Happy Mothers’ Day!
Today, my creep loving friends at Tales From the Moonlit Path aren’t serving up mimosas for brunch. However, there is a bit of “Cake” — a sweet and slightly eerie taste of flash fiction by yours truly.
Feel free to drop me a note and tell me what you thought. And while you are there, take some time to savor the other stories in their Demented Mothers’ Day edition. It’s a pleasure to once again be included on the Moonlit Path!
Happy reading!
Are you already tired of the lovey-dovey, saccharine sweet today? Well you’re in luck. Hop over to Tales from the Moonlit Path and check out their Bloody Valentine edition. You’ll find a little paranormal flash from yours truly in the fiction section: Return to Sable Basin.
Get your chills and thrills on! Happy reading.
A new Scribes Divided anthology – “Dread Naught but Time” is now available for pre-order at Amazon. (Kindle only, print will be available on the release date 11/27.)
This book is special to me – not only because I really love my story in this compilation of timeless works, but because the contributors make up members of my writing family. Writers of every stripe who have come together to make a community out of a solitary pursuit.
My story – “Insomnia” – is the final tale in the book. A dark piece about image and reality, may it leave you looking over your shoulder and awaiting the sun to rise. Here’s a little teaser to whet your appetite…
I scrutinized her in the glass; the insomnia was wearing on her. With a bony hand she reached up, touched purple smudges under her eyes. My fingertips grazed over the delicate skin and a tickle of spidery footsteps rippled up my spine. She blinked hard and my eyes prickled with unshed tears.
Why do you torment me? Sleep and let me be!
The nightgown slipped down over her shoulder. She yanked it back up, but not before I saw the blue-green fingerprints on her shoulder. I couldn’t glance down with her eyes fixed on me. It didn’t matter – although I hadn’t felt it, I knew my fair skin would also be bruised. My body was not my own.
Bing-bong.
Anton jumped at the sound of the doorbell. The Seth Thomas clock above the fireplace read 11:57.
Only ax murderers ring doorbells at midnight. Continue reading
