Tuesday, December 31, 2019

Writer Wednesday: Week Thirty-eight




Happy New Year, everyone! I hope everyone's Holiday season was all they wanted and more. I've spent most of the past week and a half fishing with my other half, as he had both the week of Christmas and New Year's off—paid, at that. I don't usually get out much, so it's been nice, but it also caused me to forget to post Writer Wednesday last week. Sorry about that.

So, Week Thirty-eight of Writer Wednesday falls on the first day of the new year. The featured author that gets to ring in New Year is Roxanne Smolen. I'm ashamed to say, I haven't had the chance to read any of Roxanne's work, but I do plan to. If you're interested in her and her works, follow the links provided below.



Roxanne Smolen's Facebook Author Page

The Amazing Wolf Boy's Facebook Page

Violet and the Missing Laptop Facebook Page

Roxanne Smolen's Twitter

Roxanne's Website

Roxanne's Amazon Author Page

R.A.P. Smolen writing team's Amazon Author Page


Main Books:

The Amazing Wolf Boy

Werewolf Asylum

Wolfsbane Brew

Werewolf Apocalypse

The Bear, The Werewolf, and The Blogger

The Amazing Super Wolf

Violet and the Missing Laptop

Violet and the Missing Puppy

Check out Roxanne's and R.A.P. Smolen's other books. These are only a few I have listed, and there are several more.



Thanks for joining me for Writer Wednesday: Week Thirty-eight. Hopefully, we won't have any more breaks for a while, so I should see you again next week with a new author. Remember to support indie authors and, please, leave reviews for their works. Reviews may not seem important, but they're extremely important to the success of the author. Hope everyone's year is off to a great start.

Saturday, December 28, 2019

Snippet Saturday: Pancakes and Jealousy an excerpt from Wraith






Bastian washed down his bite of blueberry pancake with a large gulp from his coffee cup, looking across the table at me. “You don’t remember anything before that night?”
“I get flashes here and there. Mom and me in the car. Her with an envelope full of money she was saving for a rainy day, or so she said. I remember a huge teddy bear, but it didn’t make it to the group home with me. I don’t know what happened to it.” I shrugged and looked down at my plate, pushing the scrambled eggs with my fork. They were dry and unappetizing.
I saw him fiddling with and twisting his fingers, and I could almost feel the unspoken questions weighing in my mind. I waited for him to speak, but it was as if he was restricted on what he could say.
“Is there something in particular I’m supposed to remember? I mean, a little help wouldn’t hurt. Especially if you want me to remember as badly as it seems you do.” I looked back to his conflicted face.
“I’m not supposed to say anything. You seeing me was, I don’t know, supposed to jog your memory or something. Which doesn’t exactly appear to be working, but like I told dad, I was twelve and an undersized, scrawny twig the last time you saw me. Now I’m thirty-four. Yeah, sure, I look twenty-two, but it’s still a big difference.” He shook his head. “Even if you could remember, you probably wouldn’t have realized I was the same person.”
It clicked why he ignored my earlier question of why he didn’t take me in when I was orphaned. He was only a kid, too. I wracked my brain, begging it to give me something from my past. It gave me nothing.
Through the bond, I felt Marshall nearing. I’d lost track at how close he got while Bastian and I ate. I could feel his eyes boring into the back of my head. A mass of panic flowed through me, and the wall dropped, making me aware of the flood of jealousy coming off of him in waves.
“Hey, Coral Ann, you okay?” Bastian shook my arm. “Hey?”
I focused on the jealousy, letting it push the panic away. Good, let him be jealous. It’s not like he has a good reason to be, I thought.
“Who’s jealous?” Bastian asked.
“Really, that shit’s annoying. Get out of my head,” I said, having enough frame of mind to keep my voice low and level.
“You project. That’s not my fault. I can’t control what I hear from you. I can only control what you hear from me. Now, who’s jealous? ‘Cause it’s not me.” He noticed me looking at his hand on my arm, and he pulled it away.
“Marshall’s jealous. And he’s here,” I said, turning around and meeting the gaze of the man I hadn’t seen in nearly a year.


*Subject to further editing. This isn't a final draft.


Friday, December 20, 2019

Snippet Saturday: The Coffin, an excerpt from 'Impractical Encounter'




Randy stood in an aisle. On both sides of him were long benches. Their seats and backrests were covered with red cushions that were stitched with gold. Pews. He realized that he was standing in a church.

He had no recollection of how he'd come to be there at that particular moment. He hadn't stepped foot in a church since before he came out to his family. He, unlike Billie, still believed that there was a God, but he held no compassion for religion or churches. Religion, or the beliefs his parents had about their religion, was what caused him to be cast away from his family at seventeen. Shunned, never to be spoken to by those who said they loved him but couldn't be associated with him for fear that their souls would burn in eternal damnation.

Billie had been fourteen when he was thrown out of the house. She'd call him in secret to see how he was doing. And, she'd come to see him when she was supposed to be visiting a friend. When he'd turned eighteen, Billie voiced her outrage, knowing what would happen, and then she came to live with him when their parents kicked her out a few months later. Those first couple of years were rough, but they made it. Then when Billie was twenty-two, he thought he'd lose her. Randy shook his head, trying to rid his mind of the line of thinking it was on.

He looked around, noticing that he was alone, and sitting in front of him at the end of the aisle was a wooden coffin. Randy stiffened at the sight of it. He didn't want to go to it, but something caused his feet to move forward. He wanted to turn a run from the church. He didn't want to face what the coffin held, but still, he walked toward it.

He was several feet away. Mere steps past the first row of pews when quiet sobs broke his attention away from the glossed cherry-wood. He turned his head to the right. Billie lay curled in the fetal position on the floor. Her hands covered her face, but he could see her cheek was wet with tears.

He wanted to go to her and pull her into his arms. He wanted to tell her everything would be okay. That they still had each other, and that would get them through anything, but he was drawn to the casket. He had to look. He had to find out who could possibly make her cry like she was.

Randy took the final few steps, glancing back to see that Billie was still curled up on the floor. Her chest heaving with each sob that left her lips. He couldn't understand whose death would cause her so much pain, and then he looked back to the coffin.

His breath caught in his throat as he stared at himself lying on white satin. His hands sitting on his chest, one on top of the other.

He turned back to his sister. She had managed to come and stand next to him without him noticing.

Billie, what is this?”

Wednesday, December 18, 2019

Writer Wednesday: Week Thirty-seven





Hey, everyone! Welcome to Week Thirty-seven of Writer Wednesday. Was going to have this up last night, but there was an issue with the original author for the week, so I had to select a new one, and then I had technical issues with my computer this morning, so I'm a bit behind today.

So, I've moved up Paul Skelton as the featured author to fill in Week Thirty-seven of Writer Wednesday. He was scheduled about two months from now, but for a couple reasons, I chose him to move up. One being his new release, which came out in October, The Adventures of the Nordic Pines and the Little Christmas Tree, well, because Christmas is next week. Paul doesn't do social media, so we've just got book links this week. Check 'em out!


The Adventures of the Nordic Pines: And the Little Christmas Tree

The Little Christmas Tree: Original Short Story for "The One Million" Project

Room Twelve

One Million Project: Variety


Thanks for joining me this week as I barely slide in before midnight. I hope to see you next time. Remember to leave reviews for the books you read. It's one of the greatest gifts you can give an author.

Friday, December 13, 2019

Short Story Saturday: Special Guest Post Paul Skelton with Squiddies



Paul shared this story with me a few weeks ago. He wrote it after reading and being inspired by my short story Remains, which I shared at the beginning of November. Honestly, I'm honored that he was inspired by the story and chose to write one of his own, featuring his own version of the Space Squids.

Without further ado, I give you Squiddies written by Paul Skelton. Enjoy!




SQUIDDIES

Lamont; Michigan; U.S.A.

    ‘They’s white slimy slitherin’ critters, I tell ya,’ Skeet Baker told the disbelieving Sheriff Bellamy. ‘With tentacles like squids a’ got,’ he added helpfully.
    ‘Yeh, ‘n’ they come down in a shiny dome shape craft, what wuz lit up like a Christmas tree. Soon as they wuz a’ slippin’ an’ a’ slidin’ in our direction, it wuz a case a’ jump in the Blazer and we lit outta that yard a’ ours an’ straight here. I tell ya, Sheriff, ya should call out the military,’ Skeet’s son Tyler added.
     ‘There’ll be time enough for that once I’ve assessed the situation,’ the Sheriff answered as he scribbled furiously on his note pad.  ‘Now, how much moonshine you two cow pokes bin imbibin’ tonight, huh?’
    ‘Ain’t touched the ‘shine, Sheriff, plate of Franks n’ beans washed down with Root beer is all we done, right, pa?’
    ‘Tha’s right, Tyler. Now, Sheriff, I’m urgin’ ya, they alien Space Squid things are huge, an’ they can’t be here t’ see ZZ Top rockin’ The Kazbah or pop a Bud Light down at Eezy-Nix, can they?’
    ‘Okay, boys, here’s what we’ll do. I’ll tool us up, call my Dep’ an’ meet up over at your shack. If you’re yankin’ my chain, you’re both in for a stretch in my cooler, gottit?’
    They “gottit” and were soon powering up the North Road in the Sheriff’s Dodge Journey with “Blame It On The Boom Boom” by Black Stone Cherry blasting out of the infotainment system.
    Deputy Frazer was already at where the Baker’s shack once stood ahead of them. The Dodge screeched to a grit kicking halt, slewing a drift as it did so, and three shell shocked men leapt out from the car.
    ‘Jeez-us,’ exclaimed Skeet Baker.
    ‘It’s all . . . slime. Nuthin’ left, just . . . slime,’ Tyler was hyperventilating.
    ‘There’s a dome shaped craft over yonder, behind the bluff. You can just see the top of it shinin’ in the moonlight. It’s too hot to approach beyond, maybe, ten meters, scorched the dirt, it has. No sign of any critters, ‘cept for this slime,’ Deputy Frazer informed them.
    Sheriff Bellamy walked towards a gap in the slime and shone his torch into it.
   ‘Tha’s where our basement wuz, sherf.’ Skeet spat a great wad of chewing tobacco infused saliva as he said this.
    As the Sheriff moved in on the hole to the basement, Deputy Frazer came up beside him and shone his torch into the hole too. As he did so, two huge tentacles shot up through the hole and grabbed the awestruck law enforcement officers. The tentacles wrapped right round them several times, squeezing the breath from their writhing bodies. Then as quickly as they emerged, the limbs withdrew back into the basement, dragging the two men with them with a loud, wet, sucking sound. Skeet and Tyler screamed and turned to run back to the squad car, only it was now invisible, engulfed by a milky-white squid. Frozen to the spot, father and son looked around wildly for a place to retreat to, but time wasn’t on their side, as even longer tentacles slithered from the creature, firmly gripping both men, and lifting them into the air.
* * *

Harpenden; Hertfordshire; United Kingdom.

     James and Kate Lewis were lounging in front of the TV, watching a DVD of the “Wolf Creek” series, season two, in which Mick Taylor had just murdered a safari tour driver and had commandeered the tour bus replete with its occupants. Their seventeen-year-old daughter, Tawny, was “busy” with Brent Henderson in her bedroom. Brent, the local twenty-five-year-old handyman, had accessed her quarters with his ladders. As a handy person, he was respected and trusted, but as someone to leave your daughter alone with, he was not. He was already twice married, with a mistress and somewhere in the region of nine children attributed to him, six of which were illegitimate. Just as Tawny was reaching orgasm, a thunderous, deafening sound drowned out her squeals of pleasure, and Brent looked up to see the ceiling cracking and bulging alarmingly. The tentacles whisked away the two lovers in seconds just as James raced up the stairs in response to thunderous crashing noises. He never got even close to Tawny’s room as the entire upstairs was destroyed, and the tentacles grabbed James. Kate Lewis ran out of the back door to the garden and saw a Space Squid attacking her house and most of all the other houses, including the late Eric Morcombe’s pile. She ran for her life down the considerably large garden and hid in the potting shed. She instinctively knew her husband and daughter were gone but had had the presence of mind to bring her handbag, which contained a decent sized flask of Vodka and a pack of Silk Cut cigarettes. As she swigged some Vodka to calm her nerves and shakily lit a cigarette, she searched out her android cell phone to call the emergency services. There was a “no service” message icon glowing back at her, and then she nearly jumped right out of her housecoat, when a voice spoke out.
    ‘Spare me a fag, love?’ growled Roger Hampton, a fifty-eight-year-old homeless person.
     Kate shrieked, shrank away from Rodger and threw the cigarettes over to him. He produced a lighter and lit himself a cigarette.
    ‘I’m not going to hurt you, love,’ he puffed, in a surprisingly gentle growl. ‘I’m just an old fool on the scrap heap of life, dossing in here mainly to avoid those things out there. I call them Squiddies, and they won’t get us in here because they can’t stand Creosote, and this shed is treated with it. How do I know that, you may well ask? Well, firstly, I can smell it, and secondly, I remember seeing that Henderson chap applying it for you in the summer. Then he, er, applied himself to your daughter, so to speak, right atop that fertiliser bag you’re sitting on.’
    ‘Good God,’ she gasped as Rodger wheezed out a chesty cackle.
    ‘You don’t remember me, though, do you? No? Well, I was your family GP in the nineties, when you got the measles because your mother declined the jabs. I was a pretty good doctor back in the day—family, nice house, brand new Lexus on the drive and, sadly, a gambling habit. By the millennium, I’d lost the lot and ended up adrift. I remember you of course, dear sweet child you were, Katey. Well, here we are, better look out for each other.’
     ‘Gosh, yes I do remember you. Doctor Hampton, isn’t it? Crumbs. How do you know about those squid things may I ask?’
     ‘Well, I can tell you that the first batch arrived six weeks ago, incognito. The craft is submerged in Stanborough Lakes over at Welwyn Garden city. I saw it sliding under the water, steam rising from it and a hideous hissing sound when I was up there fishing up. I decided to pack up and get away, as did some other anglers, but then my float went under and the rod twitched, so I reeled it in. I’d caught a baby one, and it was a feisty thing with sixteen tentacles. Interestingly, none of its limbs had suckers on them, just the most clingy, sticky slime I’ve ever encountered.’
    ‘Crumbs, er, where is it now?’ Kate enquired.
    ‘Aha, don’t worry dear, it’s safely out of the way. I ate it. Anyway, the Squiddies are here to collect human specimens for research purposes. They will be discarding people of authority, such as leaders, chiefs and politicians. Yes, they’re using volcanoes to dump them in.’
    Really?’ Kate now sounded sceptical. ‘You know this, or did you dream it, Doctor?’
    ‘Oh, my dear Katey, I fully understand why you would doubt what I say, just look at my shabby appearance. The baby one I caught was like an open book full of information. Yes, I found that I had a telepathic link with it. It, of course, being the operative word. You see, these Space Squid things are genderless, sexless, hermaphrodites, much like slugs and snails. Yes, indeed, I would classify them as a type of mollusc, in actual fact,’ Rodger Henderson concluded.
    ‘Oh, Doctor,’ Katey blushed. ‘You might be a bit scruffy, but you look okay to me, really. You’re still quite handsome.’
    ‘Oho, am I? Well, I always had a shine for you, especially when you were in your teens. Yes, some of my exploratory examinations went a little further than perhaps they should have, particularly when you thought you were pregnant at fifteen. Yes, I remember that very well.’
    ‘Did you fancy me, Doctor?’
    ‘Let’s be clear here, I possess an addictive personality, hence the gambling addiction. My obsession with teenage girls was much the same sort of complaint, and, being a Doctor, I had easy access. I rarely wanted sex with my girly patients, just to touch, fondle and arouse them, whilst arousing myself of course.’ He paused. ‘Fact is though, in your case, yes I did desire full intercourse.’
   ‘Do you desire some fun now?’ Kate surprised herself.
   ‘Well, I can still raise an eyebrow, and you’re what? Thirty-eightish? Yes, why not?’
   Kate removed her house coat and teased off her knickers from underneath her flimsy nighty, whilst Rodger fumbled around inside his loose-fitting tracksuit bottoms. As Kate Lewis leaned back on the fertiliser bag, parting her legs as she did so, a white slimy tentacle extended from Rodgers nether regions and entered her vagina. The initial feeling of ecstasy soon turned to discomfort and then agony, as the tentacle explored further into Kate’s body.
    ‘Hmm, maybe I shouldn’t have had the squid after all,’ Doctor Rodger Henderson told himself as he strolled out of the potting shed and across the Lewis’ vast lawn toward a hovering space vessel.

* * *

All Aboard The Squiddie Express.


     ‘Aha, here’s Doctor Henderson himself, folkingtons,’ a jovial Melvin Cartwrirght announced to the motley group sat cross legged on the floor in front of him.
    ‘Aha, greetings, mugwumps. Before we start the one to one consultations, I’ll take any questions you may have. Just raise your hand. Yes, you sir, er, Bellamy isn’t it?’
    ‘Sure is, limey, just exactly, where are we?’
    ‘Inside the main cargo hold of the XC5555 unit, which is a space craft. It has a hemispherical drive unit capable of thirty billion horsepower, which runs on Creosote, a centric gravity simulation unit and an air conditioning system specifically designed for us humans. We are guests of the Rambastical Alien Elite, or “RAE” for short, a colony of Space Squid from the planet M075zz731A. We’re approximately seventy thousand miles from Earth, heading towards Pluto. But, of course, there’s no windows here, so you could actually be in a warehouse at Maylands Avenue in Hemel Hempstead in England. You decide.’
     ‘Why?’ James Lewis spoke up.
     ‘You didn’t raise your hand, Lewis,’ the Doctor scolded him, ‘but I will answer your question anyway since everyone will be wondering the same thing. This is a holiday of sorts, in which some of you will breed, be medically examined, experimented upon or eaten. Your fate largely depends on your intellect and level of co-operation. By the way, Lewis, I’ve had your wife in the potting shed. Yes, waited years to do her and fill her with slime. Feel co-operative do you, James?’

* * *

THE UNTIMELY END

Wednesday, December 11, 2019

Writer Wednesday: Week Thirty-six




Hey, everyone, and welcome to Week Thirty-six of Writer Wednesday! I hope everyone's well. I'm running a bit behind, but at least I'm getting it done. Ha! Now, if I could muster the effort to hit my big W.I.P.s.

This week's featured author is pretty well known in the indie Romance community, at least the part of the community I see. She stands up for indie authors and has even started her own independent publishing company for Historical, Medieval, and Contemporary Romance books.

The featured author for Week Thirty-six is Suzan Tisdale. You can find out more about her, her works, and her publishing company below.


Suzan's Facebook Author Page

Suzan's Twitter

Suzan's Website

Suzan's Amazon Author Page

Glenfinnan Publishing's Facebook Page

Glenfinnan Publishing's Twitter

Glenfinnan Publishing's Website



This has been Week Thirty-six. I hope to see you all again next week. Remember, support indie authors, and, please, leave reviews for their work. ♥

Saturday, December 7, 2019

Short Story Saturday: Tapioca





Tapioca



Joanie looks across the table at me like I’ve lost my mind. Her bottom jaw hangs slack, and I can see where her back molars on the bottom are missing, leaving me to wonder how I’d not noticed their absence before.
“What? I don’t understand why you guys are even trying. It’s just my opinion until we know what’s going on, where we’re going to end up, that no one should be trying to get pregnant. Don’t look at me like that! We’re on a fucking alien spaceship, for fuck’s sake!” I shove a spoonful of the grey gruel that fills the bowl in front of me into my mouth. It’s not bad, but it’s also not good. It’s got this weird, oily film that coats your mouth and everything else it touches, and it has little squishy-like balls similar to tapioca. Gross! You get hungry enough, you’ll eat just about anything, including whatever the hell it is these squid things give us to eat. But, I can’t stand tapioca, so I pick and spit out the little blobs of disgustingness to dispose of them in the closest possible receptacle as soon as I can.
Before we went our separate ways on Earth, my brother called the aliens Squiddies. Part of me wishes I stayed back there with him, and I wonder for a moment what he’s up to before I brush the thought aside. He was always private in that scary, keep-to-yourself-psycho kind of way, but at least I never had to go on the news and say, “He was the quiet type. Kept to himself, really.” But he was right about the aliens, they do look like squids—not that I’d call them Squiddies or even Space Squids to their faces. They insist we call them friends; I don’t know that I could honestly call them that, though.
“You’re serious, aren’t you, Betty?” Joanie’s lips wrap around the spoon she holds, and then she slowly pulls it from her mouth, causing my breath to hitch and pulse to quicken. “This is our life now. There’s no going back. You saw what Earth had become. You couldn’t even see land or water through the thick layer of black smog when we made it into orbit. It was so much worse than the government made it seem. We were going to die there, and people were still reproducing. How is this worse? They’re taking us to a new home. We are meant to procreate. They wouldn’t have saved us if they wanted us to die. Would they have?”
A heavy laugh sounds behind me, and the tall, ginger-haired man it came from rounds the table, sliding in beside Joanie. “Or we merely saw what they wanted us to see. What do you think, Bet? They got beaks hiding in those tentacles?”
“That’s not nice, Travis! They saved us!” Joanie seems to struggle to keep her voice at a low level.
“Well, Travy,” I sneer at him, “it would only make sense. They do share pretty much all the other characteristics as the squids we have on Earth.”
“They’re not squids. Just because they look . . . weird, doesn’t mean we can’t trust them,” Joanie says under her breath and glances around.
“Let’s not forget, they call themselves Decaphaliods. Anyone who knows their shit, knows ‘deca’ for Decapodiformes the suborder of cephalopods, where the ‘phal’ comes from. They knew they looked like the squids from Earth, and they took the scientific name and class for those creatures and smashed them together to make a fancy sounding name to call them. I’d guess, they’d been studying us humans for some time . . . just waiting to make their move. I’m with Bet, Joanie, I don’t trust them.”
“See, Joanie,” I say and bite back the bile caused by what’s to follow, “as much as I hate Travy here, we’re on the same page. So, are you sure you want to bring a child into this setting?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Bet baby. Don’t be changing my honey’s mind. She wants a kid, I’m going to give it to her,” Travis says and smirks.
“You’re only worried about getting laid, and now since there’s no reason to have your nose in a book, you’ve got time to do so. It’s just sad that, out of everybody, Joanie chose you to collect sperm from. It’ll only be a matter of time before she comes crawling back to me, begging for a real fuck.” Irritated, I shove my chair back and stand. I grab my bowl and take it to the bin for dirty dishes. It’s still nearly full, but I’ve lost my appetite—well, what appetite I had—so I toss it as it is into the bin and walk to my quarters.

***

“I guess Travy’s rancid little swimmers stuck then, huh?” I asked. It’s been nearly a month since we really talked to one another.
“Doc’s pretty sure, yeah, but apparently they weren’t allowed to bring any medical equipment, so he said it could just be a bug.” Joanie fiddles with a cloth in her hand she’s been using to wipe her mouth with.
“I’d like to think it’s just a bug, and it is pretty early for morning sickness, I would think. Ugh, Joanie,” I cringe, “how can you let him touch you? Is having a kid so important to you that you’d risk intercourse with a complete and utter asshole?”
“He’s not all that bad.” She takes my hand in hers. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Betty. You gotta believe me that I never, ever meant to hurt you, but things change. The fact that we’re on a ship with beings not from our planet and going to a completely different one to live better lives is proof that things change. That’s how life is.”
I pull my hand away, fighting to control my anger. “Yeah, don’t worry about it, Joanie. I mean, you’re the only reason I’m here on this ship with these freaky fucking squid things, but you didn’t mean to hurt me! You never even mentioned wanting kids the entire time we were together. Four years and not a peep about it, so you can imagine my surprise when two weeks after hopping aboard Star Ship Squiddie to be with you, you leave me for the ginger prick to go try to have a kid.”
Joanie’s left hand flies to her mouth, and she stands abruptly. Her eyes are glassy and shining with unshed tears, and I can see she wants to say something, to respond in some way, but her cheeks are puffed with what I can only assume is vomit. As she turns and runs, I see just how baggy her clothes fit.
Maybe it is a bug, I think to myself. If not, she should probably ask if losing so much weight is safe for the fetus.

***

It’s been three weeks since I saw Joanie. I miss seeing her. Travis is also been avoiding me. I look around the dining room, noting that there are a lot fewer people than normal.
I turn in my chair, look at a man with sharp, hard features and dark hair, and ask, “Where the hell is everyone?”
He grunts and clears his throat. “Lotta folks been sick. I heard some have even died.” He rubs at his eye, then scratches his chin. “Not sure if the last bit’s true. I haven’t really looked into it. Wonder what they do with the bodies if it is true. I haven’t seen any.”
I need a second to take in what he’s said. I don’t even respond before I jump up and rush toward the last room that I knew Joanie was staying. Before I can reach the room, I run right into one of the things that supposedly saved us from our dying planet.
“Please do slow down,” it says in it odd, even tone. I’ve never figured out where their voices come from, whether they’re actually speaking the word or projecting them directly into our brains. “There is no need to move about so quickly. There is nowhere to go but here.”
I notice that it’s using one of its tentacle arms to rub a grey substance over its body. The substance looks strangely like the stuff they feed us, only without the little, squishy balls. I shudder at the resemblance.
“Sorry. Just going to see a friend.” I maneuver around the squid and continue on.
I make it to Travis’ door and pound on it with everything I have in me. Several minutes pass by with a few more bashes from my fist. I try the door, but it’s locked.
“Joanie! Are you in there? God damn it. Travis, where are you guys at?” I hit the door three more times with no result, so I turn around and begin walking away.
I hear a click behind me, and then the sound of a door sliding open.
“Bet,” Travis says, his voice strangled and strained.
I swing around and face him. His clothes are baggy, worse than Joanie’s were the last time I saw her. But it’s not just his clothes, his skin is baggy too, and it has a sickly grey pallor.
“Sweet balls of Aphrodite, Travis. You look like shit, but I’m actually glad to see you. Where’s Joanie? I need to know she’s okay. There are rumors about people dying,” I say, hoping he only looks worse than he is.
I watch as his cheeks pull in and then push away from his teeth, and then he swallows. It’s like he’s working to moisten his mouth. “Joanie’s—” he coughs a couple times and clears his throat, and I hold my breath, waiting to hear the worst, “—Joanie’s in bed. She isn’t well. She’s worse than I am.”
I push past him, nearly knocking him over. Something in my panicked mind has enough decency to have me mutter, “Sorry.”
“Yeah, sure. No problem,” he says and coughs again. “Come on in.”
I ignore him and rush to the side of the bed where Joanie lies. Her skin is devoid of color, and its greyish hue makes her look like a corpse. It also hangs loosely. In a matter of a few weeks, it’s as if her muscle and fat have shriveled away to near nonexistence.
“What the fuck, Joanie? What the hell’s happened to you?” I manage to say.
Her eyes open minutely, but she doesn’t say anything. It’s only at that moment, I see how dry her lips are. She tries to smile, and the fact that her teeth are no longer there is startlingly apparent.
A movement draws my attention her shoulder, but as I focus, there’s nothing there. I put it off as a side effect of the moisture filling my eyes. I hear a shuffle and look up to see Travis finally making it over to the bed. He sits on the corner.
“She hasn’t said anything in days, and I haven’t been able to get her to eat in a week,” he says, and then rubs at his chest with his hand. He grabs a glass from the bedside table and drinks heavily.
“How did you let her get so bad?” I control myself enough not to screech it at him.
“The doc said there’s nothing he can do, that he’s never seen anything like what’s been going around. Said we just need to ride it out and hope for the best.” He shakes his head.
I try to keep the tears from spilling and running down my face. I wipe at them with my palm when I fail to keep them at bay. “Joanie, you hang in there. You stay with me. I love you. Please, I can’t lose you like this.”
I move the blanket to uncover her hand, and I grab ahold of it with my own. I gasp when I feel the hand has no structure. The fingers, hand, and forearm are pliable, bending and squishing like those goo-filled stress balls. Before I can let go, I feel several small movements under her skin. I jerk my hand away, and I stand, backing away.
“What the actual fuck, Travy? What’s wrong with her hand? Her arm?” I yell.
“I don’t know.”
I go to speak again, but Joanie’s breaths pick up. Her chest heaves as the air whistles and hisses as it leaves her body. I see where it looks like several things squirm under the skin in her neck, and I scream.
The next thing I know, several of the alien squid beings are sliding into the room. I have enough time to see Joanie still, her labored breaths halting, before one of the beings grabs me, pulling me out of the room. I feel a jab in my arm, and I’m plummeted into darkness.


***

I wake in a room, staring at a white ceiling and some kind of tubing hanging from it. My arms are strapped to the table I’m lying on. There’s a noise to my right, and I try to turn my head to look, but it’s secured in place.
“Ah, finally awake,” someone says. “Maybe you can clear something up for us? We have done test after test, and there is not any sign of egg implantation within your body. You are obviously eating or else you would have died of starvation long ago, so how is it there is not a single trace of egg or larvae in your system?”
“Who are you? And what are you talking about?” I shout and then struggle with my bindings. “Why the fuck am I tied down?”
“Just calm yourself,” the squid says as it comes into view above me. “Have you been eating?”
Giving up, I answer the thing. “Yes, but I pick out the tapioca. I couldn’t stand the shit on Earth. I sure as hell didn’t plan on eating it here.”
“Tapioca? What is that?” the squid asks.
“The squishy balls in the gruel.” I clench my teeth and suck in a raging breath as what it’s said clicks into place.
“Yes, that explains it.” It pauses, and once I’m about to speak up, it says, “If we let you out of here, are you going to eat all of the food provided to you?”
“Why the hell should I? It seems to me that a minute ago you implied it has some kind of eggs in it that implant themselves in our bodies.” My last memories resurface—Joanie’s shriveled body, her arm pliable as if it didn’t have bones, the movement under her sagging skin. “Oh, my god!” I gasp, fighting back the tears that force their way into my eyes. “Is that what’s wrong with the sick people. They’re not sick, are they?”
“Sick? No. But, unfortunately, they do not survive the process. A side effect we have not been able to fix,” the thing says as I watch it rub a layer of that grey slime on its top half, and I shudder, thinking that it probably is more than likely the same stuff they’ve been feeding us.
“Why did you take us away? Promise us a new home, a new life?” I say through clenched teeth.
“Your world was dying with you along with it. We saw your potential as incubators, but you must understand, not all of you will die. Most are going to make it to a new home where they will procreate. Only the finest specimens will be used for incubation. We want our offspring to have the best start possible, so we will give them the best food we can find. You have fallen in the first group of humans to continue the growth of our species. You should be honored.”
“Honored?” I laugh. “Oh yeah, sure. Honored to have been lied to, used, and . . . eaten from the inside out? Do I have that right? Is that why her arm felt like a sand-filled bag? Bones and all, huh?”
“Yes, sadly it is not a very pleasurable experience. Know that nothing goes to waste. Our young use everything within the body, only breaking through the skin when everything has been used.” It acts like what it’s said is the best news in the universe.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better about essentially being eaten by maggots with tentacles? Because it doesn’t. I knew you things were weird and disgusting, so I don’t know why I didn’t figure you to be damned parasites.”
If it’s offended, I can’t tell. Hell, I’m not sure if these things have emotions. Motion catches my eye, and I focus to the hose thing that hangs above me. One of the Squid’s tentacles is wrapped around it and pulling it down toward me. In my peripheral, I can see another of its tentacles move and what I assume is the other end of the hose. It looks like the thing is connecting it to itself.
“Wait! What are you doing?”
“If you cannot cooperate, if you insist on resisting, then we must force feed you. We are running out of time, as we plan to move the second group onto this ship, shortly. None of the first group can be present when this happens. We do not want things to be more difficult than they need to be,” it says, moving the hose closer to my face.
“I need to know something. Why, if your species was just planning to use us to house your larvae, did you leave behind so many? Why did you weed out those you deemed unworthy if you were just going to kill us?” I ask, unsure of why exactly but wanting an answer, nevertheless.
“Ah, our young take on traits from their hosts. While you may find our actions monstrous, we are merely trying to survive, so we are doing what needs to be done. But traits such as urges to kill your own kind or to molest little ones or rape those we find weak in our kind or to take advantage of others to the point their lives are miserable . . . those are traits we do not wish to pass on to our young. So, we left behind the humans who held higher levels of what we felt were bad traits,” it answers me.
“I should’ve stayed with my brother,” I say.
“If it makes you feel better, he will die too. The planet may heal, but the people left, they will be far more dangerous, wanting to feed their cravings. Most may starve at some point. You humans were far too dependent on corporations to provide you with food to buy. Very few of your kind would know how to survive, needing to hunt and forage. Your brother may outlive you in years, but, yes, he too will die as you would have, had you stayed.” I see it slather on more of the grey substance on its long body . . . head . . . I’m not even sure I care anymore.
Something drips on my face, next to my mouth. I cringe and look at the hose dangling above me. A slick looking, oily drop of grey dangles from the hose. Looking past it and toward where the hose meets the ceiling, I see where the clear tubing is filling with the grey substance. Then a tentacle settles on my chin, pulling my bottom jaw down and opening my mouth. Another tentacle wraps around the hose.
“Now, this will be easier if you don’t fight it,” it says as it feeds the tubing into my mouth and pushes it into my throat. “Just let it in. Try to swallow. The goal is to get it down to your stomach. We want the deposit to be direct.”
I gag, feeling the oily residue coat my throat, making the tube slide just a little easier than if it were dry. I force myself not to swallow, willing it not to go any further. I hoped to wake up from this horrible nightmare that had become my life, but I knew it was all too real. I feel the tears rolling from my eyes and down my cheek. My stomach clenches and my throat tries to wretch to expel the invading tube that has triggered my gag reflex, but it is to no avail.
The Squid quits pushing on the hose, and I can feel that it has made it to its proper destination as my stomach begins to fill. It isn’t just that my stomach was filling, I could feel movement. Small, tiny, quick spurts of movement.
“You should not have to suffer long. And the process will go much more quickly for you as you are getting a direct infusion of freshly hatched young. You see, we have the ability to have live young or eggs. We laid eggs to feed your kind, which was given in lower doses. So, it takes longer that way. The eggs need to accumulate to a decent number before hatching, but with you, I can fill you directly with as many as I can, and they can start to consume you and grow immediately. It should only be a few of your planet’s hours before you lose active consciousness. You will still be awake, but you will not be aware. I believe your kind would refer to the term vegetable. Your body will die within a day or two, which should fall right in the timeline we need it to.”
I try not to listen to it. I try to ignore the tube down my throat, the tears falling from my eyes, and the painful expansion within my stomach. I didn’t know how painful it could be to fill your stomach beyond its ability. I feel it stretching to accommodate. I try to scream as something pops inside my body. I can see my abdomen being inflated upward and outward.
The thought that this thing, this Squid has to see what’s going on, crosses my mind, but it doesn’t seem to realize. The pain becomes unbearable. My vision goes black as I feel liquid run down to my breast from my stomach and a searing pain shoots through me.
“Oh, it seems I miscalculated. Sorry about that. I’m afraid we will have to close that up,” the Squid says.
Its voice sounds far away. The last thing I register is the tube being pulled from my throat.

Tuesday, December 3, 2019

Writer Wednesday: Week Thirty-five



Hey, everyone! Anyone miss me? 😆😆 I've been a slacker. Nah, actually I wasn't at home much last week. Just needed to get some time away. Well, I have been a slacker when it comes to Saturday posts. Speaking of, I plan to have at least one guest author for upcoming Short Story Saturday posts.

So, here we are Week Thirty-five of Writer Wednesday! This week's post is brief.

Susan Saltos is the featured author for week thirty-five. While she published her first book, The Chosen Path, back in 2004, to my knowledge, it's no longer available for purchase. But you can find Susan's work on Wattpad. Susan is a terrific author, so being able to read her work for free is mind-blowing. So go check her books out and show her some love!



Susan Saltos' Wattpad Profile


Remember to support indie authors—like, share, review, comment, etc; just give your authors some love and show them they're appreciated!

Tuesday, November 19, 2019

Writer Wednesday: Week Thirty-four



Welcome to Week Thirty-four of Writer Wednesday.


This week's featured author is John Rice. You can find him and his works at the links below.



Keeper of the Sword Facebook Page

John Rice's Amazon Author Page

John Rice's Blog



Thanks for joining me this week for another Writer Wednesday. I hope you all come back to check out next week's featured author. Remember, show an author some love, leave a review! ♥

Friday, November 15, 2019

Snippet Saturday: 'Sip and Spark' a snippet from Becoming



An awareness that he was moving woke William. Though, he didn't open his eyes until whatever he laid on jostled and jolted to a stop. His lids popped open, but the darkness about him was nearly as black as it had been with his eyes closed.

He felt around. Straw and leaves met his fingertips first, then they touched something harder, firmer. His guess was wood. He quickly took in the area with his hands. It seemed he was in some kind of wooden box, but the box didn't have a lid. He sent a quick 'Thank you' to the heavens for that.

“Damned hole,” he heard Petra's voice say right before the side of the box lifted, making him lean into the opposite side.

The box moved forward, and a familiar squeak met William’s ears. He immediately knew that he was in the old wagon from the house. The one the donkey used to pull behind it. Well, before the donkey died. They had ended up eating the meat from the animal, though it didn't have much meat to give. William was certain the donkey had starved to death. But losing it had made things that much harder on his family.

“You could have gotten out. Yes, I know that you are awake,” Petra said to him, pulling him from his thoughts.

“Sorry, ma'am,” he said. A pounding in his head and a twisting in his gut began in the moment he chose to speak. “Oh, I don't feel so well.”

“Don't call me ma'am. You use my name. That is the reason I gave it to you.”

The smell of the drink she had given him earlier tickled his nostrils. The sound of something clacking was followed by a small spark and a flame came to life at the end of a torch. Light bathed Petra and her outstretched arm. In her hand, a bottle.

“That lit faster than I thought it would. Here, take a sip. Not too much or you'll end back up in the same situation you're in now. I knew you had more than you should have earlier.”

William shook his head. “Thank you, but no.”

“Just take it. A small sip and you will feel better shortly.” She pushed the bottle into his hand, and he took it, though he'd rather not.

Bringing the bottle to his lips, he tilted it back and let a thimbleful amount coat his tongue. He handed it back to Petra while swallowing the foul liquid. It burned as it did before, and he coughed as it settled into his stomach.

“What is it?” he said. His nose wrinkled at the returning aftertaste of rotten blueberries and apples.

“Wine. Or it's supposed to be. I've had worse, but this is a new recipe a friend's working on. While it's not great, it does the job.” She waved the torch a second. “It seems to be a fine fuel, too,” she finished with a small laugh.

William's mind drifted to the last thing he'd thought he heard Petra say before he'd fallen asleep. He wanted to ask what she meant by I am the beast. He didn't believe that she meant it in the literal sense. That stuff was just stories.

Wednesday, November 13, 2019

Writer Wednesday: Week Thirty-three




Hello and welcome to Week Thirty-Three of Writer Wednesday. How's everyone? Well, I hope. Me, it's been another long week of just going through the motions. Not much in the way of writing or the like, unfortunately. Eh, c'est la vie, right?

This week's featured author is S.I. Hayes. Hayes has tons of books available, ranging from Paranormal Drama to Erotic Romance. She also co-writes with J Haney and does promotion and cover work with Haney. You can find S.I. Hayes, her works, and promotional website and pages below.

S.I. Hayes Facebook Author Page

S.I. Hayes Amazon Author Page

J Haney & SI Hayes Facebook Author Page

Haney Hayes Promotions Facebook Page

Haney Hayes Promotions Website


Thanks for joining me this week for Writer Wednesday! I hope to see everyone again next week. Remember to support indie authors—buy their works, avoid pirate sites, share their works with friends and family (anyone and everyone), and most importantly, please, leave reviews. Reviews matter, and they mean a ton to authors like me, the ones that have been featured here for Writer Wednesday, and all other indie and small press authors.

Tuesday, November 5, 2019

Writer Wednesday: Week Thirty-two




It's Week Thirty-two of Writer Wednesday. Hope everyone had a safe Halloween last week. I, myself, well, I've been rather tired. Not sure why. Eh, could be the time change. Who knows?

This week's featured author is pretty big, being an NYT and USA Today bestseller. She's got a gazillion—yes, I'm exaggerating, but there are a lot—books available, so I'm just giving you the major links. Oh, I forgot to say who it is, didn't I? This week's featured author is Melissa Foster, and I'm also including her alter ego Addison Cole. Melissa's a Romance writer, and while her alter, Addison Cole, writes Romance too, Melissa's Romance is more 'adult' and Addison's is 'sweet'. So, go on, follow the links and check out Melissa and Addison's work.


Melissa Foster's Facebook Author Page

Melissa Foster's Website

Melissa Foster's Amazon Author Page

Addison Cole's Facebook Author Page

Addison Cole's Website

Addison Cole's Amazon Author Page



Thanks for joining me this week. I hope to see you all again next week for another Writer Wednesday. Remember to support your favorite authors by leaving them reviews for their work.

Saturday, November 2, 2019

Short Story Saturday: Remains



REMAINS


The world was ending, so I don’t really blame everyone for leaving with the Space Squids when they came to Earth and offered a new planet to live on. They’ll probably just destroy that one too. It’s whatever, people fucking suck anyway. By what I could tell, the Space Squids weren’t so special, either, with their weird, soft bodies, tentacles, and strange pointy heads.

Yeah, I said tentacles. I don’t call ‘em Space Squids for fun. Besides the fact that they didn’t live in water, that’s pretty much what they were.

They did moisturize . . . a lot. Like all the time. It was kind of obscene, but that’s a story for a different time.

Like I was saying, the Space Squids, yeah, assholes. That’s what they were. Just as bad as all the humans they took. Maybe they ate everyone . . . well, one could only hope, but considering the fact that they left the ‘trash’ humans behind and they wanted to only take productive, non-criminal folks, I assume they weren’t planning to eat them. Unless us ‘trash’ humans taste bad. I’ll just keep thinking they ate everyone and be happy with the fact that they didn’t want my kind to go.

I still don’t see how I fit in with the others they left behind—The Remains the Squiddies called us. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad they didn’t throw me into the volcanoes like they did the leaders and politicians of the world. Oh, they made sure that shit was broadcasted on live television. You ask me, some of those fuckers got out too easily and quickly for the things they got away with.

What was I saying? Oh, yeah. Those Squiddies left me behind, saying murderers weren’t welcome on their planet. Blah, blah. Yeah, I’ve killed, but I’m no murderer. I deal out justice. I take out the ‘trash’ that they accused me of being. I tried to clean up the world and rid it of the people who were making it a bad place to live. Taking out people who destroyed nature for the hell of it, who killed for the enjoyment of it, who took pleasure from the touch of a child, and those who deemed themselves better than others, making sure the lives of those they found to be lesser than them was full of hardship, grief, and sorrow.

I’m not sure how many I had the pleasure of disposing of, but I know I didn’t stop after everyone left. I didn’t even have to do as much research once they were gone, so really, they did me a favor. They made my job easier.


***

Thomas looked around at his captors. Their hair in mudded clumps. Their round cherubic faces, holding expressions of anything but innocence. No, all of the children that surrounded him looked upon him like a wolf eyeing a rabbit it wished to have for dinner.

“You tell your lies. You act as if you were doing this world a favor, killing people you decided weren’t good enough to live. Who were you to judge when you killed our parents?” one of the oldest males visible within the group said, surprising Thomas for he’d not expected such feral-looking children to be able to speak so well.

“Well, I . . . uh, shit. I didn’t know there were children still left here. At least none old enough to have been around for the Great Departure. I thought they all went with the Squiddies. Who in their right mind would’ve kept their children here?”

“People who didn’t want to be separated from their families. People who knew that once the majority left, the planet would begin to heal. People who didn’t trust the aliens, and so they didn’t go, even if they were accepted to go to the new world,” said another of the eldest as she stepped forward.

A girl and boy, who looked so similar there was no mistaking that they were brother and sister, came closer to Thomas. They appeared to be about seven, meaning they were born sometime around The Great Departure, Thomas noted.

“We were five when you killed our father,” the little girl said.
“He was all we had. Our mom didn’t make it through having us,” the boy continued where his sister left off.

“We saw you. We watched from the brush. We saw what you did.” The girl grabbed her brother’s hand and squeezed.

“We watched as you broke his legs, making escape impossible. We listened as you listed his supposed crimes. We choked back our sobs, our cries, as you drew your knife across our father’s throat.” The boy straightened his posture, standing as tall as he could.

“Then, you left him there to rot. You walked away from him like he was nothing. What you did was wasteful. You kill but for what reason? There’s no purpose in what you do.” The girl had begun to tremble, but not in fear or grief. The girl’s body shook with rage, if Thomas was correct in his thinking.

“I would’ve never killed him or any of your parents had I known they’d had children that had no one else to care for them. Know this to be the truth. Know this, as I only wish to end the suffering, hate, greed, and filthiness in this world. Know that I only wish to make things better. I never meant to cause harm. I only wished to deal out justice.” Thomas wiggled his arms, struggling against the ropes that bound him.

“Justice! Justice! There’s no need for justice in a lawless land, sir. You have no authority. You are far worse than any criminal you believe you’ve dealt your justice to. For you think you are better than they were.” A girl, older than the rest, Thomas had not seen until that moment, walked over to him, clutching a knife in her dirt-covered hand.

“Now, just wait a second. What is it you’re planning on doing with that knife? How do you figure killing me makes you any better? It certainly won’t bring your folks back. Not that it appears you need them. The lot of you seemed to be doing just fine without them. Y’all have got to be some of the plumpest people I’ve seen in a while.”

“We do well with the gardens, and we have an excellent group of hunters. You met Ellie and Niro. They’re our absolute best. You’d agree, I’m certain, that they’d need to be top-notch to track and capture you. You who prides yourself on tracking and hunting people down. I assume as you’ve been up to these tricks since before the ‘Great Departure’, as you put it.” The teenage girl tapped him on the tip of his nose with her knife.

“Oh.” Thomas let his gaze focus more on the surrounding area. His eyes took a second to adjust to the darker places where they weren’t completely consumed by the shadows. Mounds of off-white caught his attention, and he stared at them until the bones, skulls, and other human remains became clear. “Oh! You little shits are cannibals!”

“Only when we have to be. We get more meat from a deer than we do most humans. So, unless we absolutely need the meat, we usually leave people alone, but when little Josiah and Penelope here saw you . . . when they recognized you for who you were, well, we couldn’t pass that up.”

Thomas struggled more with his bindings, not even bothering to hide his movements as he’d been doing. He squirmed. His shoulders jerking, and his body bucking, but he couldn’t get free. If anything, the ropes only became tighter on his wrists and around his waist.

“Now, Thomas—it is Thomas, right?” the elder girl with the knife said. When he didn’t answer, she continued, “What you don’t seem to get is, the more you fight your restraints, the more Little William back there will twist. And while we’ve yet to see it happen, you’d have a better chance getting loose after your hands pop off your wrists—well, like I said, we haven’t seen it yet, but I suppose it’s possible. That is, given you don’t pass out from the pressure on your abdomen first. So, by all means, keep trying to free yourself.”

A sinister smile spread across her face as several of the other worked to control fits of laughter.

“Quiet!” a male voice behind Thomas yelled. “Charlotte! Why must you play with your food? It doesn’t need to know why it’s dying. Just kill it and be done with your theatrics. I thought we were good for meat, anyway, so why the need to butcher more?”

“You’re probably right, Jonathan. We shouldn’t play with our food . . . but did you look to see who this is before you spoke?” the knife-wielding girl, Charlotte, said before turning away.

A tall man in his early twenties walked in front of Thomas. “Is this who I think it is?” He bent down, getting face to face with Thomas. “Why, yes. Yes, it is.”

“I assume I killed one of your parents too?” Thomas asked.

“Ah, but you killed both. My father before the aliens took everyone away, and then my mother two years after she’d decided to stay on this planet with the Remains. We were going to go, but when our group was called to board, she changed her mind because she had a bad feeling. I don’t know what happened to those who left, but I know what happened to my mom. And I remember what you told me when you dispatched her,” Jonathan said.

“But dear Thomas here just told us that he never would’ve killed someone had he knew they had kids to take care of. Didn’t you, friend?” Charlotte chortled, but Thomas was unable to see her past Jonathan’s tall frame.

“I wouldn’t have. I certainly wouldn’t have spoken to a child I was leaving an orphan,” he protested, knowing all too well the lies that left his mouth.

He remembered Jonathan. The boy was fifteen, maybe sixteen, when Thomas killed his mother. He’d followed her from a rundown pharmacy, where he’d seen her take dozens of prescription bottles. It was only later that he’d found they were only antibiotics.

“Don’t follow in her footsteps, boy, or I’ll come back for you.” Jonathan’s words echoed the ones that ran through Thomas’ mind. The young man’s voice bringing him back to the present. “Yeah, I see it in your face. You remember. What you might not know is, the antibiotics that you killed my mom for taking, they were for my little sister. She was four. She’d gotten a cut on her foot, and it was infected. Without my mom, without those antibiotics . . . well, it got worse. Gangrene set in. By the time I found help, even the amputation of her leg didn’t save her. I had to watch her die, all because you thought my mom was a fucking junkie.”

“I didn’t know.” Thomas tried to look disgusted with himself, but somewhere along the way, he’d lost his morals, his reasoning, and he’d began killing people for the enjoyment of it. The one kid was right about it being a lawless land, and Thomas had taken advantage of that, but he’d felt far from guilty about it. He’d felt powerful . . . well, until a group of filthy, parentless kids captured him and tied him up. He met the eyes of the one named Jonathan and said, “If you feel inclined to kill me for my crimes, might I have a request granted?”

Jonathan smirked. “Well, that would depend on what it is? If it’s a request not to eat you, as much as I’d rather not, we don’t waste what can sustain us. Had we still had pigs, you’d go to them, but the entire drove became diseased a while back and died. So, that request will be denied, but you can ask, and I’ll consider anything else.”

“Jonathan!” Charlotte screeched.

“He shouldn’t be given the dignity of a request,” the young boy sibling said.

“He didn’t give our father or your mother or any of the others’ parents time to speak, let alone a request,” his sister sounded, barely letting her brother’s words end.

A mass of murmurs and angry words flew about the night air. Thomas stopped himself from smiling for the commotion he’d caused. The ropes twisted more, tightening further at his wrists and around his lower chest.

“Silence!” Jonathan bellowed. “I said the man could ask. Now, let’s let him say his, and we will decide if it will be granted. Thomas, what is it you want?”

Thomas cleared his throat, struggling to breathe with the tightened ropes around him. He wondered if Little William was trying to hurry the job along without the others knowing. “Would it be too much to ask for the ropes to be taken off? I know that most, if not all, of you feel I did your folks wrong, but I ask for just that bit of dignity and compassion.”

Jonathan took a second, giving a brief hmm. As he opened his mouth to say his answer, a mass scream sounded, and Thomas was overwhelmed by bodies hitting him from every direction.

“I’d say that’s a no, Thomas,” Jonathan shouted.

Thomas barely made out the words over the cries of the kids and the ripping sounds from his clothing being torn off him. They were scratching and clawing at his flesh, and it only dawned on him when he felt their teeth biting into his flesh and breaking the skin, they’d planned on starting their feast while his heart was still beating.

“Yep! Definitely a no!” Jonathan’s words sounded so far away. A moment later, his face hovered over Thomas’. “Come on guys, at least make sure it’s dead first. We’re not complete animals.”

Thomas got a brief glimpse of the hammer before it smashed into his face, ending the searing pain he felt as his flesh was ripped from his body.