walk. And there was that one mysterious headstone…off by itself…broken….
About Spit on a Grave:
No one likes a bully and Kiera’s tormented by four of them. But Kiera knows something they don’t. She knows how to turn the tormentors into the tormented.
Snippet:
“Audrey’s right,” Makayla said. “This is spooky. Why can’t we just say we went?”
“Because we have to post a picture,” Jenna said. “With the time.” She pointed to her right. “Kiera said the grave is over there in the corner, under the oak tree.”
They walked two abreast, dead leaves crunching beneath their feet and the full moon playing hide-and-seek through bare branches.
“There,” Alissa said, pointing at the lonely stone. She motioned for the other three to follow.
“Do we just take a picture standing in front of the grave?” Audrey asked.
“We’re supposed to spit on it,” Makayla said.
“That so disrespectful,” Jenna said.
Alissa shrugged. “Who cares? She was a child killer.” Alissa turned on her camera and aimed it at the stone. “Here we are in front of the grave of Barbara Dawn Callan,” she said in a spooky voice. “So scary. Not.” She made certain she was in the video, turned and spit on the grave. “There you go Barbara Dawn. Come and get me.”
Makayla followed. “Waiting for you, Barbara Dawn,” she taunted.
About the author:
Tamrie Foxtail followed her husband from the Sunshine State to the Sooner State thirty years ago. She loves carousels, reading, her family, and her fur babies.
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Soulless by Alicia Dean
Fun Fact:
When I write, I like to pay homage to things I love or that are personal to me. In Soulless, there are several scattered throughout:
The name of the town is Pleasence, after Donald Pleasence who played Dr. Loomis in the Halloween movie franchise.
A nearby town is called Boone Springs, which is the name of the town in my grim reaper romance, Soul Seducer.
My sheriff is Rosalyn (Roz) Grimes, and Rick Grimes is my favorite character in Walking Dead, and Roz is from one of my favorite sitcoms, Frasier.
Of course, I mention Elvis, though briefly.
And, I mention MLB, although at the time I wrote it, I didn’t realize that no post season game would be happening on Friday, although in the story I say there is.
And, lastly (I think), my bad guy’s name, Dearil, means ‘call of death.’
About Soulless:
When Sheriff Rosalyn Grimes shoots and kills the serial killer who is holding her daughter captive, she thinks the ordeal is over and her town is safe. But a rash of new murders plunges them right back into the nightmare—is there a copycat on the loose or, even more terrifying, has the same murderer come back to life?
Snippet:
He was only ten feet away, and she was suddenly afraid to go any closer. He gave off a bad vibe…as if just his being naked in the middle of the road wasn’t a bad vibe enough. No, there was something about this guy she wanted no part of. Screw it, she’d definitely call the police. And grab her gun while she waited for them.
She backed away, keeping her eye on him, but still, he didn’t move. She turned and hurried to her porch. She was twisting the knob when a smell like death assailed her nostrils. Fear choked her, and she whirled to see the man looming behind her. How had he gotten here so quickly?
She fumbled for the door and managed to get it open, then hurried inside. When she went to slam the door shut, he shoved it open from the other side and sent her tumbling to the floor.
He stalked over to her. “Let me in, little piggy.” His harsh voice rumbled out of him like a death rattle.
Shivers raced over her skin. “What do you want?” she managed to get past the lump of fear in her throat. “My husband’s upstairs, and he’s got a gun.”
His grotesque mouth lifted in the parody of a smile. “Don’t lie to me, Bethy. Your husband’s out of town. I need his clothes.”
The moon outside the window passed from behind the clouds, illuminating his features, and she gasped with recognition.
About the Author:
Oklahoma author, Alicia Dean, has an unhealthy fascination with murder and all things creepy and disturbing. On a lighter note, she’s a lifelong Elvis fan, loves the NFL and MLB, and hardly ever makes her darkly disturbing fascinations a reality.
Some friends and I attended a forensic class at a Skeleton Museum. We were given a skull and instructions on how to determine the cause of death. It was interesting to go through the steps anthropologists and forensic scientists go through to determine age, sex and physical trauma. Skeletons really can tell a story of a person’s life.
About The Widower:
Lucy Cable has an inexplicable talent for reading bones—she can look at a skull and see the person’s face. While touring a local bone museum, she notices a skeleton on display and is horrified to identify it as her missing friend. When another murder takes place, Lucy realizes a maniac is in their midst. Can she figure out how to stop him before her snooping around puts her next on his list?
Snippet:
“I didn’t think the museum would have this effect on you. Seriously, I just thought it would be a fun party.”
“I’m fine,” Lucy said. “I just need to sit down for a bit.”
“Ok, if you don’t mind, I’m going to find Cora.”
“Knock yourself out.” Lucy headed for an empty bench across the room. She was almost there when a sight stopped her short. She couldn’t have seen what she thought she had. It couldn’t be. Slowly, she pivoted on her heels. She had to be imagining things. She walked toward the single skeleton in the far corner of the room.
She put her hands on the glass and stared at the figure allowing the flesh to layer in her mind. There was no mistaking it. The same pert nose. The high cheekbones. The perfectly shaped rosebud lips. Add the blue eyes and long blonde hair. It was Maeve. Her mind spun with the implications. She’d seen her last night and now her skeleton was on display. “Oh, Maeve.”
“Now, what do you think of my museum?” Professor Porter beamed down at her. Lucy looked into the eyes of a killer.
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 since published two novellas in the Martini Club 4 series and three novellas in the Friday the Thirteenth series. She lives in Oklahoma with her husband, daughter and dog.
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The Boy in the Bubble by Stephen B. King
Fun Fact:
This story was inspired by meeting someone who spent his childhood as a true boy in the bubble due to severe allergies that would kill him if he left it. Later in life, when he gained some immunities, though he still has to lead a sheltered life, he suffered a hernia and the operations went wrong. We can all be grateful that he didn’t have the telekinetic power Timothy does in the story……
About The Boy in the Bubble:
Timothy has spent his life in a bubble which protects him from fatal allergies. But nature always compensates and Timothy has developed incredible telekinetic powers. When a simple hernia operation goes wrong causing him unbearable, non-stop agony, Timothy strikes back the only way he knows how by reigning death and destruction.
Snippet
Much later, when Joseph recalled the incident, he realized their attacker suddenly resembled a marionette operated by a manic puppeteer. As the man reeled backward away from the cab, his hand, which held the switchblade, trembled as it turned toward his own stomach. The man seemed to be fighting with an invisible bodyguard, and he grasped his right wrist with his left hand to try to stop the knife from stabbing into his own body. But he was fighting a losing battle, and the blade disappeared into his stomach as he screamed a blood-curdling yell which ended with an even louder shriek.
“No,” Joseph shouted frantically, “Timothy, stop.”
The man jerked the knife out, and a squirt of blood arced toward the open door, some hitting Miriam’s skirt. “Arggghhhhhh,” the mugger exclaimed and looked directly into Joseph’s eyes as the knife re-entered an inch higher, then again, and again, repeatedly until he fell to the sidewalk, shaking and kicking his legs in pain before passing into unconsciousness.
About the Author:
I am thrilled, and deeply humbled to have published 17 books. Though my first love is psychological thrillers featuring the worst serial killers imaginable, I have also written romantic thrillers, horror stories and even a time-travel romantic thriller where the protagonist comes back in time to save the world, and falls in love. Find me on FB: @stephenbkingauthor
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A Wicked Fate Mark Edward Jones
Fun Fact
I like to pluck quotes from Shakespeare’s different works and in Hamlet I found ‘Our wills and fates do so contrary run.’ I wanted to show a bit of the killers’ perspectives in this story. Can the young female antagonist, Miomir, resist her destiny, or will her uncle force her to accept her fate?
About A Wicked Fate:
Miomir ìl Kurić desires money, power, and to be feared, while unburdened by her past. Her Uncle Karanosz insists she remains a part of their unique family, one which harbors special skills … and connections to evil.
Snippet:
The ancient granite structure no longer offered Christian worshipers a place for gathering in southern Vienna. The Catholic Church abandoned then sold St. Ezekiel—some said because the hauntings had never ceased. A half-century earlier, the Jews of Vienna had been herded like cattle into the old church before transport to Mauthausen or one of its surrounding camps. The church sat empty for decades, an outcast building with broken stained glass, dusty pews and altars, and fading memories of the long-ago tragedy.
Two people had claimed a portion of the former church. A man with a fedora in his lap leaned back into a cushioned love seat, his head tilted upward with eyes shut. A young woman paced the living area, clenching an unlit cigarette between her lips.
Miomir stared and yanked the cigarette from her mouth. “Comfortable?” she asked, staring at her resting uncle. “Two dead, and now we are the hunted again.”
Tasev sighed and sat forward. “Dear Miomir, I cannot believe you let it happen.” He shook his head. “There will be many questions about the condition of the body. If someone knows your … abilities, they will identify you.”
About the Author:
Mark retired from higher education finance in 2017. He is working on his third detective mystery, has written three paranormal short stories, and has completed the first chapter of a proposed sci-fi mystery.
One morning, during the writing process of SHARE my grandson and I went on a bicycle ride through town. On our way home, our path led us beside an abandoned building with an entire wall missing. We could see something inside and climbed onto the crumbling foundation to get a better look. There, standing alone, was one single piece of furniture–a baby cradle complete with bedding. In contrast to the surroundings, the cradle was in perfect condition. The scene absolutely took my breath away, because of the similarities to my existing book cover–so much so, I snapped this picture with my phone.
About SHARE:
Expectant mother, Autumn, offers to lend her body through “lend and borrow” technology to her childless boss and mentor, Sadie, who longs to experience the movement of a child within her before she dies. However, Autumn is horrified to learn that her good intentions have warranted certain death for her unborn child. Sadie doesn’t like to share.
Snippet:
“Wow,” Autumn breathed, stopping in her tracks. “Look at that.” She pointed to a large painting of a crying infant whose colorful—was it a soul?—descended from the sky, entering the child, filling its small body with light. A Not For Sale sign was attached to the ornate frame.
Sadie approached, touching Autumn’s arm. “How far along are you?”
She turned slowly toward her. “Almost five months. But most people are surprised when I tell them. How did you know?”
“I just knew.”
“Do you have children?”
“Actually, no. I’ve had three miscarriages, each at around twelve weeks gestation. Shortly after the last one, our house burned down, and my husband died in the fire. No children, no husband. It’s just me and my shop. Loss is so painful.”
“That is heartbreaking.” Autumn wrapped an arm around Sadie. “Your husband is waiting in heaven for you. Your babies are there, too.”
“I wish that were true. But my children never drew their first breath, therefore they never received a soul.” She looked up at the painting. “The soul is granted by God when a newborn child takes its very first breath. The soul is precious. Reserved for children who thrive outside the womb, not those who merely exist inside it.”
“You said yourself it was painful to lose your children,” Marlene piped in, her words bristling with irritation.
“Extremely painful. But even more painful was the acknowledgement that each of those small, lifeless bodies lacked a soul.”
The breath whooshed from Autumn’s lungs. She steadied herself against a sturdy-looking bookcase as Marlene put an arm around her and glared at Sadie. “Seriously, lady? What you said goes way beyond polite conversation.”
“I’m sorry—”
About the Author:
Anna is a screenwriter, freelance writer, and fiction writer with twelve books in publication and over a dozen articles/stories featured in Writers’ Digest, Southern Writers, and Woman’s World magazine. She was named “Oklahoma’s Best Author of 2021” by Oklahoma Living Magazine.
In “Blanks,” my favorite character, Josiah Poopart, better known as Beaver, rides again. I liked him so much in “Stripes” that I couldn’t resist writing a sequel. I’ve known him in various forms my entire life: canoeing buddies, fellow soldiers, family members. Men with a simple yet somehow poetic view of life. None as homicidal as Beaver, of course, but they speak of the world much as he does. He is very true to my experience and very close to home. He is not sophisticated, but he is creative, and he’s never met a story he was afraid to embellish. He’s so fun to write. My hope is to write at least five stories documenting the misadventures of my lethal, bucktoothed friend. I’d like to eventually publish them as a single work. (Title suggestions are welcome. 😊) We’ll see.
I did a lot of research for this story (LSD, Spavinaw history, etc.) I always do. My favorite scene, however, wasn’t due to any research or innate creativity on my part. I really wish it was. The Tale of the Depressed Duck was given to me whole cloth by my buddy Colin. He had just had a nearly identical conversation with his wife and was wondering how he should respond. I had no advice for him but, I roared when I heard the story and had to find a way to make it Beaver’s. Fortunately, Colin was willing. I’m hoping you enjoy my retelling of The Depressed Duck. If not, that’s on me. The original version was hysterical.
About Blanks:
Beaver Poopart has graduated both the VA psych ward and the police academy. Now he’s gone to Oklahoma in search of a wayward woman. Lots of people are going to wish he hadn’t.
Snippet:
“Anyway,” I said, “thirteen weeks I spent getting my head unscrewed and re-screwed. No booze. No women. Nothing but cigarettes and all the sleep and VA chow you could eat.”
“Food bad?”
“Hell, no. I ate better than I ever did. Free, too. They had this carrot Jell-O that I got to liking a lot. Little blob of whip cream on top. Real darn good. Sometimes I think I ought to head back over there for dinner or lunch some time. In fact, we could—” I stopped myself. Shooter might meet one of my docs. He might not understand about that dead orderly, Raymond.
Nothing to do with me, of course. People break their necks falling down the stairs all the time. They don’t often die on the fire escape outside my room, but that ain’t my fault. Truth is, nobody knows what he was even doing out there. I reckoned him for a peeping Tom, and I told them so. I told them I was suing for sexual harassment. I pointed out that he kept trying to give me weed, which everybody knows is a gateway drug to sexual slavery. Turns out they had their own suspicions.
About the Author:
Christopher Farris lives in a very old, very small house in a very old, very small town nestled deep in a valley of the Boston Mountains of Northwest Arkansas. His novels, The Fountain, and Intersection: A Trucker’s Christmas Carol are available at Amazon.com, as are his Friday the 13th short stories, including the first Beaver story, “Stripes.”
The climax to the story takes place in the old Rainier Brewery in south Seattle. The huge building is next to the freeway with an iconic “R” sitting on top. Millions of people have driven past the place, but few have entered it. I decided the bowels of the building would be an ideal setting.
About The Devil’s Dregs:
A witch has stolen Steven Metcalf’s newborn son and intends to sacrifice the child to her dark lord. Steven and his two friends scour Seattle to rescue the infant, but the city has become infested with witches and their allies. Can Steven and company save the innocent before it’s too late?
Snippet:
We were about fifty yards down the hill, stumbling through the ferns and salal bushes when a bright flashlight illuminated us. A woman shouted, “This is the police! Stop where you are!”
We ignored her and increased our pace, careening down the hillside by taking flying leaps through the wet fall foliage. Gunshots rang out. I could hear the whizzing sound of bullets flying past us and into the leaves of bushes. Bark flew off a nearby tree. This caused us to leap even faster until we entered a copse of evergreens with low-hanging branches, shielding us at least from view. We crouched on the ground and gathered together as bullets continued to wiz over our heads.
“What now?” asked Hu. While normally cool as a cuke, her voice betrayed her desperation.
About the Author:
Robert Herold is the author of the award-winning Eidola Project novels, which follows a team of 19th-century ghost hunters, and The Seattle Coven Tales, declared by N. N. Light Book Heaven as the “must-read paranormal series of the year.” Find out more at:http://robertheroldauthor.com
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Feast or Famine by Jon Minton
Fun Fact
The story contains a scene at the Teatro della Pergola, an opera house in Florence, Italy. It opened in 1656 and still hosts shows today. In the scene, the main character is watching Robert le Diable, a Meyerbeer opera about the medieval legend who discovers he is the son of Satan. Released in 1831 it is known for the provocative Nun’s Ballet.
About Feast or Famine:
Theresa Salomé is cursed and blessed. Every Friday the 13th, she must kill and cannibalize her victim, extending her life. She’s collected knowledge, amassed wealth, and watched empires come and go. But as centuries pass, the cycle and isolation threaten to tear her mind apart. Is she a monster, a preview of humanity’s future, or just another pawn for gods and devils.
Snippet:
Tess’s strength and extended life came from the brain and heart, the meat and potatoes of the meal. She threw the heart to Marco, who tore into the tough muscle like butter. Despite popular opinion, the brain isn’t something you can hold. Tess scooped out gelatinous fat, slurping it from her hand like an oyster.
Everything that came after the brain and heart, just like the spinal fluid hors d’oeuvres, could be skipped. Tess reminded herself that there was a technical need. If nothing else, body disposal. On a cursed day, she tore flesh and consumed it with the same efficiency as her companion, and together, they would devour it down to the bone in a single day.
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.
The natural springs and caverns that are part of this story were once popular spa destinations in Florida for travelers in the laste 1800s and early 1900s.
About Violet:
Ivy Powers, now Ivy Ligon, is happily married, renovations to convert the Victorian home she inherited from a distant relative into a bed-and-breakfast are almost complete, and she just discovered she’s expecting. Life is perfect except for troubling dreams and the heartbreaking wail of a child that keeps waking Ivy in the middle of the night. While one lost soul may be seeking solace, another intends to keep its secrets buried…forever. Ivy will be forced to pay a price in her quest to right a wrong…but will it be worth the cost?
Snippet:
“Did you hear about the skeleton they found at the sinkhole on Aaron Rebisz’s farm?”
Ivy was sitting cross-legged next to a box of ledgers from the 1900s the town librarian had dropped off for the new museum. Across the room, Truby Santella was methodically sorting four generations of war medallions donated by Pete Wilson, a retired Navy captain who came from a long line of patriotic men and women who’d served in the Armed Forces.
“Passaway is slow to reveal her secrets, but nothing stays buried forever.”
Ivy flinched at Truby’s choice of words. Although she’d slept a few more hours, undisturbed by eerie cries, the thought of a small child dying in an underground cavern unsettled her. She’d confessed her feelings to Mike who frowned sympathetically but cautioned her about jumping to conclusions.
“We don’t know what happened,” he’d said, smoothing a strand of hair out of her face. “A family could have been picnicking out in the field on top of another sinkhole and the child fell in and was trapped under the dirt and rocks. Jackie mentioned something about a health spa where people came to swim in the natural springs. Could be the child accidentally drowned or was swept away by the waters. Whatever it was, I suspect it happened a long time ago, given there are no stories about children who unexpectedly went missing in the area.”
Her husband was right. The child’s death was most likely an unfortunate mishap.
No, it wasn’t.
Ivy’d had a series of baffling and inexplicable events when she first arrived in Passaway. Premonitions, visions and dreams that seemed to be those of another woman, ghostly encounters, roses with supernatural abilities—all related to Rosemary Storm’s murder. She’d learned to trust her intuition and believe in the unbelievable.
There was a dark secret connected to the child’s skeleton spit out by the earth yesterday. What would it take for the truth to be revealed?
“You’re familiar with the town’s unofficial history.” Ivy tried to sound curious, not like she was digging. “Have you ever heard of a young boy or girl getting lost in the caverns around here?”
“That’s not something I know,” Truby drawled. “Each generation has its own secrets.”
About the Author:
Connor Treadway is the pen name for the writing team behind Gothic thrillers and mysteries. The duo lives and writes in northeastern Florida.
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Karma’s a Bitch by TL Schaefer
Fun Fact:
This was one of those stories that just appeared in my head as I drove back from a lunch meeting with my writer friends! Driving time is the best time for conjuring ideas.
About Karma’s a Bitch:
Millie is determined to prove the existence of the paranormal in Bountiful, Oklahoma. But the people of Bountiful don’t care much for strangers asking questions…
Snippet
A monster emerged soundlessly from the depths of lake into the eerie silence, the last rays of sunlight putting her on display.
She was small, no bigger than Millie, but pure presence and power surrounded her like a nimbus, making her seem larger than the men arrayed before her combined. Her naked body was mottled gray and green and brown, long knotted ropes of what looked like moss shrouding her face. She was grotesque and stunning at the same time, and her terrible, terrifying beauty made the breath clog in Millie’s lungs.
The water streaming off of the monster was clear, and all around her water lilies formed and bloomed, a riot of green and white and pink against cool, crisp water that had looked black and clouded just a moment before.
A kind of wonder tinged with terror swept through Millie, leaving chill bumps on her arms as she looked and tried to comprehend. Failed. She’d never seen anything like this. Had a feeling no one had, except the men who’d summoned the creature.
About the Author:
TL Schaefer writes mysteries/police procedurals that also have a romance twined throughout. And likely some stuff that goes bump in the night.
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Knockers by Mary Coley
Fun Fact
The KNOCKERS story came together after visiting the famous Stanley Hotel in Estes Park, CO this summer.
About Knockers:
Trina Ellsbury needs a break. Then she checks into the StayLonger Inn. The desk clerk neglects to tell her about Knockers that linger on the fifth floor, or the history of Room 511.
Snippet:
“Front Desk. How may I help you?” A woman asked.
“Trina Ellsbury in 511. I need maintenance. The water in my bathtub is brown.”
“511? That can’t be right. What room, Ms. Ellsbury?”
“511. I checked in last night and have been here all day.”
The woman cleared her throat. “I have no one in 511. We don’t rent that room. Please check the number again. I’ll be happy to send someone up.”
“Trip has been here several times today.”
“Trip? We don’t have an employee by that name.”
“Then ask Lou. He delivered food and picked up something for the cleaners. I assure you I’m here and in room 511.”
“Lou? We have no one on staff named Lou. I’ve been at the desk all day.”
“Mr. Jenkins has helped me each time I’ve called. Get him, please. Mr. Jenkins, the manager.”
“There is no Mr. Jenkins. I’m Sandra Lawson, the night manager.”
Someone knocked on the door. Knock…knock, knock, knock, knock. Five times. In my head, the two answering knocks sounded.
“Maintenance, Ms. Ellsbury.” Trip called. He knocked five times.
Through the peephole, I recognized Trip’s blazing smile. I knocked twice in response, loudly, and let him in.
About the Author:
Mary Coley thinks in mysteries. Her favorite question is WHY? A traveler, nature and dog lover, her next story is just around the corner. She lives in Oklahoma with her husband and Trixie, their current rescued hound.
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Spine Chilling by Michelle Godard-Richer
Fun Fact
I put up a post in The Booklounge For Readers and Authors to ask men which classic books were their favorites to decide which book Peter McFadden would possess.
About Spine Chilling:
Peter McFadden’s life is ending, but he isn’t ready to leave this world and his killing ways behind. His spirit lingers inside his favorite vintage book, tethering him to this world, while he waits for his next victim.
Snippet:
Esme kneeled beside her sister and angled the flashlight on her phone into the dark space beneath the box spring. The beam illuminated two boxes. A black metal case and a big shoe box.
Lucy pulled them out. “If he had anything valuable in this room it would be inside these.” She tugged the metal box towards her and lifted the latches. “Yep, this is his old Colt. We’ll take this with us. What’s in that one?”
With an unexplainable sense of unease lifting the hair on the back of her neck, Esme pulled the shoe box towards her and flipped it open. “This is weird.” She picked up a bundle of cards, with a woman’s driver’s license on top, held together by an elastic band. She tugged the elastic off and spread what turned out to be a bunch of driver’s licenses across the carpet. They all belonged to young women. “What the hell, Luce? Why would he have these?”
“I don’t know. I’ll google the names.” Lucy’s fingers flew across her iPhone as she glanced at the driver’s licenses. Her skin turned clammy, and her hands shook.
“What’s wrong, Luce?”
“Ohmigod. I’ve searched three of the names so far, and they were all murdered by the Colorado Strangler. And the police still haven’t caught him. But that still doesn’t explain why Dad has these.” Lucy picked up a small jewelry box, the only other thing left in the shoe box. “I wonder what’s in here.”
Esme’s stomach twisted into a tight knot as her brain worked through the shock of their discovery and arrived at a horrific conclusion. “I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.”
“Why not?” Lucy opened the box, then dropped it, and covered her mouth.
The box landed on its side and a mound of gleaming white teeth spilled out all over the carpet. Almost as if their father had polished each tooth individually after…he yanked them out of someone’s mouth.
About the Author:
Michelle Godard-Richer is the award-winning author of The Fatal Series. She writes edge-of-your-seat suspenseful stories with strong protagonists and diabolical villains. linktr.ee/mgodardricher
Happy Friday the 13th! It’s release day for a series of horror short stories revolving around Friday the 13th. Today, I’m pleased to welcome myself with my story, Mister 13…
Fun Fact:
While writing this story, I researched the dates for past Friday the 13ths and used the actual date for each year that was mentioned. One of the dates I used was January 13, 1984…which happens to be the date I got married. And, it was on a Friday the 13th. And, we divorced nearly 13 years later…coincidence or were otherworldly forces at work? 😀
*** Order the Friday the 13th stories for only 99 cents – grab them now before the price goes up!!!
Psychologist Giselle Bishop is treating a patient who suffers from friggatriskaidekaphobia, a fear of Friday the 13th. When he was younger, his family was murdered on Friday the 13th by an unknown killer dubbed Mister 13 by the media. Since then, he’s been terrified to leave his house on the dreaded date. She understands his fear because years earlier, her roommate fell victim to Mister 13.
With another Friday the 13th approaching, Giselle convinces him to overcome his fear by facing the very day that paralyzes him, so he reluctantly ventures out. But when she sees a news report that a young woman was found murdered by someone with the same MO as Mister 13, she understands she has made a grave error and her patient is right to believe he is in danger. But he’s not the only one, because now Mister 13 is coming after her.
Excerpt:
She answered the call, and Lydia cried out, “Did you hear what happened?”
Dread gripped her. “No, what is it? Are you okay?”
“Someone was killed…in your house. Yours and Darcy’s old house. The girl who lives there now was murdered. Tonight. Someone called it in to the media. Not even 911. They called the news station.”
The sentences rushed out, piling on top of one another in a panicked jumble.
“Oh my God,” Giselle gasped. “That’s horrible. Do they know who did it yet?”
“No,” Lydia said. “But I’m pretty sure it was Mister 13.”
“What? Why do you say that? Are the details the same?”
“I don’t know. They haven’t said much yet. But, come on, Friday the 13th. At your old house. I just know it was him.”
Giselle grabbed the remote and flipped over to a local news channel. The sportscast was on, but the story scrolled along the bottom, ‘Breaking news, a young woman was found dead in her home after a tip was called in to our station. Details are sketchy at this time, but it appears the victim was stabbed multiple times. Police are not releasing whether they were connected, but thirteen years ago, a young woman was murdered in this same house by an unknown killer. Police suspect it was the work of the serial killer known as Mister 13. Again, we are unsure if this latest killing is by the same person. More details as they become available.’
“Oh God,” Giselle murmured. Her mind went to Everett. She’d finally convinced him to face his fears, to venture out on this dreaded date, and the first time he summons the courage to do so, another tragic murder happens.
“I’m sorry, Lydia. I’ve got to go. Let me know if you learn anything else. Talk to you soon.”
She hung up and dialed Everett. The call went straight to voicemail. “Everett, please call me as soon as you get this. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” She hung up without mentioning the murder. If he was out and heard about it, he’d be terrified.
Fear settled in the pit of her stomach. It was irrational to think something would happen to him…the murder had nothing to do with Everett, but rational or not, she couldn’t quell the worry. And she wouldn’t rest until she knew Everett was okay.
Bio:
Alicia Dean began writing stories as a child. At age 10, she wrote her first ever romance (featuring a hero who looked just like Elvis Presley, and who shared the name of Elvis’ character in the movie, Tickle Me), and she still has the tattered, pencil-written copy.
Other than reading and writing, her passions are Elvis Presley (she almost always works in a mention of him into her stories) and watching a LOT of television, which she calls research so it doesn’t appear that she’s wasting time.
Happy 2023! It’s almost release day for a series of horror short stories revolving around Friday the 13th. I will be sharing each story on my post, one per day. Today, I’m pleased to welcome Mary Coley with her story, The Thirteenth Victim…
Fun Fact:
I spent the night as a guest in the house I’ve written about, and decided it would be a locale for future stories! Spirits are lurking everywhere.
*** Pre-Order the Friday the 13th stories for only 99 cents!!!
Serial killer Zander Murphee’s hunt for his Thirteenth Victim gets derailed when he moves into a Tulsa mansion and the neighbors come calling.
Excerpt:
As the elevator car inched upward, Zander studied the interior. Padded leather walls on three sides, stained carpet on the floor. The elevator jerked to a stop.
The door remained closed. He punched the OPEN button. Nothing. He punched TWO again. The elevator twitched.
He punched ONE hoping the contraption would return to the first floor of the house. The low hum of the motor didn’t change.
Sweat trickled through his eyebrows and into his eyes. His vision blurred. He blinked and peered at the inspection sticker again. Now it appeared to show an inspection date of fifty years ago, not last month. He rubbed his eyes and they stung with his perspiration.
The elevator lurched. The lightbulb in the sconce flickered once, twice, three times and went out.
“Freaking elevator. Help!”
He pounded on the wall even though he knew Desiree was long gone. He punched on the flashlight feature of his cell phone and shone it on the elevator’s control panel. He punched each of the keys with no result. The elevator didn’t even twitch.
Was there an exit panel on the roof? He shone the flashlight up.
A grinning head hung suspended in space above him. A drop of drool eased over the bottom lip of the apparition and fell past his face to the stained carpet at his feet. A wave of cold air passed over him. He froze in place. More drool cascaded down from the mouth of the distorted wide-eyed face.
Bio:
Mary Coley usually writes mysteries. As an early reader with a voracious reader father, she was exposed to horror early on through Edgar Allan Poe, HP Lovecraft and Stephen King. She says that her story, The Thirteenth Victim, was easy to write, and “felt like coming home” in many ways. She recalls that her first penned stories in middle school were horror stories.
Coley set her story in Tulsa, OK, where she has lived for more than 25 years. Her character, Zander Murphee, is an antique dealer and an undiscovered serial killer. Intending to continue his murderous pursuits in a new locale, he relocates to Tulsa and buys an historic oil mansion with the help of Desiree Smythe, a gorgeous realtor who is assisting with a for-sale-by-owner house.
Both the mansion and Desiree meet all his expectations, but all is not as it seems. Zander encounters unwanted visitors to his home on the day he moves in, including insects, rodents, and—he refuses to believe it—ghosts.
Coley has eight published mysteries, a non-fiction children’s book and numerous short stories to her credit. In 2018 she won the Tony Hillerman Award from New Mexico/Arizona books, and was awarded the Oklahoma Book Award for Fiction in 2022 for her mystery, Blood on the Mother Road. Visit her website at https://www.marycoley.com .
The Thirteenth Victim will appear as a Friday the 13th Story, releasing January 13, 2023 on Amazon as an ebook, and in the anthology of the same name which includes 13 creepy stories by 13 authors.
Happy 2023! It’s almost release day for a series of horror short stories revolving around Friday the 13th. I will be sharing each story on my post, one per day. Today, I’m pleased to welcome Mark Edward Jones with his story, Hell is Empty…
Fun Fact:
Three characters in Hell is Empty later play roles in the Detective Henry Ike Pierce series.
*** Pre-Order the Friday the 13th stories for only 99 cents!!!
The worse monsters are human.
A man’s wife dies unexpectedly in Brno, Czechoslovakia, and his teenage foster daughter, Miomir, comes under suspicion after four of the girl’s classmates die by poisoning. Professor Filíp Nekola must protect his younger wards, siblings brought to him six years earlier when a government assassin, Karanosz Tasev, killed the children’s parents. A detective appears, offering information that Tasev seeks Miomir.
Nekola is detained by the Czech government’s secret police, the StB, and the children are left alone with Miomir and her friends. They witness the teenagers performing a dark ritual to destroy Miomir’s enemies. Filíp Nekola must escape the secret police, rescue the children, and stop the assassin Tasev before he steals another life. The worst monsters are human.
A Friday the 13th Short Story: 13 authors ~ 13 suspenseful stories. Murder and mayhem on Friday the 13th… Find each story in the series on Amazon.
Excerpt:
Pipe smoke blanketed Stepan Hrubý’s face. The boy flapped his hands and made a show of waving away the pungent haze.
Filíp Nekola clenched the pipe’s bit with his teeth, pulled off his right glove, and yanked his handkerchief from a pocket. He wiped his eyes, then glanced down at his companion. A smile broke across his face as he stroked the boy’s dark hair. “Three months today, young man. She grew so fond of you and Eliska.” Filíp shook his head and sighed. “My dear Berta.”
Stepan rubbed his hand along the top of the marker’s rough granite stone. “Sorry, Papa Filíp. Remember, though, the best day of the year is coming in twelve days.”
Filíp nodded. “Yes, Christmas is coming, and it will be my first without her.” He wiped a cheek. “But we will try to make it merry.”
The boy pulled his winter cap tighter around his ears. “Yes, sir. It is Lisky’s and my favorite holiday. Why do some people not celebrate?”
“You are speaking of Miomir?”
Stepan frowned, thinking of the older girl the Nekolas had fostered. “She is one, but many stores have nothing in their windows. Lisky says—”
“Never mind. So … where is your sister?”
Stepan shrugged. “She likes to look at the gravestones.”
Eliska emerged through leafless bushes near a marble bench. “I am here.” Stepan’s sister kneeled next to him and examined the dates, touching them as she read. “April 3, 1927, and September 13, 1974. Are those correct?”
“Yes. The stone carver did well.”
“Barunka is a funny name,” Stepan said, then covered his mouth. “Sorry.”
Filíp nodded. “Yes, she did not like it—a family name, I believe, and it is why I called her Berta.”
“I like the black stone,” Eliska said.
“I do, too.” He smiled. “Thank you both for coming with me.”
Stepan smirked. “We wanted to come with you instead of staying with the witch.”
Eliska giggled.
Filíp put a finger to his lips and scowled, determined to act as if he did not feel the same. “No, no. We should not talk about Miomir in such a manner. She is sixteen, and teenagers are rebellious, among other things. I am sure she grieves in her own way.” He took each child’s hand. “My feet are freezing, and I do not doubt yours are, too. Come along. The taxi is waiting.”
Bio:
Mark retired from higher education finance in 2017 and started writing as a new career. The first of the Detective Henry Ike Pierce series, Peculiar Activities, was published in October 2021. The second in the series, Shadowed Souls, released on Halloween 2022. A Gentleman from the Darkness was his first short story, and his first in a Friday the 13th series.
Happy 2023! It’s almost release day for a series of horror short stories revolving around Friday the 13th. I will be sharing each story on my post, one per day. Today, I’m pleased to welcome Robert Herold with his story, The Devil Sheds a Tear…
Fun Fact:
I imagined some of the Seattle area’s rich and famous (unnamed of course) were actually members of murderous covens!
*** Pre-Order the Friday the 13th stories for only 99 cents!!!
Hiding from a homicidal coven of modern witches, Steven Metcalf thinks he is safe. The devil-worshipers are not through with him, and a deadly game of cat and mouse ensues. Will joining forces with a witch-hunter save his life?
A Friday the 13th Short Story: 13 authors ~ 13 suspenseful stories. Murder and mayhem on Friday the 13th… Find each story in the series on Amazon.
Excerpt:
I made it to the door and yanked the knob with sweaty hands, but it wouldn’t open. I swung around. Ken emerged from beneath a library table across the room. He held the knife. Tim lay flat on his back with a pool of blood around his head. Though I’d never been violent in the past, I hoped I’d killed him.
Ken strode over to the body and commanded, “Get up.”
Tim stood. He straightened his nose, fetched two teeth from the floor, and reinserted them. Then he lifted the hem of his robe and swiped blood from his face. He looked at me and grinned. “Naughty, naughty.”
Bio:
Robert Herold has had a fascination with horror since he was a child and his mother refused to allow him to watch creature features on tv. She caved in (well, not literally). Herold hopes his books give you the creeps in the best way possible.
Happy 2023! It’s almost release day for a series of horror short stories revolving around Friday the 13th. I will be sharing each story on my post, one per day. Today, I’m pleased to welcome Chris Farris with his story, Stripes…
Interesting Fact:
The first version of “Stripes,” written years ago, was a rather vanilla “war in Iraq” military story based upon real life characters I knew during my time in the Arkansas Army National Guard. Those characters have changed significantly in this story, so no risk of meeting a real Josiah should you choose to visit the Natural State. Their accents, cares and personalities, however, live on.
“They Call Me Beaver,” the original story, did not have the punch that I was looking for but, after a night of tossing and turning, it occurred to me that with some changes it might make a fine story of mayhem and murder. In Beaver (Josiah) I had the character I wanted, but I needed a hook, something strange and menacing. My granddaughter and I had just visited Turpentine Creek, a local Arkansas big cat rescue park, and the way one of those tigers looked at us gave me all the inspiration I needed. Still, the problem remained, how to put a tiger in a combat zone? That proved to be easier than I suspected.
Perhaps the most far-fetched part of my story, the Baghdad tiger, is based on reality. During the 2003 invasion of Iraq, the Baghdad Zoo was partially destroyed. The zoo workers, fearing for their lives, suspended the feeding and care of the 650+ animals living there. During their absence, the zoo was looted, cages were opened, herd animals were stolen and eaten by a hungry populace and multiple predators (including twenty-three lions) were released into the city. Of the original animals (including Mandor, a 20-year-old Siberian tiger owned by Uday Hussein,) only 35 survived their wartime ordeal. The U.S. military rounded up many of the escaped lions using armored fighting vehicles and returned all but four to their captivity. Those that would not return were killed.
The wildlife community responded quickly once the situation was known. South African conservationist, Lawrence Anthony traveled with two assistants into the heart of the danger zone to bring relief to the remaining animals. The U.S. Army assumed command of the zoo, stopping the looting and vandalism and providing a secure place for Mr. Anthony and other volunteers from the Thula Thula game reserve, Wildaid, Care for the Wild International, and IFAW to work.
The zoo reopened in 2003 following improvements and renovations by U.S. Army engineers. It was populated by eighty-six animals, including the surviving nineteen lions as well as tigers, brown bears, wolves, foxes, jackals, camels, ostriches, badgers and some primates that had been collected from the Hussein family’s private menageries.
So “Stripes” is a strange amalgamation of personal military experience and a surreal story of war-time collateral damage. If you are interested in the whole story of the Baghdad Zoo, see Lawrence Anthony and Graham Spence’s book, Babylon’s Ark. As a side note, during an ill-considered 2003 party held in the zoo a U.S. Army Sergeant had his arm severely mauled by one of the captive tigers. The animal was consequently shot multiple times and bled to death in its cage.
Life is, sometimes, stranger (and sadder) than fiction.
*** Pre-Order the Friday the 13th stories for only 99 cents!!!
Meet Josiah Poopart, high school dropout, construction worker and part time soldier. His friends call him Jo, most everyone else calls him Beaver (because of his buck teeth.) He’s in love with a stripper named Cinnamon and enjoys reading hard-boiled fiction with his best friend, Harmon. He’d tell you he lives a pretty good life, even though his daddy left when he was young, and his momma got blown up in a freak mobile home accident. Everything else is working out fine. The only fly in his ointment is that everyone around him keeps dying. It’s inconvenient, but what can you do? They say those with thirteen letters in their name are cursed. But Josiah doesn’t see it that way. As far as he’s concerned, one man’s bad luck is another’s good fortune. And fortune, somehow, always favors Josiah.
A Friday the 13th Short Story: 13 authors ~ 13 suspenseful stories. Murder and mayhem on Friday the 13th… Find each story in the series on Amazon.
Excerpt:
“Then you killed him and Roger!” Her words came out as a hoarse shriek. She sounded like an oversized crow. It made me jump.
“I never did.” I yelled back.
She whipped around with a giant butcher knife she’d got from the block. “The stupid sheriff may not believe it, but I know you did it. I saw you out by his Jeep. You—you—” She took a big hitching sob and slapped the tears from her cheeks. When she spoke again, she was real quiet and real mean. “You get the hell out of my house, you little pervert, or I’ll stab you through the heart.”
I thought about arguing, but she lurched toward me from the counter. Not fast, but steady-like. She had a look in her eye that told me she meant it. I ain’t afraid of much, but like I said earlier, that woman had a way of coming at you that could be intimidating. At that moment, I don’t think I meant more to her than a cockroach you step on and kick to the corner. That knife looked sharp, too. I didn’t figure I wanted to bleed out on her kitchen floor, so…I split.
Like I said, that was the last time I saw her and, of course, I didn’t end up finding out where Cinnamon went.
I guess that argument sparked Mrs. Smith’s interest in food again. When they found her dead on the kitchen floor, she’d shoved most of an apple pie down her gullet. She’d got it all the way back behind her tongue and packed her throat solid with apples and sugar crust. She’d smeared it all on her cheeks and it had dripped down the front of her rooster dress. She’d even got it in her eyes and up her nose. She was a mess. The coroner ruled it accidental death. He said it was asphyxiation by airway obstruction. Death by apple pie. That’s just sad.
Bio:
Christopher Farris lives in a very old, very small house in a very old, very small town nestled deep in a valley of the Boston Mountains of Northwest Arkansas. His novels, The Fountain, and Intersection: A Trucker’s Christmas Carol are available at Amazon.com, as are his Friday the 13th short stories.
Happy 2023! It’s almost release day for a series of horror short stories revolving around Friday the 13th. I will be sharing each story on my post, one per day. Today, I’m pleased to welcome DJ FitzSimons with her story, Eyes to Die For…
Fun Fact:
I am from a neighboring town of the one used in my story.
*** Pre-Order the Friday the 13th stories for only 99 cents!!!
James Bucknall can get any woman he wants with one sultry look from his bewitching blue eyes. Handsome, charming, and clean-cut, he’s the epitome of a GQ guy. James is also a maniacal serial killer, who murders women as casually as he dates them. At least that is his modus operandi until he meets Frankie Wilson.
There’s something entrancing about the sad, young woman, that has captivated James’s interest, and right now, she is more appealing alive rather than dead. The surprising discovery of Frankie’s connection to James’s last victim, Charlie, arouses the killer’s interest to unexpected heights.
And that’s when Charlie’s ghost decides to intervene.
Excerpt:
Tonight, I’m on the hunt, but I can’t seem to get into it. I’ve danced with a couple of women who look like they spent hours getting ready to come out here, but they’re just not doing it for me. I’m just leaving the dance floor with yet another bimbo, where I feel someone’s eyes on me. Instinct makes me stop and look up.
A blonde. Nothing special, but she’s pretty in a natural kind of way, though it’s tough to see as the lighting isn’t great right here. But even in the dimness I can clearly see she’s on the hook.
I ditch my dance partner at the bar. She doesn’t seem to care as there are already horny, jock-types angling to get her attention. Mine’s shifted to the girl I just saw. I plan to find her.
Bio:
DJ is originally from London. She currently publishes short stories which are set in various parts of the U.K.
Happy 2023! It’s almost release day for a series of horror short stories revolving around Friday the 13th. I will be sharing each story on my post, one per day. Today, I’m pleased to welcome Michelle Godard-Richer with her story, Avenging Angel…
Fun Fact:
For this story, I researched the inner workings of the car trunk, including how spacious they are.
*** Pre-Order the Friday the 13th stories for only 99 cents!!!
A Friday the 13th Short Story: 13 authors ~ 13 suspenseful stories. Murder and mayhem on Friday the 13th…Find each story in the series on Amazon.
On Friday the 13th, sweet college student and barista, Maya Pendleton, leaves Rowena’s Coffee to walk home alone. The streets of Gideon’s Hollow are empty. The locals believe the spirits of the witches from nearby Salem roam on this cursed night, seeking revenge on the descendants of those who burnt them at the stake.
Maya’s lonely footsteps echo through the empty street in a steady rhythm until they’re interrupted by another pair. They belong to Rand Roosevelt¾an evil man with murder on his mind. But he picks the wrong night, the wrong victim, and he messes with the wrong witch.
Excerpt:
Maya’s eyes fluttered open to reveal darkness. The floor moved beneath her as a waft of exhaust fumes turned her stomach.
Where am I?
She shifted her head and the world tilted as a sharp pain shot through her head from the base of her skull, jogging her memory.
The creep from the coffee shop. What an ass!
Maya moved to reach around the back of her head to assess the damage. Her elbow hit something hard. Her funny bone tingled, then her heart pounded in her ears as the smallness of the space suffocated her.
The urge to panic was almost impossible to resist, but she needed to resist to have any chance of escaping this horrible predicament.
She rolled onto her back. A handle glowed above her head in the darkness. She stuck her hands out and moved them along a hard surface, and the horrid reality of her situation became clear.
Metal. He stuck me in the trunk of a car!
Her breathing accelerated. Her thoughts scrambled like a puddle of eggs, and she gasped for air. She forced deep breaths into her lungs and her brain cleared.
Maya reached around the back of her head, careful not to smack her elbow again, and ran her hand over a large bump below her ponytail. Her hair wasn’t sticky, so thankfully, she had no open wound to contend with. But considering she’d lost consciousness and the lingering dizziness; she must be concussed.
Once more, her gaze shifted to the glowing handle over her head once more.
A trunk release!
She tugged on the handle, and nothing happened. With the handle in her grasp, she pushed on the trunk with her feet at the same time. Nothing.
Her captor must have anticipated that means of escape and disconnected the handle. Not escaping, giving up, and dying at age twenty wasn’t an option. Her mother must already be losing her mind with worry and Maya was all she had.
Now what?
Bio:
Michelle Godard-Richer is a Criminology graduate with a passion for crime, human behavior, and the written word. She is also a thriller and romance author living in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains in Alberta, Canada. She writes edge-of-your-seat, suspenseful stories with strong protagonists and diabolical villains.
Author Alicia Dean 