Time - A short story

“Once upon a time.” Doesn’t that sound like a typical and safe story start?

Of course, if you think that, then you don’t understand time. Time hates to be called into account. He hates to be mentioned in any form.

He also has a long memory and a taste for revenge. Beware of beginning any tale as “Once upon a time”.

You don’t believe me? You think time is merely a concept? A construction? Have you not heard the tale of Manuel the Bard? Nor that of Cassandra the Storyteller?

Sit and listen as I tell you more…

—

Manuel the Bard was the most amazing performer. He could sing and play on his guitar all the best known songs without flaw and wrote his own music on a regular basis.

He decided to compose a new piece celebrating the life and love of the Lady Feinal. Her beauty was still much discussed, even though she and her husband Prince Aekyn had lived and died more than 200 years before.

Unfortunately for Manuel, he began his ballad with “Once upon a time”.

Time took offence and then upon a revenge.

Manuel grew older and older. His sight was weak, his hearing gone, his fingers too curled to play an instrument. Still he lived. All his friends died and still he lived. In fact, he still lives though he wishes he did not.

—

Then there was Cassandra the Storyteller. She always held her audiences spellbound with her tales. She knew the old folk tales, tales of the gods, and tales of the travellers that had returned from seeing the world. All this and she had yet to reach her twentieth year.

Everyone in her town loved Cassandra. She was welcome in every home, and would be offered food and a bed during her visits. In exchange, she would entertain the household for the night.

There was a fateful evening where Cassandra started her story with “Once upon a time…”

Time struck back.

For Cassandra, the days suddenly began to fly by. By the end of a year, she had aged ten. Five years for the rest of the town was fifty years for Cassandra. During the sixth year after uttering the phrase, she had passed of old age. She looked to be eighty even though her real age was 26.

Never begin a story with “Once upon a time…” Time does not like that.

The Student and the Magician

(This story was based on this prompt from Seventh Sanctum. "This is a tale of personal transformation. The story is about a smooth magician. It takes place in a keep in a university town. The story climaxes with someone getting lost. A magical accident plays an important role.")

“Yo, Bailey, you going to the show tonight?”

“What show? I’ve been so deep in my coursework that if it’s not in one of my books, I haven’t noticed it.”

“Campus art gallery has a magician doing a show tonight. It’s 20 bucks to get in, part to pay for his appearance and part to pay for some renovations,” Ollie replied. “His show is supposed to be pretty good.” Ollie slapped at the book on the table. “And you really need a break, mate.”

“I must have been out of the dorms at least once today,” Bailey huffed.

“I might believe you’ve been out once this week. But not today or yesterday.” Ollie tapped Bailey on the head. “Your brain is going to be mush. Nothing but mush. Tell you what, I’ll shout the first drinks.”

“It’s in the gallery, Ollie. There may not be drinks,” Bailey protested. He tried to concentrate on the book in front of him.

“Of course there will be drinks. Where do you think the REAL money for the renovations is coming from? Overpriced beer, but you can get slapped with penalties if they catch you sneaking some in.” Ollie reached over and closed the book. “Come on, it will be fun.”

“Are you going to take no for an answer?”

Ollie gave an exaggerated sigh. “I’d rather you said yes, but I’m not going to drag you there. So, I guess I’ll have to find some hottie to buy a drink for.”

Bailey stood up and stretched. “Well, if you are going to twist my arm,” he said as he held out one arm. Ollie lightly grabbed the wrist and gave it a tiny twitch. “OUCH! All right, all right, I’m going,” Bailey laughed.

“The show starts in 2 hours. Time for you to change your clothes and we can grab a burger before heading for the gallery.”

“Change my clothes?”

“I swear you have been wearing the same shirt all week. Go on, get changed and we can take off.”

---

They arrived at the campus gallery half an hour before the show was due to start. As Ollie predicted, there were drinks available. The choices were overpriced beer or overpriced wine by the glass.

“I love the high class,” said Bailey as he grabbed the plastic cup.

“Don’t bitch about it. After all, this one is on me. When you buy a round, then you can complain about the plastic.” Ollie took a gulp of beer. “Besides, can you blame them? I’m sure they will have plenty to clean up as it is. They don’t need broken glass everywhere.”

“Dude, check out this sculpture. I swear, we should be art students. My baby sister could do better than this.” Bailey was staring at the twisted form on the pedestal. It was composed of ‘found’ objects, namely trash collected from around campus.

“You know why we aren’t art students. The odds of being successful at it are too low. I know I don’t want to spend four years just to flip burgers because I can’t find a job.”

“Not every business student finds a job,” protested Bailey.

Ollie shook his head. “Our odds are still way better. Especially if we do well at one of the special subjects in the last year.”

They wandered around, looking at the other art while waiting for the show to start. A couple of beers later and the art was looking much more interesting. Much of it was for sale, but neither of them had the inclination or cash to think about buying anything.

---

The magician was Malthos the magnificent. The show itself was pretty decent given that it was a small stage in an art gallery. Bailey was certain Malthos could do more, if he had a more elaborate place to set up. As it was, the magician had made a lot of things appear and disappear. His pretty assistant had been through the crowd a few times, much to the delight of the guys.

“Now for my next trick, I would like a volunteer from the audience.”

“Here’s where they grab a plant, wonder who it will be?” said Ollie in an undertone to Bailey.

Malthos scanned the audience a few times. Several people raised their hands but his eyes barely paused as he looked around. He pointed directly at Bailey. “You, sir. Would you kindly approach the stage?”

Bailey looked around but everyone was already applauding and the assistant had a firm grasp on his arm. “Right this way, if you don’t mind.”

“But I do mind. Take someone else.”

His protests fell on deaf ears. He gave up and let himself be led up on the stage.

“Now, kind sir, your name please.”

“Bailey.”

“And have we met before, Bailey?”

Bailey shook his head. “We definitely have not.”

“Now, all I need you to do is step into the magic cabinet, right over here. Will you do that for me, Bailey? Don’t worry about anything, just step inside.”

Bailey nodded and stepped into the box. He heard Malthos talking to the audience as he shut the door. He began to worry about his next exams. They were soon and Bailey wasn’t as prepared as he wanted to be. “There are times when I wish I were somewhere that exams didn’t matter. Grades didn’t matter. For that matter, somewhere that universities don’t even exist.”

Time passed and Bailey grew tired of standing. “Ready or not, here I come,” he said as he pushed open the door.

He was in a lush green forest. He looked back but the cabinet was gone. “Where am I? How do I get home?”

The Lights - a short story

Henry came home after work. He went into the kitchen to get the daily newspaper and then walked over to the living room light switch. When he flicked the switch, there was a brief flash and a pop as the light burnt out.


"Martha, could you get me a light bulb. This one in the living room just went out."


"I'm sorry, dear, but there aren't any left in the house. I had four extras but this is the fifth light bulb to go out this week. I should have bought some more at the store but I thought that after four bulbs in one week, we wouldn't need any more for a while."


Henry grumbled as he looked around for another place to read the paper. He finally settled in the dining room. Just as he settled down to read, there was another pop. One of the lights in the chandelier had died. Fortunately for Henry's temper, there was still enough light to read by.


The next day at work, Henry found the light in his office had gone out. He called the maintenance department, who promised to come right over and replace the bulb. It took two hours for maintenence to come and the office was too dark during that time for Henry to read any of the reports on his desk. Finally, there was a knock on his door, and a voice said, "Maintenance."


"What took you so long? I called your office three times, trying to find out where you were, and all I was told was that you were on your way." "Well sir, we had go out and buy lights, and we've spent the rest of the morning trying to catch up on replacing them. I don't know why but we never just have one light go out. It's always a lot of lights, and we never seem to keep enough extra bulbs in stock."


Henry thought about the coincidence of lights burning out, but soon he forgot about it. At lunchtime, down in the cafeteria, he run into Thomas Chambers, one of the company's best research and development men. He decided to pull Thomas's leg a little.


"Hey, Tom, I have a little problem for you to work on. Why is it that light bulbs always burn out in clusters?"


Tom chuckled, "Is this one of this new cosmic problems caused by the invasion of earth? Henry, you're going to have to do better then that if you want me to believe you. Next thing, you'll be telling me about a guy in a red suit, and a bunny that delivers eggs." They talked about other things while they finished their lunch and both of them forgot about light bulbs.


Tom's lab was working on an automatically fastening seatbelt. The work had just progressed to the final testing stage when the lab was hit by a plague of lights burning out during critical moments. First, there was the light over his desk, then the one one over the scaled down model of their new belt, then the light right over the full scale seat belt fastener just as they were trying to test it.


"Henry may have been just joking around last week but he may just have a point." Tom did a few quick calculations on his computer. “Definitely, the odds against a coincidence are almost astronomical."


Tom set up an experiment in his lab which had a series of ten lights automatically turned on and off, four times every hour. There were five cameras set up to film the lights. The cameras took a picture once every minute.


After a week, Tom developed the film. At first, the only thing he noticed about the lights was when one of them would burn out, another would go out within two more on/off cycles. Then he noticed an odd blur on one picture just before a light burned out. That blurry spot was far too small to be human and there were no animals allowed in the lab.


Tom replaced one of the cameras with a high speed movie film. This was set up to take pictures just before the light was due to come on. On this film, Tom got an image of a small creature that appeared just before the light burnt out. He spent the afternoon making a still picture from the film. He rang Henry on the office telephone. "Met me at the pub on the corner, after work. I've got something to show you."


Tom had been served a drink by the time Henry arrived at the bar. "Drink up," said Tom, "I think you'll need one before I show you what I brought." Henry ordered his drink and waited until he was half through before he spoke.


"Well, what's this about? I can't spend long here, Martha hates it when I'm late."


"Remember the problem about lights you talked about a couple of weeks ago?"


"Are you trying to get even for that simple joke?" "No, I found the answer. There is a reason why lights always burn out in groups." He handed Henry the picture he had developed that afternoon.


Henry stared at the picture. There was a small furry beast, standing on the ceiling of a room, doing something to a light. It had large hands and eyes. "Good fake. How did you do it, put a light on the floor done up like the ceiling?"


"It's real, I swear. Hard to believe but true."


"What is it? I've never seen anything like that before."


"You remember in world war II when a plane went wrong, they would blame gremlins? As far as I can tell, that's what this is. My theory is that they consume power, and after the war, they decided to go after the most common appliance they could find."


The men stared glumly at the picture. "What hurts is that I don't ever dare tell anyone about this. I'd never be believed again. But I've put traps around all the lights in the lab. Maybe, someday...when I've caught a specimen to show people."


"Yeh, but if they were easy to catch, wouldn't someone have done it by now."

Back to gym

As I do every once in a while, I decided it was time to get a gym membership. While walking dogs is good exercise for the legs, I don't get much exercise beyond that.

Women, in general, can use strength training to help avoid 'bones of glass'. Being fragile and easily broken.

So, I joined Friday last week. I have been 4 times since joining. Not enough to make a noticeable change yet but first is just developing the habit.

Same gym group that I always join. Local people, several gyms in town, not too expensive.

Well, not going to put THAT on my bucket list - the Archibald Prize

So, drawing is a fun hobby.

And I've been particularly prone to drawing people (or Sims) as practice

Now yesterday, a random thought crossed my brain about the Archibald Prize - a prize in Australia awarded for a portrait.

Just for the hell of it, I went to look it up. Australian resident - check. Needs to be a painting - okay, have to put that entry for a year until I can paint with physical materials and not digital. There is a fee, but it's pretty tiny and I could do that.

Subject needs to be an Australian, well known in their field. Fine, I can handle that.

Subject needs to be aware of the artist and have at least one sitting. ANNDDDDD there's the huge NOPE. There's just no way I'm going to ask anyone well known in their field to sit for a portrait painting. Just no.

Funny, it's not the idea that I'd lose. In fact, I expect to lose. But the idea of asking anyone to sit in real time for a portrait? Never.

Trying to find the inspiration to finish

NaNo 2014 - I won. Huzzah and all that.
But, the book isn't finished. It's probably about 3/4 done, but not finished.

Since around the start of the holidays, I started seriously slacking off in writing. I was hoping that I just needed a break and I'd be ready to finish the thing in the new year.

But so far, no. It's not writer's block. It's just no desire to finish the stupid thing.

Drawing on the right side of the brain

I inherited a copy of this book some time ago now.

Now that NaNoWriMo is done for 2014, I can afford to spend some time doing things in addition to writing.

I have decided to try this book. I did once have some informal art instruction back in about 1999 (give or take a few years there) which possibly was based on this book.

So, the first exercise is to be completed before you actually begin learning the techniques. There are 4 but I’ve only done 3 of the four. One was to draw a person (no pictures), one was to draw a person doing something (no photographs to be used), one was to draw your own hand (you could look at your hand) and one was to draw a chair (from looking at a chair)

So, this is the start of the journey.

Wish me luck.

Learning the best writing sprint length

I am an excellent procrastinator - truly first class. Add this to the fact that there is always a fascinating array of things that suck up your time on the internet and it makes trying to complete the NaNoWriMo challenge hard.

So I've been trying out a few things this year.
A friend was doing rewards after getting so many words out. I so totally cheated this system that it was worthless.

Next I tried the timed writing sprints. My first few were 15 minutes and I found that I could write a lot in 15 minutes if I knew that I had a break coming after.

The next day I tried 25 minutes. This was a little too long. I felt like my brain was going to try to leap out of my skull and flee.

So now I'm on 20. This is the right length for my writing. I'm just starting to flag a little but not badly.

NaNoWriMo is still tracking on schedule. If I push out a few extra 20 minutes sprints, I should finish a day or two ahead of the due date - 30 November.

Random Story

There were two weeks left to go. How could there only be two weeks? Was I ready? 

I opened the door leading to my domain. The first thing I heard was the scurrying feet of the rats.

Thank the gods, the rats were obviously breeding well. It’s one of the first things that the judges would look for. 

That was always one of the problems, starting a new dungeon. It wasn’t too hard to get it to the proper degree of mould and mildew. As long as the dungeon was below ground level, as long as there were cracks in the floors and walls, you’d get the mildew.

Vermin counts were always important for a dungeon. Not only rats, but roaches and spiders had to be plentiful if you wanted to win. I had no problem with getting a good roach population. Like the rats, as long as the guards threw scraps in the corners, the roaches would come.

Spiders though, I’ve been having problems with the spiders. I was hopeful that today’s shipment would make it much less obvious that there was only one spider actually living in my dungeon. That one was a jumping spider so it didn’t produce webs. Damn the gods.

I decided to inspect the equipment next. The rack had been a problem. It was so difficult to make it look well used and old when it had been installed new a mere six months ago. I had finally started making serious progress on ageing the rack by a combination of chicken blood and water. The vermin chewed at the leather bits, the water began damaging the iron. 

I was about to start my final inspection of the day when a guard entered the dungeon. “Master Flay? Your delivery is here.” The guard barely got out the words and then fled to the main part of the castle.

I went to get my delivery. It was half a dozen crates. They were very light, but they were meant to be so.

“I need you to sign here,” the delivery man handed me his clipboard.

“You must be joking. I won’t sign until I can inspect the goods and I’m not about to do that out here.” I looked around. Where was my useless assistant. “Boy!” I bellowed. “Come!”

It was a few moments later before I heard the footsteps. Damn. “I wanted Bobby,” I snarled as I turned around. 

“Sorry, Master. It’s Betty today.”

I hope Bobby will be there when the dungeon is judged. Betty goes for curls and bows, not at all the look of a dungeon assistant.

Mind you, Betty is far more blood thirsty, if we are doing some business.

“Right, Betty, I want you to help me carry the crates inside. We’ll open them up in the main chamber.”

“I’m not supposed to let this shipment go out of my sight,” protested the delivery man.

I grinned at him. “You are welcome to come with them. Betty and I won’t mind a bit.”

The dude backed off a few paces. “You promise to sign if the shipment is satisfactory?”

“I will.” I had to or the supplier may never fill my orders again. It’s so hard to find dungeon supplies these days.

Betty and I carried the crates inside. We opened one to find that the crate was nearly filled with fine webbing. A few of the spiders escaped, but that’s why I wanted to open the boxes inside, not out.

“You start putting the webs in the corners. I’ll go sign for the shipment and help.”

I went back out and signed for the crates. The webs would make the dungeon as close to perfect as I was going to have it this year.

The only other factor that is considered is the prisoners. We still only had two. The scruffy revolutionary, by now impossible to recognise under the tangled matt of hair. Half starved, scarred and he spent his days chattering to himself. The other was the witch. The rags left to her after five months no longer disguised the fact that she was middle aged. She had been in decent shape when she first arrived but now she just cackled madly.

In other words, my prisoners were everything I could hope for. It’s just that there are so few.

I envy Master Drawn. His dungeon is over 100 years old. Every cell has at least three prisoners and all the equipment has been repaired many many times. It’s so hard to compete against that sort of tradition.

Who knows, he has won every year for 10 years. Maybe the judges will look for something new.

At least now I have my spiders.

Having a moment

Reading along and thinking "I wonder what's next?"

Only to remember that it's your own book and you have to WRITE the next bit before you can read it.

Scary

Heard a small bang, then something sizzling and my UPS beeping that it had no power.

One of the power boards under my computer desk had started arching.

I shut down the computer, turned off the power for the UPS then very carefully unplugged the faulty board.

Then I had to go turn back on the circuit breaker.

I could see a lot of yellow flashing within that power board before I unplugged it. It was a bit terrifying.

How to be better at writing or drawing than 95% of the population

Very simple

Do NOT say I can't.

Just do it. At this point, you are already better than the vast majority because they *believe* they can't and so they won't even try.

Do it again. You are improving. Trust me, it may not be obvious at first. But it's true, every time you work on a skill, it does improve.

Keep at it and know that you are a creator.

That's it.

I think that's going to need fixing

So, I am slowly typing into this computer my actual first novel (still).

And there are a few problems that pop up from time to time.
My current problem is that my group bought horses and a mule.
A page later, they walk into a city and somehow don't have to deal with the animals - they didn't put them in a stable - or tie them up or indeed anything.

Sheesh. That's gotta be fixed.

Random story - start

“You must follow the path through the mountains,” the spirit guide told the dreamer. “Beyond the mountains is the river. Cross the river then you will see.”

She woke, breathing hard. It was the third week running that she’d had the same dream. She could no longer deny that it was a true dream.

In the morning, Portia went to the elders hut. “Greetings, most honoured ones,” she bowed politely to the elders. “I have had my true dream.”

“Come closer, child,” beckoned one of the elders. “You are what age now?”

“Fifteen summers,” Portia replied.

“Your true dream comes late for you. Most girls have their true dream by their fourteenth summer. Tell me about your dream. Start with your guide.”

Portia swallowed hard, this was why she’d left the dream twice over. “My spirit guide is a chipmunk,” she whispered.

The elders looked at each other. “The spirit guide symbolises who you are meant to be. The owl is wisdom. The wolf is loyalty. The eagle is freedom. The deer is serenity. But…” he paused. “We have no knowledge of what the chipmunk symbolises. Are you certain, child?”

“Yes, elder. I am certain. For the past three weeks, the chipmunk has visited my dream. And each time, it says the same thing.”

“Go on.”

Portia told the elders exactly what the chipmunk had told her.

“That at least is clear. You say that the dream started weeks ago? Why did you not tell us?”

“I was,” Portia sighed. “I was hoping that it wasn’t my true dream. I wanted to dream…” she stopped. Portia was embarrassed by her true desire.

“You wanted to dream that you were to marry Hactef, did you not?” asked a female elder. “Your feelings toward him have been noticed.”

Portia nodded. “I had hoped.”

“Hopes do not engender the dreams. You should have come to us sooner, child,” the elder chided gently.

“I know. I am sorry, elders.”

“We will have to prepare you for your journey. Are you ready to begin?”

Portia’s eyes widened as she slowly nodded. “Today is your day of fasting. Tomorrow is the day of cleansing. Then we have the feast.”

One of the elders came forward. “Come, child. I will take you to the place where you will fast.” They left the hut of the elders. Portia knew the way to the special hut as well as any in the tribe. But her steps were as slow as the elder would allow, the reality of having her true dream recognised wasn’t what she’d hoped for.

The special hut was set aside for any of the rituals of the tribe. It was isolated from the rest of the huts.

“Mediate or sleep. Someone will bring you food to break the fast when it is time.”

Dear companies that send email

Please note the following.

I am not the Lynn A* who was an Eagle Scout
I am not the Lynn A* who bought a Camry in the US.
I am not the Lynn A* who bought a Toyota in the US.
I am not the Lynn A* who...

Honestly, don't just send freaking mail to LynnA*@gmail.com and expect it to magically find the right one.

Better, don't send freaking gmail unless the person opted in AND gave you the email to use.

D is for

D is for the dog
Who is playing by the log.
He is fast on his feet,
a sweeter dog you'll never meet.

C is for

C is for the Candy
The lady always keeps handy
She gives a few to the boy
And hopes he won't miss the toy

B is for

B is for the Baby
Who came with the lady
He is sitting by the lake
Some treats he's ready to take

A is for

A is for Alligator
Famed for his 'see ya later'
Though for a sweet and toothy smile
He is beaten by the crocodile

Phobias and working through them

I've actually had three phobias - relatively mild but definite phobias.

Once upon a time, I was afraid of thunderstorms. Not hide in a closet afraid but they made my heart race.  Then we moved to south Florida and there was a thunderstorm every afternoon during the summer. Within two weeks, they didn't bother me much any more.

One was a fear of talking in front of groups. I'd get nervous as all hell and talk twice as fast as I should. Then I did a group of subjects where you had to do group presentations. At some point, I stopped getting nervous as all hell.

The last is a fear of heights. This one still bothers me, I've yet the opportunity to work through that fear. I live in a town with few high buildings and the land is relatively flat. Maybe someday.

A Thing that bothers me more than it should

It's how often people and artists think winged human - feathers. If humans had wings, they would be fur/hair coated. There are no animals that I know of that have fur and feathers.

I suppose it stems from the artwork featuring angels with wings of feathers. But it still bothers me that people think this would be how it would work.

If humans could have wings, they might be similar to bat wings.

So, humans with feathers bothers me. Mammals that have 6 limbs instead of 4 doesn't worry me at all. Go figure.

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Dear idiot,

You are going to have to lift your game to succeed. No one should fall for such a lame arsed effort as that one.

a) 0.1 gb? - You expect me to care about a mailbox that only has a megabit of storage? First pdf attachment is going to kill that.

b) anyone who really hosts a mailbox should know my userid/name for that. No name == no box.

c) the from email has no relationship at all to the link in the message. That always spells trouble.

Don't pollute my email until it vaguely looks real.

Just a few Sydney pics

 From the Yoko Ono exhibit.

 A friend I visited in Sydney.

 Another part of the Yoko Ono exhibit - an interactive piece where visitors glue together ceramic and string.

 Queen Victoria building decorated for Christmas. (1)

  Queen Victoria building decorated for Christmas. (2)

  Queen Victoria building decorated for Christmas. (3)

 Queen Victoria building decorated for Christmas. (4)

National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo)

So for the third year running, I participated in NaNoWriMo. I actually enjoy novel writing. I don't know if any of them would sell worth a damn but that's not the point.

It gives me an opportunity to explore some very odd corners of my mind.

While I don't finish the novels in November, I certainly get a long way to producing a complete first draft. Which is also a good thing.

New iPad Air

So, for my birthday, I got a new iPad Air. It's an upgrade from my iPad 3, which means that at some point, my hubby gets to upgrade from the iPad 1.

And in celebration of the new itoy, I've been downloading stuff.

The most amazing discovery is that someone has extremely faithfully ported the original Bard's Tale series to the iPad. We are talking a game so old that an rpg game with colour graphics and music was rare. In fact, it might have been the first rpg that had such things - it is that old.

I think I will have to print the manuals and the maps. While the game has them embedded for reference, the spells are cast by four letter codes and you have to type them correctly. Still, it's amazing to see games like this (and at least one of the Monkey Island series) available again.

NaNo 2013 Snippet 2

Sam counted the coins as she put them back into the bag. “Right, so payment accepted,” she said. “You are lucky that I didn’t add a significant surcharge to the fee.”

“Why would you do that?”

“You didn’t tell me that your wife was a were. And worse, she was meeting another in the woods.” She pointed at the huge rip in her shirt. “Weres do not like being interrupted, Jack. They get angry and aggressive.” She grabbed the basket and put it on the desk. “I picked up the hood she used to mask herself on the way out of town.” Sam pulled the red hood from the basket. “When she was wearing it, you really couldn’t see that her face was getting fuzzier by the minute.” Sam frowned at Jack. “So why didn’t you tell me that she was a were?”

“I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know.” Jack shifted around.

“You didn’t noticed the monthly changes? The fur, the teeth? Damn it Jack, a were’s eyes change during the moon. You didn’t notice that your wife suddenly had yellow eyes?”

“She’s never home during the full moon. She’s been going to visit her mother every month, practically since we first me,” he said.

Samantha shook her head. “Jack, I take it you never went along. Did you ever meet her mother?”

“Yes, I did once. And she was the scariest woman I’d ever meet. She kept staring at me like…” Jack stopped and blinked a few times.

“Like what, Jack?” Samantha asked.

“I was about to say like a dog looking at a new bone. Oh god, do you think her mother is?”

“Given that werewolf genetics can be passed on, I’d say yes. Her mother is a werewolf too.” While werewolves could be created if someone was injured by a were, more were born with the condition.

We unpacked the rest of the basket. Typical for were getting ready for the full moon, there was: wolfsbane, a large ham and a raw leg of lamb. If the werewolves didn’t make a kill, at least they wouldn’t starve.

“Now you have the evidence. What were you planning on doing?”

Jack stared at the wolfsbane. “I thought I was getting a divorce because my wife was cheating on me.”

“From the state of the cabin, I’d say she was.”

“But I’m definitely divorcing her if she’s a werewolf. Can you imagine what the kids would be like?”

Samantha repacked the basket and handed it to Jack. “I hear a litter of werewolf pups are simply adorable, Jack. And you had better tread carefully if you are divorcing her. If she wants you, the pack will not let you go easily.”

NaNo 2013 random snippet

“Yo, street rat! Come here.” 

The small teen looked over. While his real name was Rob, everyone who ever met him called him Ratty or Street Rat. Small dark eyes, a small frame and a tendency to dart from place to place gave the overall impression that he was a bit like a rodent. He started to back away from the much larger boy. 

“No, tttthanks anyway. The last ttttime, I nearly got cccaught in the ccccat door.”

The larger boy, Leo, caught up with Ratty and grabbed his collar. “You better come when I call. You don’t come, you’ll get hurt. Understand me?” Leo was 16 and the leader of the street kids. He claimed the best of the clothes any of them found, most of the money from anything anyone sold and most of the food at the end of the day. He was backed by Owen and Geoff, two of the biggest bullies that Ratty had ever met.

Ratty nodded. The bigger kids ruled the streets, he was too small to come out ahead in a fight. “I’m here. What did you want?”

“Geoff there, he spotted an open window that’s just your size. So you know what to do, don’t you?” smirked Leo. 

Ratty shook from head to toe. He hated being sent into strange homes to steal anything precious he found. “Are you ssure? Dddddid sssssomeone ccccheck if it’s empty?”

Leo shook Ratty. “Don’t back talk me. Do you want me to take you back to the orphanage and leave you tied up outside the door? Do you?”

“Nnno. Please, not that.” Ratty still remembered the horror of the local orphanage clearly. All the kids at the orphanage were put to work as soon as they could walk on their own. They spent their days sorting through laundry, washing clothes, making repairs. A lot of the older boys were adopted by mine bosses to work within the smaller tunnels and the girls would become cheap servants for city dwellers. Because of his small size, Ratty would be working in a mine within a few days of being left at the orphanage. 

“Geoff and Owen, help our little friend. Drop him in that window so he doesn’t have to climb through,” Leo said, chuckling unpleasantly. Leo kept holding Ratty’s collar until the other two boys had an arm each. They started to drag Ratty across the road.

exorcist part 2

“I cannot believe you. Those that are damned to roam the earth need more than an earthly power to send them back to where they belong. Are you sure you haven’t been blest by a priest?”

I shrugged. “Well, I might have been baptised. I don’t know.”

“How can you not know something as important as that?”

“My parents died when I was very young. I don’t remember anything before the orphanage.” I looked at Sister Anna. “I wish I had known my parents, but I never did.”

Sister Anna stared hard at me. “My parents died too. Someone took me to the church and I was raised by the nuns. Naturally, I became one.”

“Sister, there is nothing natural about being a nun. Not a fucking damned thing.” Very gentle dissuasion wasn’t working. Maybe cruder language would make Sister Anna leave me alone.

“Gerald Finster! What would you know about natural?” She took a step toward me, shaking one finger. “You go from place to place, claiming to exorcise demons. How can you claim my life is unnatural.”

Damn, I was hoping she’d take the hint. Apparently Sister Anna was immune to language. Unfortunately, she also had a point. I didn’t have a home, family or even friends. I didn’t stay anywhere more than a few days, ever. Maybe embarrassment would work where cussing failed me. “Have you a method for determining if it’s the same demon time after time? I have no way of knowing.”

She blinked at me a few times. “Not really, I need to talk to a priest about it.”

“Why don’t you do that? When we met again, you can tell me.” With any luck, that should keep her away from me.

exorcist part 1

This is a comedy-of-errors. The story is about a logical nun who is constantly annoying an exorcist. It starts in a house in a village. The master villain of the story actually must be defeated in several different forms. Writing prompt generated by Seventh Sanctum

—-

“I’m so grateful that you could come and see,” the woman told me.  The woman’s voice was an irritating high pitched squeaky one. She found out what I did when I drank a bit too much in the local tavern. I never did learn to watch my mouth after I’d had a few. 

“Can you save my Charlie? I know he’s possessed.” We were standing in a small house at the edge of a village. 

I leaned in for a closer look. The man on the bed was looking very limp and happened to belch as I got close. His breath told me all I needed to know. He might be possessed by spirits, but they were distilled, not demons. Still, if I pretended to exorcise his ‘demons’ maybe she’d pay up. Or at least invite me to a decent meal, it had been a long time since I’d last had one.

“Vade exiit daemonium foeda relinquunt corpus,” I proclaimed over the recumbent body. 

Charlie moaned loudly, which gave me an idea. I had my bag, I always carried the bag with me. In it, I found a bottle of the most foul smelling concoction that I carried. I pulled out the cork and waved it under his nose. One whiff had Charlie out of bed and headed outside, looking very green.

“I believe that the demons are vanquished, ma’am. I assume that you’d like to pay promptly for services rendered?”

“Pay?” she squeaked at me. “Pay? I thought it was your duty?”

“Exorcism is my profession. If I don’t get paid, I don’t eat. And I really do love to eat,” I replied.

“Out, out,” she shrieked at me. “I never thought you’d ask for money.”

I should have known, I really should have. If there is one thing that happens time and again, it’s people believing that some services don’t require money. I trudged out of the house, I could tell that this one was a hopeless case.

“Hello, Gerald. You are looking rather out of sorts tonight.”

Oh god, my night just got infinitely worse. “Sister Anna, what a surprise to see you here.”

Sister Anna may be a wonderful nun, a kindly person, someone that birds simply flock to. From my point of  view, she’s just a pest.

“Now Gerald, I had to find you. We didn’t finish our last discussion.”

I sighed. Now that Sister Anna had found me, I was doomed to listen to more of our last discussion. “I don’t need to belong to your religion to succeed in my job. Demons don’t care if I’m Christian.”

“It takes the power of God to send a soul back to heaven or hell. If you don’t have the power of God, those souls must still roam the earth. You might be exorcising the same demon over and over again.”

I wish I could exorcise Sister Anna from my life. “I send the demons back to hell where they belong. End of story. Your faith is not required.”

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