Writer Wednesday: Week Fifty-nine

Hey, everyone! It's Week Fifty-nine of Writer Wednesday. How's everyone doing? Keeping safe, I hope. We're getting to the last couple of these posts, and I still haven't started up the Monday blogs. Things went haywire when I needed to get a new laptop, so plans got put on hold. Now, I just don't know what's going on.


This week's featured author is Mike Cooley. I met Mike in the Writers, Poets, and Deviants group. Mike writes Sci-fi and Fantasy. You can find his works listed below.


Mike's Amazon Author Page

Books:

The Spiral

Crystal Warrior (Legend of the Crystals Book 1)

Crystal Origin (Legend of the Crystals Book 2)

Crystal Legacy (Legend of the Crystals Book 3)

Crystal Fire: Legend of the Crystals

Legend of the Crystals Omnibus

Rockets and Robots

Harry Ballsack and the Quid Witch Caper

Butterfly Walls

Dead Matter

The Revenge Collector

Bryn Morrow

Eater of Eyes

Don't Be a Dick (Advice for Writers)

How to Keep Sparkly Emo Vampires Off Your Lawn

She Stands at the Precipice

Skin of Giants

Alpha Male: Book 1



Thanks for joining me this week! I hope to see you next week for the possible, very last edition of Writer Wednesday. Stay safe, and remember, support indie authors by purchasing their work legitimately and leaving reviews for them.

Snippet Saturday: Love Made Them an excerpt from Halfborn

Love Made Them

an excerpt from Halfborn

by Soleil Daniels

"So, Wraiths are basically executioners. Is there really much more I need to know about them?" I asked.

"You should learn how to avoid them. And, how you learn that is by learning about them. You're making them out to be all bad because of your experience, but they came about by an act of love."

I tried to put my personal feelings aside. I picked up and drained my glass of its blood. The thick liquid left on the inside walls slowly slid down back to the bottom as I reached for the pitcher, so I could refill the glass. I filled it then turned to Marshall who had an eyebrow cocked at me. I assumed at the fact that I usually only had one glassful.

"Do you need any more?"

He grabbed his glass and held it in my direction, eager. "Yeah."

I filled his glass and set the pitcher back on the table. I'd managed to collect my thoughts and composure by the time I turned back to Innocence.

"So, love; not revenge or hate or a dispute or jealousy or any other possibly negative thing made the first Wraith. I don't understand how love could have caused someone to kill their own kind," I finally said.

"Well, in all honesty, there are all of those things involved, but ultimately, isn't it love that undoes us all."

"Okay, I don't get it. First, you tell me that it happened because of love, but then you say it didn't." I heaved a breath of frustration.

"Maybe if you hear the story you'll understand."

Marshall sat by quietly. I could feel his interest seeping out of every pore of his body.

"What say you, Marshall? Would you like to hear the story?" Innocence asked him.

I looked to him, already knowing his answer, but he still gave me a look as if seeking my approval. I shook my head with a slight chuckle. I completely understood at that moment why Innocence called him Fido.

"Let's hear it," I said, turning back to her.

"Okay," she said, rubbing her hands together. "It all starts with a couple: Dyon and Ixora. Both Inborn. They had been together many years with Ixora giving birth to three children: two boys and a girl. One day Dyon met another woman, Apholenia, a human. He fell for her immediately, leaving Ixora and their children.

"Ixora became enraged. Jealous of Apholenia, she found where the new couple made their rest. Ixora grabbed the woman from the warm arms of her lover. When Apholenia realized what was happening she began to scream, and her screams woke Dyon. The moment Ixora knew Dyon was aware of what was happening, she bit Apholenia. It took two weeks for Apholenia to die from the venom of Ixora's bite.

"Dyon, distraught and unwilling to return to the mother of his children and the murderer of his lover, went to his brother, Xantheus. He told his brother what had happened. How he had wronged Ixora, but that he couldn't have denied what he felt in his heart. He told him that he no longer wanted to go on living. That Apholenia had been the other half of his soul, and he was no longer whole. He wished for death, begged for it. But, Xantheus refused to honor his younger brother's wishes." Innocence stopped for a minute, taking the time to refill her glass and taking a large swig from it.

"Wait, how does this explain how the first Wraith came about if he didn't kill his brother? Or did Dyon kill Ixora?" I asked, even though I'd learned she liked to build up the tension with her stories and stop abruptly before the dramatic ending, leaving one in anticipation.

"For someone that didn't want to learn any more about Wraiths, you sure are impatient to know how and why they came to be." She took another sip from her glass.

"Well, if you wouldn't just stop in the middle of a story maybe I wouldn't get impatient," I said.

Marshall laughed, causing me to look over at him. "I personally enjoy how Innocence tells stories. I like the need to know and it to be drawn out," he said.

"Yep. I knew you enjoyed torture," I retorted.

"It's not torture; it's excitement."

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, Marshall." I turned back to face Innocence. "So?"

"Jeesh! Okay, okay. Days went by, then weeks, and months. Xantheus could barely stand the pain in his brother's eyes. In his voice. Dyon refused to feed, and he turned into a mere shell of the person he used to. Xantheus battled with himself on which torment he could live with easier, taking the life of his brother or watching the misery of him day in and out. He finally decided that death would be a gift for Dyon and agreed to do his bidding. It was when Xantheus said the words to Dyon and a spark of happiness lit his eyes that Xantheus realized he'd made the right choice, for he'd not seen that much life in his brother for far too long. That was Dyon's gift to him. That split second of happiness.

"With his small stone blade in his left hand and much larger stone blade his right, Xantheus pierced Dyon's heart with the small blade and with more strength than he thought he could muster, took his head off with the larger blade. It was only when he'd made it to the lake—blood and tears covering his face—that he realized he had changed. Leaning over the water to wash his face, he saw his reflection in the shimmering surface, and the golden-yellow pattern of his eyes had changed to the silver-blue that the Wraiths have."

Hearing the details of how Xantheus had killed his brother left a flashback of my mother's death in my mind, which I pushed away with everything I had. I couldn't focus on moving forward if I couldn't get over the past.

"So, what happened to Xantheus?" Marshall asked.

"I'm not really sure. He wasn't really accepted after it was told how his eyes had changed, and he left the community. There aren't any stories of him after that. It took years for the next Wraith to become, and then even longer for Wraiths to be accepted as a Born breed. But, once truly accepted, which was after the Abominates came to be, they became staples in the Born community."

"So, you don't know if he's still around today?" Marshall piped up again.

I was still trying to process the story, and he wanted to know more.

"If he is he'd be at least ten-thousand years old. Even I can't imagine still wanting to live after that long. I suppose it's possible he's still out there, somewhere. I'd never really thought about it," Innocence answered, her voice sounding uninterested.

"Really. You never wanted to know what came of him?" he asked, pushing the subject.

"No, why would I? I have my own life. I don't need to know about someone who's millennia old," she said as if it made perfect sense, and I couldn't help but agree with it.

Marshall seemed defeated. He reached for his glass and finished it off. Innocence did the same. I looked at my own glass still three-quarters of the way full, regretting pouring the second one. Innocence stood and grabbed the two empty glasses and the pitcher that had been emptied without my noticing, placing them back on the tray.

"Okay, I'm going to take these back to the kitchen. I expect to see you two back in the workout room in five minutes. We've got a lot of work to do," she told us before walking to the back door and disappearing into the house.

I took a deep breath and released it slowly. I reached for the glass in front of me, but Marshall's hand stopped mine.

"If you can't finish it, I don't mind taking care of it for you."

"Yeah, I don't know what I was thinking. It's just not the same. I can't stand how it tastes. Thanks."

He finished off the blood in three huge gulps. "I'll take this to the kitchen. You go ahead and get to the room. Maybe you can get a few good hits in before Innocence shows up. Take care of that anger and confusion."

*I snagged this excerpt out of an old draft, so it might not be 100% the same as the published version. Speaking of the published version Halfborn (click to purchase) is free today (June 27, 2020).

Writer Wednesday: Week Fifty-eight

Hey, everybody! Wednesdays have been sneaking up on me lately. Maybe because the nephew's constantly here, maybe because my guy got his schedule switched and now has Wednesdays and Thursdays days off (you'd think that would make it easier to remember when Wednesday is, but really it just makes me think Wednesday is Saturday and Friday is Monday, and it's all weird), or maybe it's just a combination both of those and every other single thing going on. Is anyone else as mixed up as I am?

Who's ready for Week Fifty-eight? Here we go! This week's featured author for Writer Wednesday is Sean Kerr. I was introduced to Sean's work through Angelique Jurd's Facebook group Cocktails and Denim about a year or so ago. Angelique recommended Sean's book Alive to me. I was pretty hooked. It has similar aspects with my own writing—Dark Fantasy (his is more of a Gothic style though), sexy, graphic, and dark. What's different is it's M/M, which I love. Give me some guy on guy action any day. 😉🤤 Anyhoo, down to business. You can find Sean and his fantastic works at the following links below.


Sean's Facebook Author Page

Sean's Twitter

Sean's Website

Sean's Amazon Author Page


Books:

Dead Camp 1

Dead Camp 2

Dead Camp 3

Dead Camp 4: The End Game Part 1

Dead Camp 5: The End Game Part 2

The Last Child Part 1

The Last Child Part 2

The Last Child Part 3

Hush Little Baby

The Birthday Present

Joggers Hill

Santa's Sack

The One Ring Special Edition

Jingle My Bells: A Fruity Christmas Short Story

The Christmas Window: A Short, Naughty MM Christmas Story

The Man Inside Me: An MM Gothic Romance

Alive: An MM Dark Universe Book

Still Alive: A Dark Paranormal Romance

Being Alive: A Thrilling LGBT Mystery Romance Novel Brand New Release!



Thank you for joining me this week! I hope to see you all again next week. Remember, support indie authors and, please, leave reviews for their work.

Snippet Saturday: The Plan part 1 of To Save Lives

1. The Plan

"We're known as the worst of the worst. The putrid. The ones that should not be. The Abominates. But, what if we could help humans who'd thought they'd lost a loved one? What if we could help them keep the people they care so much for but fear they have lost to sickness and disease? Would they agree, even if it cost more than they could ever imagine?" Calvin mused, more so to himself, but he turned to make sure Daphne was paying attention.

"I'm not sure I'm following, Cal. How exactly do you mean 'help them keep the people they care so much for'?" Daphne shook her head, puzzled.

"We take the humans that are one step over the threshold of death and we transform them. We convince their families, their loved ones, to ask the hospitals to take them home and live their final days, maybe hours, there. We do this under the pretense that we can save them. We promise the families that there's no reason for the person to die."

"Why? What's the point? If it's to feed, I find the hassle seems far too much."

"An army, Daphne. A defense against our enemies. The Inborns. The Wraiths. We'll truly be transforming those who knock at death's door. We'll give those families their wish of more time. Though, I believe it won't be exactly what they'll expect," Calvin explained as if it made all the sense in the world.

"I don't know. There's something about it that doesn't fit. Building an army that way, well, don't you think that someone else would have already done it if it were possible. Besides the transformation being so difficult, to begin with, there has to be a reason why we've never heard of anything similar being done." Daphne walked across the room to Calvin and smoothed the crease that had formed between his eyes with her thumb.

He knocked her hand away. He'd lived nearly seventy-five years more than Daphne as an Abominate. Her blood-need had only been awakened eighteen years before that night. In a way, she was his sister as they had both been turned by the same Abominate, Petra, but Daphne was also his lover. He despised the fact that she would disagree with him. He'd had more experience, and unlike him, she'd never attempted to transition a Newling. He had two attempts under his belt. Both of which were failures, but he'd since then studied the history of the Abominates, the turning process, and he'd also gone to medical school, learning all he could about the human body and how it functioned. He used the knowledge he learned of both human and Abominates to devise a plan to make the transformation process easier and more successful. At least, that was his hope. Yet, Daphne doubted him.

"I see that you're angry with me, Cal, but all I'm saying is, we should at least talk to Petra or another of our kind before moving forward," she said, showing him just how little faith she had in him.

"Petra?" he said, the anger tainting his voice nearly tangible. "Petra! The beast who transitioned us and then left. Sure, I had a decade with her, but you? She dumped you on me when you were barely six months transformed. You were still a Newling. You were still in need of your creator. And, you want her to, what? Help with a plan I've spent twenty years devising. I think not! Besides, she's probably still chasing down that impossible creature. Determined to claim a mere Halfborn is more than what it truly is. She's lived too long, and she lost her mind centuries ago."

"I'm not trying to upset you, Calvin. I'm just not sure about this. Please, we should, at the very least, question another of our kind. What's a little more time—"

"No!" Calvin boomed. "I will do this whether you're by my side or not!" He turned and left the room, slamming the door hard enough that he'd heard the frame crack.

*Want to read the rest of the story? You can grab it in its entirety over on Amazon. Best part To Save Lives is currently free until the 22nd of June! Just follow the highlighted title to be directed to your local Amazon to purchase your free copy. Thanks! 

Writer Wednesday: Week Fifty-seven

Welcome to Week Fifty-seven of Writer Wednesday. I've been having issues with my WiFi, so this is going up late.

This week's featured author is another that I've recently met in my new Facebook group (Supporting Indies, Reaching Readers). He was also conveniently featured on S.L. Baron's Author Interview blog series, so links were easy for me to grab, considering my internet's been crap. Anyway, Week Fifty-seven's featured author is Jay Veloso Batista. You can find out more about him and his works below at the following links.


Jay's Facebook Author Page

Jay's Twitter

Jay's Website

Jay's Amazon Author Page


Books:

Thorfinn and the Witches Curse (The Forerunner Saga Book 1)

The Vardoger Boy (Forerunner Series Book 2)


Thanks for joining me this week for Writer Wednesday. I'll be back next week, as I have a couple more authors to feature before Writer Wednesdays fade out of existence. Remember, support indie authors and please leave reviews for their work.

Short Story Saturday: Alabama Dog Rot: A Creepy-Colin Escapade by Guest Author Paul Skelton

Alabama Dog Rot

(A Creepy-Colin Escapade) 

by Paul Skelton

   Desperate Dan (otherwise known as Daniel Eastwood) worked at Lather & Sons timber yard. He drove a bright red Ford Ranger and lived opposite the Gilby family, where sixteen-year-old Creepy-Colin lived. Colin had recently had his first sexual encounter with a neighbour, seventeen-year-old Jessica Wilson, and was now developing an unhealthy crush on thirty-five-year-old Janette Simpson, Desperate Dan’s live-in girlfriend. Colin employed various surveillance devices to witness her more private moments, when opportunity allowed. Opportunities were somewhat limited, as Colin was an apprentice at Lather's, and he was driven to work each day by Desperate Dan. His only opportunities occurred when Desperate Dan went to the pub and came home late at night, and Janette would (whilst he was out) perform her pampering activities, which, among other things, included shaving some very personal areas.

* * *

   'Gonna be away this weekend, Col'. I'm goin' to see a dog from a breeder down near the New Forest,' Desperate Dan confided on their way to the timber yard one morning. 'If you fancy earning some extra cash, I've got some gardening jobs 'round my place want doin' while I'm gone.'

   'Gardening’s not my thing, Mr. Eastwood.'

   'Okay, son, that's a shame. Janette can probably manage on her own, anyway.'

  Creepy-Colin had imagined Desperate Dan and Janette would be away for the weekend together. The fact that he had been mistaken in this assumption changed the incentives considerably. Creepy-Colin’s interest was now aroused, in more ways than one.

   'B-b-but, I could do with some extra cash actually, Mr. Eastwood, and if Janette’s there, she would be able to show me what wants doing and how to do it.' Colin then blushed, his pimple-ridden, oily skin became clammy and sweaty. 'I-I-I don't mean it,' (he did), 'I mean the work, er, the jobs, I mean.'

   'Hahaha, you crack me up, Colin, you really do. Hah hah. Yeh, she'll give you a hand.'

   WOW! thought Colin.

   'And I'll pay you thirty quid. There's a lawn to mow and a bit of hedge trimming,'

  'Trimming?' Colin nearly flipped, mentally picturing Janettes electric shaver in action.

   'And the weeds need a good seeing to.'

  Creepy-Colin needed “seeing to”, and when they reached the timber yard, he leapt from the Ford Ranger and made a dash for the Lather’s trade counter building where the toilets were situated.

   'You okay, son?' Desperate Dan called out as Colin sprinted across the yard to the toilets to deal with an uncomfortable problem, requiring instant gratification.

* * *

   Creepy-Colin saw Desperate Dan drive off at seven o'clock the following Saturday morning, and he decided to call on Janette a good half an hour earlier than planned.

   It's the early bird that catches the worm. He thought to himself, sniggering as he drenched himself in his Father’s favourite Diesel aftershave.

   Janette Simpson opened the door to Colin, clad in a short pink silk robe, which left little to the imagination. Creepy-Colin drooled.

   'Oh! Hi, Colin, you're early. Keen to get down to it, are you?'

   'Oh, God, yeh . . . ' He gulped, his eyes bulging. 'I mean, er, the gardening. Yeh, I like to make an early start.'

   'I'm impressed, Colin.' She smiled. 'I haven't showered yet, and I need to make myself decent, I do apologise.'

   Don't apologise. Thought Colin.

   'So, why don't you go through and fix us both a nice coffee while I get ready? The coffee’s in the percolator, the mugs are on the drainer, and, oh, there's some cream in the fridge.'

   Cream? Oh God! Colin thought, his head swimming, catching a glimpse of naked breast and nipple as Janette turned to go upstairs. Following her through the house, Creepy-Colin got another eyeful, “upskirt”, as she ascended the stairs.

* * *

   Janette sat down to her coffee, dressed in tight-fitting shorts and a loose, plaid shirt tied into a bow 'round her midriff. When they had finished the coffee, they set about the various tasks. Colin made much of “needing help” in order to be close to her as often as possible and peek down her open-necked shirt, noting that, on this hot day, Janette was bra-less. Colin worked hard though, mainly to impress Janette. They chatted amiably throughout the day, Colin trying to fit in as many compliments as possible, and Janette revealing that she may move out to get her own place soon, as she didn't want to share the house with a dog. She thought she would carry on seeing Desperate Dan but didn't imagine the relationship “going anywhere”. Eventually, the work was done, and Janette suggested that Creepy-Colin should take a shower before he went home.

   Colin undressed and stepped into the shower, hoping against hope . . .

   'You don't mind sharing, do you?' Janette purred as she slithered, naked, against Colin’s wet body in the hot shower.

   The fantasy ended abruptly when he heard Janette asking, 'have you come yet', and giggling from just outside of the door. He realised that she had been spying on him and what he was doing in the shower.

   She entered the bathroom fully clothed.

   'Sorry, Colin, I couldn't resist.' She sniggered. 'It's just that you've been so obvious all day. Really creepy, with those compliments, y'know? Bit pervy, Colin. Now hurry up, sort yourself out and get decent. I'm going out.'

   Creepy-Colin got decent and went home, deflated.

* * *

   Next day, Sunday, Colin got a call from Desperate Dan at around three in the afternoon, asking him to come over to collect his thirty pounds.

   'Ah, come in, Colin, and meet Lola.' Dan was beaming as they walked through to the kitchen where a grey and white puppy sat dozily on a dog blanket, 'There's Lola. She's half Greyhound, half Bearded Collie, only eleven weeks old. What do you think?'

   'Nice, Mr. Eastwood. She's a Lurcher then?'

   'That's right, Colin, she's a rough-coated Brindle dog. You know a bit about dogs then?'

   'Yeh, a bit. How much did you pay for her?'

   'Eh, don't worry. Here's your thirty quid.' Desperate Dan winked and handed over the cash. 'If you must know, I paid a hundred and fifty, not bad, eh?'

   'She's got some nasty sores, Mr. Eastwood.' Creepy-Colin was inspecting the dog closely.

   'Yeh, the breeder gave me some cream for those; look.' Dan picked up a jar from the Formica kitchen table and handed it to Colin who studied it meticulously. Colin then got his smartphone out and started browsing the internet.

   'What is it, Col'?' asked Dan.

   'Hang on a mo' . . . , she's very quiet, looks knackered. Has she vomited at all?'

   'Well, yeh she's tired, it was a long trip for her cooped up in my cab. She did puke a bit when we got back, probably travel-sickness.'

   'Appetite? Is she eating?'

   'Well, I put a bowl of food for her out as soon as we got back. She hasn't touched it yet, but . . .'

   'Alabama Dog Rot!'

   'Alabama what rot? Dog rot?'

   'Yep, reckon so,' Creepy-Colin said confidently. 'There's been no real clinical research, but the first cases affected Greyhounds in Alabama U.S.A. in the eighties. In the UK there's been about a hundred cases, most of them around the New Forest. The disease attacks the blood vessels, the kidneys, and affects renal movement. It's hard to treat and almost always fatal. Look, Mr. Eastwood.'

   Desperate Dan looked at the screen on Colin's smartphone, and he went deathly pale. He gulped a few times and then started ranting.

   'Right, I'll get her to a vet tomorrow. Meanwhile, I'm getting onto that bloody breeder. I'm gonna fuckin' kill 'im!'

   'No time for that, we've gotta act fast, Mr. Eastwood. If she's vomiting and not eating, it's advanced. The skin sores are already breaking. She's literally rotting away.'

   'What can we do, Colin?' Dan wailed and then started sobbing.

   'Not sure, but you stay here, have a drink or something. I'm off to get some stuff I've got, might help slow it down. Then tomorrow you can get down the vet's.'

   Creepy-Colin dashed home, and once in his room, started fetching bottles of various liquids from under his bed. He then started mixing them together, carefully examining the results each time he added something to the concoction. Finally, he filled some syringes with the formula and rushed back to Desperate Dan.

* * *

   Dan didn't show up at work for the next five days, he was taking some unpaid leave to attend to Lola. The following Saturday, Creepy-Colin was supping a pint of Coors that Desperate Dan had bought for him at the Rose and Crown public house.

   'Cheers, Col.' Dan raised his glass of Newcastle Brown. 'Yep, thanks to you, mate, Lola’s okay. The vet didn't have a scooby-doo, just offered me more skin cream. So I got her home and hoped for the best. I did administer another injection, as you suggested. Now, she's eating me out of house and home, and energy? Blimey, I've never known a dog like it. You should see how fast she can run when I take her down the park.'

   'She's grown a lot, hasn't she?' Colin was stroking Lola under the pub table.

   'Yeh, you wouldn't believe it's the same dog, would you? Drink up, Colin, I'll get you another.'

   After two more drinks they left the pub, and Lola, loping beside them, was now the size of a mature Great Dane. She stood thirty inches in height and weighed in at nearly one hundred and sixty pounds. Desperate Dan should have been worried.

* * *

   Creepy-Colin didn't fire up his computer to spy on Janette Simpson that night, as he knew she had moved out. He would miss her. He got ready for bed and settled down to look up breeds of dog, in particular, larger breeds. He was concerned by Lola’s sudden growth spurt, even if Daniel Eastwood wasn't. Then his mobile rang.

   'Hello?'

   'Hi, Colin, it's Janette. Look, I know it's late, but I want to apologise for making fun of you last weekend. I want to make it up to you. I've got my own flat, now, all to myself, and I'm home alone wearing my silk robe, the one you saw me in last week. Nothing underneath, Colin.' She spoke softly and sensuously. 'Come over, babe, and do a bit of gardening with me, yeh?'

   Colin stared at his phone, open-mouthed, instantly getting a hard-on, and momentarily couldn't think what to say. Then he decided to follow his instincts.   'What kind of fool do you take me for, Janette? You can't do gardening in a flat.  There's no garden. I wasn't born yesterday. Huh!' And with that, he terminated the call without waiting for an answer. Then he turned his phone off.

   Janette stared at her phone and threw it across the room in temper. Then she slid out of her robe, feeling rejected, and resorted to pleasuring herself. She was too far away from Desperate Dan’s house to hear the howling and screaming. But Creepy-Colin wasn't, and on hearing the commotion, he peeked outside. He saw Lola on Desperate Dan’s front lawn tearing him to pieces, throwing him around like a rag-doll. Creepy Colin wasn't the only neighbour dialing “999” at that point.

   Lola’s body lay dead on the front lawn, and to Colin, looked even bigger than he noticed at the pub earlier. The hide had large slits and splits in it, as if the animal had literally grown faster on the inside than the skin on the outside could keep up with. It had taken several gunshots from the Police vet before Lola went down, and Paramedics arrived to retrieve what was left of Desperate Dan.

   'You Colin Gilby?' the Police Constable asked, and Colin nodded in affirmation. 'And you work with Mr. Eastwood, I believe. Do you know anything about his dog?'

   'Bought Lola a few days ago in the New Forest. She got sick, and he took it to the vet. Alabama Dog Rot, I think. They gave him some cream.' Colin shrugged.' That's all I know.'

   'Thanks, son, never heard of Alabama Dog Rot. Vet should know what it is.'

* * *

THE END

Writer Wednesday: Week Fifty-six

Hey, everyone! Welcome to Writer Wednesday: Week Fifty-six. This week's author is a new acquaintance, whom I met in my Facebook Group (Supporting Indies, Reaching Readers). Let's get to it, and see who this author is.

Week Fifty-Six's featured author is L. L. Thomsen. She writes Epic Fantasy and has a decent amount of available works on Amazon. You can find out more about L. L. Thomsen and her works at the following links below.


L. L. Thomsen's Facebook Author Page

L. L. Thomsen's Twitter

L. L. Thomsen's Website

L. L. Thomsen's Amazon Author Page


Books:

The Missing Shield, Part 1 (The Veil Keepers Quest)

A Change of Rules: The Missing Shield, Episode 1

Unexpected Bargain: The Missing Shield, Episode 2

A Perspective of Death: The Missing Shield, Episode 3

Running the Gauntlet: The Missing Shield, Episode 4

Notions of Risk: The Missing Shield, Episode 5

The Final Card: The Missing Shield, Episode 6

The Lure of an Ancient Fable: The Missing Shield, Episode 7

All in a Day's Work: The Missing Shield, Episode 8



Thanks for joining me this week! I hope to see you all again next week. Remember to support indie authors by purchasing their work from legitimate distributors and always leave reviews for their work.

Short Story Saturday: Rabid Dog: A Creepy-Colin Escapade by Guest Author Paul Skelton

Rabid Dog

(A Creepy- Colin escapade)

“I'm  a sick dog, a slavering canine,

My brains inflamed, come and be mine,

I got it viral, I got me a fever,

Come and taste my saliva, girrrrrl.”

“Coz, I'm a dog, a rabid dog, I'm a dog, a rabid dog,

I'm a dyin' breed doncha wanna snog,

With a rabid dog, a rabid dog like me?”

   The punk rock song blasted out from Jessica Wilson's boombox.

  'What vile lyrics, Jessica, who are they Slipknot?' Mrs. Sandra Wilson enquired of her sixteen-year-old daughter.

  'Uh? Mum, you're so lame. Slipknot? God, they're, like, so pre-historic,' Jessica spat back.

  'They sound a bit like them. Sorry, I'm sure. So you're out with Colin Gilby tonight, are you?'

   'Yeh , and?'

   'Just so's I know who you're with and . . .'

  'Yeh? Well, like, we're gonna go down the graveyard and have sex with dead bodies, coz Col’s well into necky feel ya,' Jessica said sarcastically. 'But I'll be in before eleven.'

  'Haha, it's necrophilia if you must take the piss, daughter of mine. Where are you really off to?'

  'Actually, Mum,' now more friendly, 'Col's got tickets for “Rabid Dog” at the Wagons. Says they include a backstage meet and greet with the band after.' Clearly Jessica was excited.

  'Well, watch that Colin, he gives me the creeps. Pete reckons it was him took some of my lingerie off the washing line.'

  'Mum! I'm not stupid, Colin is a creep. He won't get my knickers off. Pah! I'm just stringing him along to get gig tickets, ain't I? Huh!'

   'And this meet and greet business, Jess, what's that about? In my day, it was . . .'

   'I know, I know what it was in your day mother. That's how you met my real Dad, blah blah blah. So, I was a Rock n' Roll baby, so what? Col thinks it's cool, being Ralph Stocker’s illegitimate daughter. I ain't ashamed.'

   Mrs. Wilson blushed. 'No, what I meant was . . .'

  'It just means you get to, like, meet 'em, chat with 'em, maybe have a drink. I'll be with others, Mum. It's proper safe, everyone does it. God, you're so . . . so . . . oh I dunno . . . pot calling kettle black.'

   'Ok. Well, I'm not going to say you were an accident. It's just that I would rather have had you in other circumstances, that's all, and I'm just concerned that there might be drugs. I love you, Jess, and I want you to be careful and be safe, that's all.'

   'Yeh, whatever,' yawning, 'I'll be safe, and I'll be in by midnight.'

* * *

   'So, girrl, liked our show, did ya?' Connor Bryant, lead singer with Rabid Dog leered.

   'Oh yeh, like, WOW!' gushed Jessica.

  'Connor, what tuning do you use on “Snotty Little Creep”?' enquired Creepy-Colin, but he was ignored. 

   'Wanna come in the dressing room for a little vodka?' Connor continued, drooling slightly.

   'I'm up for it,' said Creepy-Colin, eagerly.

  'Not you, creep. He means me,' Jessica sneered, followed by a “no, not you” look from Connor.

   'What about “us”, Jess?' Creepy-Colin sounded hurt, and his lower lip quivered.

  'There's no us, Col. I just wanted tickets and him,' gesturing at Connor, 'he's lush, and you're not, pimple face! Now, piss off.'

   Creepy-Colin walked off sheepishly, back to the function room bar, whilst Connor led Jessica into a dressing room and locked the door. It was quite basic, the only furniture being two plastic chairs, a full-length mirror and a massive bean bag, which was heavily stained and discoloured. Connor produced a bottle of cheap vodka and two hotel bathroom type tumblers. Having both slugged their vodkas, Connor, salivating heavily, poured out more and put his arm 'round Jessica's waist.

   'Gotta question for ya,' he slurred. He seemed hot, almost feverish.

   'Okay.'

   'Listen, “Got the liquor out the back of my car, take a drink take off your bra,

Got the hots and gettin' hotter, lemme get inside your knickers”,'  Connor sang a line from one of his songs softly into Jessica’s ear.

   Jessica replied softly into his ear. 'You can't get my bra or knickers off,' she cooed.

   'Oh, ok, babe. Ya can't blame a bloke for tryin', eh? Just love what I'm seein', girrrl, and . . .' Connor started to say, but Jessica interrupted.

  'Because I haven't got any on. None. No bra, no knickers, wanna party?' she purred provocatively.

   They “partied” on the filthy bean bag, and Jessica just about made it home by midnight in the back of the Rabid Dog tour van.

* * *

    The first thing Pete (Jessica’s step-dad) noticed were the love bites on Jessica’s neck, on the Sunday morning after the show, as she emerged from the bathroom.

    'Bloody Hell, Jess, you got a bit heavy with Colin last night, didn't you?'

    'What?' she replied irritably.

    'Bit hungover, are we? The love bites on your neck, Jess. You're only sixteen.'

    Jessica checked her neck in the hallway mirror. 'It wasn't Creepy-Colin. I was just neckin' with, like, a real man.'

   'Well, you'd better put on a roll-neck or something, your Mother will go ballistic. One of the band, was it?' He smiled.

   'Yeh!' she said in a triumphant tone. 'Connor Bryant, the lead singer. He's lush, I mean like, so lush. Got his number an' stuff. Yeh. Like he'll get me in any gigs for free, and he said he wants to see more of me, coz I'm the prettiest girl he's ever, like, ever seen.'

   Jessica got dressed and put on a roll-neck sweater. She joined her step-dad and younger step-brother, Jacob, in the kitchen.

   'Coffee, Jess?' Pete called out as she sat at the dining table.

   'Nah. Just juice, please. Where's Mum?'

   'Gone 'round to help Creepy-Colin’s Mum with Church flowers. So did you do him then?' Jacob sniggered. Jessica ignored him, but he persisted. 'Did you 'ave him, Jess? Ol' Creepy-Colin? Haha, you'll catch pimples. He's well diseased he is. Haha.'

   'Shut up, Jacob, you plank,' she spat back at him.

   'Jacob! Go to the garage, get the mower out and do the lawn, now!'

   'Uh? Oh, Ok, Dad,' Jacob responded truculently and went outside via the back door, which he slammed violently.

   'Here's your juice, Jessica. Er, look, did you have sex with this Bryant guy? I won't be mad at you. We know you're on the pill.' Pete spoke evenly.

   'What? That's gross. I mean, what?'

  'Ok, so you did then.' Pete sighed. 'Like Mother, like daughter. Look, Jess, there's something you need to know about him. For a start, he looks young but he's thirty-two and married, at least in theory, and . . .'

   'So? That's only what Twitter says.' Jessica was defiant.

  'And, I was going to go on to say, he's Ralph Stocker's son, which makes you, my little groupie, his flipping half-sister! We'd better not tell your Mother.'

   Pete turned his laptop 'round so Jessica could see the aging Ralph Stocker with his arm 'round Connor Bryant. The text read: “Rocker Ralph proud of his 'Rabid Son', Connor Bryant, frontman of award-winning ska-punk's 'Rabid Dog'.”

  Jessica ran to the downstairs toilet and threw up with violent retching and coughing. Later she deleted a contact in her mobile phone and cried her eyes out.

* * *

“I'm drooling over your rancid corpse,

My brains are exploding my head is sore,

I got it bad, the fever's high,

Gonna have you before I die, girrrrrl.”

“Coz, I'm a dog, a rabid dog, I'm a dog, a rabid dog,

I'm a dyin' breed doncha wanna snog,

With a rabid dog, a rabid dog like me?”

* * *

   Colin Gilby listened to, and simultaneously read, the lyrics with growing concern. It was about eight weeks since the Rabid Dog gig, and Jessica had been ill for the last couple of days. Colin’s Mother, who had visited the Wilson's that day was most concerned.

   'They're getting the Doctor out if she's not better in the next couple of days,' she said to her son.

   Colin tapped furiously on his laptop, and upon finding what he was looking for, slammed it shut. He rummaged around in a drawer, produced some items and thrust them into his leather jacket. He grabbed the jacket, put it on, tucked his laptop under his arm and stormed out of the house.

   'What is it, Colin, you don't look well?' Mrs. Wilson gasped as she opened her front door to Colin.

   'Look, I know you don't like me, Mrs. Wilson, sometimes I don't like myself, but I think I know what's wrong with Jess. LOOK!' He opened the laptop and showed her the screen. Mrs. Wilson fainted, collapsing at Colin’s feet.

   'Sorry, Mrs. Wilson, gotta see her now. while there's still time,' he said as he stepped over her body, raced up the stairs and burst into Jessica’s bedroom.

   'What the . . . ? Colin?' Pete was standing over Jessica’s convulsing body with a glass of water as Colin went over to her.

   'Don't give her water, Mr. Wilson. Look at this,' he said as he handed his laptop to the stunned step-father.

  Jessica was panting, salivating and babbling incoherently her skin drenched in perspiration. She was clearly delirious.

   'Rabies? Fucking Rabies?' Pete Wilson was ranting, his eyes bulging and glued to the screen on the laptop. 'I'll get the Doctor,' he finally bleated weakly.

   'No time for that. Help me out,' said Colin. 'Got any whiskey, vodka or such?'

   'Er . . . yeh-yeh. I'll get it for you.' In a daze Pete fetched a bottle of vodka.

   'Right!' said Colin with authority. 'It maybe too late, but wash her neck where those welts are with the vodka, ok?'

   'Er . . . yeh, right. What are you gonna do?' At that moment, Jacob walked past the bedroom and peered in.

   'Huh, Creepy-Colin. Like dying bodies do ya, acne face?'

   In perfect unison, Pete Wilson and Colin looked up and yelled, 'PISS OFF!’

   ‘Do something useful and call the NHS, get a Doctor, tell ‘em it’s Rabies,' Pete added.

   Jacob rushed off to dial “101”. Pete turned to Colin. 'What are you doing?'

  'This!' said Colin as he stabbed Jessica’s thigh with an epi-pen, he then produced a syringe and plunged that into her leg as well.

  'Epi-pen, I have allergies,' he gasped breathlessly, holding it up so Pete could see it. 'And an injection I made up. Basically anti-flu inoculation and liquid paracetamol, I use it on my pet python, Boris.'

   The Doctor arrived thirty minutes later, examined Jessica, who was now lifeless, and prepared himself to share some bad news with the family waiting fearfully downstairs. Colin was still in Jessica’s room with the Doctor, having described his home-made treatment to him.

  Suddenly Jessica sat up, vomited and stared at Colin. Then she relaxed, and in a hoarse whisper said, 'Thank you, Colin.'

* * *

   Jessica's seventeenth birthday party, six weeks later, was more “Rag ‘n’ Bone Man” than “Rabid Dog”. Colin had been invited, and he appeared to be the centre of attention. Connor Bryant had recently died of a “mystery illness”, according to his publicist. The Wilsons and Gilbys knew better!