Katharina Gerlach's Blog

My colleague Chris Makowski wrote something for the Bloghop too. He’s still revising his novel (yes that one, but since he’s had a heart attack recently, it’s all taking longer than planned. It’s still worth the wait, trust me), so I’m hosting his story again.

Here’s his Bloghop story:

Petrichor and Roses

Chris Makowski

The dragons circled each other, ignoring the storm threatening to cut their flights short and cast them into the waves. Her scales shone with pearly iridescence, her movements swimming her winglessly through the clouds. He, her contrast in midnight black shot through with the blaze of lightning, beat his wings against the typhoon.

“I will not serve as did Shekhar,” she spat her brother’s name into the wind. “I am Ybuwyn, Queen of Pearls and Shells, and kiaric are nothing more than food to me.” A lash of frost punctuated her words, missing her opposite by mere feet.

“The mantle calls us, sister,” he looped through the wind, not speaking her full name. “Just as the taint seeks to end our kind! It is self-interest, not slavery!”

“Nothing you say will convince me, nothing!” Another attempt at ending the conversation proved just as inaccurate. “Were I ever to serve one – even one of the mantle which you so value – it would usher in a time when I would bow and scrape and serve their every whim!”

With her words, the night became as sunset, smote through with crimson and scarlet. The clouds themselves rumbled and cracked, struck with bloody gashes tearing the sky apart.

Before another word passed her lips, a spear of cherry red skewered from the largest, coating her with a carmine aura.

Just as quickly, where she had been, there remained nothing.

***

Her hands touched the ground, or what should be ground – black, cracked, cold to the touch – while she shook her head. The sounds of battle surrounded her, kiaric striking each other with fist or weapons chosen from the thin street she lay on, the walls on both sides littered with trash and bits and pieces of wood and metal. Two had been hemmed in by many, yet they gave good measure of themselves.

A metal box, green and filthy and filled with midden, protected her from immediate discovery.

That will change now! She staggered to her feet…

Her two feet. Bare and chilled by the cold, a thin cloth covering two legs and torso.

Her bare hands – Kiaric hands? Legs? Her scales transformed to long, white hair, pale skin – “Who dares!”

Her roar caught the attention of the nearest, a male, a long piece of wood in his hands, he turned to look…

His eyes? Only darkness.

“Taint-born!” A deep breath in and –

Nothing. Whatever had called her here had robbed her of her polar breath.

In the moment she reasoned this, it charged her, weapon held above to smash and kill. Yet she had not lived the ages to be taken easily; one hand caught the wood as it swung for her head, the other slashed its face. Blood drooled from the wound – blood foaming with the taint, hissing as it splattered the ground.

It grinned, teeth growing shark-pointed and sharp.

“Die!” The weapon became hers, violently battering her foe.

As it collapsed to the ground, as one many tainted turned away from their prey, reorienting on her.

“Come to me, empty ones,” the wooden plank held high, stained with red. “Come to me!”

They came.

They fell – her body now far less than it had been, yet faster, her muscles reacting quickly, efficiently, the staff crushing at her whim. The other two real kiaric used the distraction to redouble their efforts, putting down tainted ones one after another, the smaller kiaric striking with practiced efficiency to break bone and cripple joint.

The other attacked with brutal force, using superior size and pure rage to her advantage.

Even engaged, they covered each other’s backs, preventing the tainted from dividing them. The tiny one gave a glance and nodded.

As three, they fought, a tight knot against an undisciplined mob.

***

Casting the splintered board aside, her fingers curled into a fist to put down the last, relishing the feeling of its jaw shattering before it crumpled.

All three of them wore bruises, bled from numerous cuts, but none had fallen. The smallest wiped her mouth clear and spat in the other direction before sizing her up. “Thanks. For the help.”

“Yes.” The pain in her teeth would pass as it always had, the buoyant thrill of victory filling her veins. The larger watched warily, but this day she would allow them their freedom. “I—“ she took a deep breath.

No!

Cautiously, a half step closer before she inhaled again, this time the reality far more distinct.

The kiaric wore the mantle – blood and fire and earth, petrichor and roses, it’s magic enfolding her.

Why had she not …?

It had continued to speak, “… have to come down to the station and give a statement, though considering…”

“No!” her body sought escape, leaping bodies to reach the road beyond and then to run free before the mantle could be used against her.

“Hey! Stop! I’m not going to arrest you!” The words echoed and faded behind her, the kiaric’s deciding against pursuit.

***

A single light burned above the door – “Jake’s Bar and Grill”, words on a huge glass window covered by a yellow-brown curtain from the inside. Cold, she wasn’t used to feeling cold, or this fleshy covering, or –

One push and the inside warmth enveloped her. A few patrons sat at tables, a few played a game with sticks and balls, an old kiaric stood watching her while polishing a glass.

Words started, then stopped. Demands would not be met and – her pockets were empty.

The old one looked her up and down. “You look like you could use a mug of chocolate.”

“That’s alright, I…” her body almost walked back into the cold, but a heavenly odor held her in place. He placed the mug on the bar.

“On the house.”

“Th… thank you.” The unfamiliar phrase seemed enough. The brew – sweet, dark, and delicious – filled her limbs with heat and her belly with comfort.

“Room upstairs.” He shined another glass. “You’ll need sleep.”

Before she could answer, he whispered one more word. “Ybuwyn.”

 

Visit the others:
Bookmarked by Magic by Juneta Key
Engraved by Barbara Lund
The Saga Of Pyscho Shannon by Vanessa Wells
Contract by Angelica Medlin
Pixels and Bytes by Katharina Gerlach

 

I’ve struggled to get thigns done due to the summer and the summer holidays. The last few weeks were so incredibly hot that I just coudln’t muster any energy. And now that it’s getting colder, all my husband and kids are here to visit. In a flat designed for 2-3 people, 6 is quite exhausting, even though I’m thoroughly enjoying myself. But when they’re gone, I think I’ll sleep for a week.

Enjoy my Bloghop story (if you own The Fire in my Soul you might already know this one):

Pixels and Bytes

written for my six year old grandson who’s a major Minecraft fan

I, the Mighty End Realm Dragon, have flown through the End Realm for millennia. I’ve learned to feed on the sweet energy of the End Realm Crystals and to avoid gazing at the End Realm People. Not that their aggression can reach me, as high as I fly, but I dislike making them angry in the first place. And looking at them makes them angry for sure.

And then there are the players. An endless stream of them come to the End Realm to fight me. When they destroy my End Realm Crystals, I’m inevitably forced to draw near. At first I have fought as best I could, screaming my rage at them. But whenever I killed one, it would pop up a few heartbeats later and try again.

So I’ve begun to resist the urge to join the fight, but no matter how much I struggle, I cannot avoid the confrontation. My programming doesn’t give me a choice. A couple of times I’ve even tried to call out to them, but all that escapes my square muzzle is hissing and crackling.

So I’ve died a thousand deaths or more. And dying is painful. My wings crunch when I hit the ground and all the energy I’ve stored inside explodes, ripping me to shreds in a display of light until nothing is left but pixels and bytes. And the pain remains, even when I come back together after the player has departed.

Oh, how I’ve come to hate them shouting some variation of “Nice! The End Realm Dragon is Down!” How I long to be rid of the endless (pun intended) fighting. What wouldn’t I give to be able to do more than hiss. I make up songs in my mind that I’ll never be able to sing, but I can’t help it. They’re what keeps me going.

If only there were a way out! I’ve searched the End Realm as far as I could fly and the only way in—and by definition out, too—is through those purple and black portals the players build. And those are far too small for me.

But today, something strange happens. A player arrives who goes to great pains to not look at the End Realm People. And he doesn’t destroy my crystals either. He just sits on a stone and waves until I circle over him.

He calls out, “Aren’t you fed up with fighting all the time?”

I hiss in agreement.

“I thought so.” The mouth on his square face changes into what passes for a smile here. “That’s why I’ve built something for you. But you’d have to leave this world to get there.”

Leave this world? Were there more worlds than this one? And if so, were they created from more than pixels and bytes? I hiss again, surprised by how insecure I sound.

“If you want to check it out, I’ve built a portal that’ll take you there,” says the player. “I’ve gotta go now. Mom says it’s time for bed.”

Mom, bed … more terms I’ve never heard. I watch him flicker out of existence, then scour the End Realm for that portal he mentioned. I find it in a nook in the farthest corner, hidden from the eyes of End Realm People and other players. Should I go, or should I stay? Isn’t an End Realm Person in your hand better than an End Realm Crystal in the World Above? What if this is a trap?

I stare at the portal for three days. Then I decide. After all, anything is better than getting killed on a regular basis only to be resurrected with all your memories intact.

I make a copy of myself—which is easy if you’re nothing but pixels and bytes. Of course the copy doesn’t have my knowledge or my memories, but it’ll do nicely should another player show up. And it’ll serve as an anchor for me. If this really is a trap, my connection to the copy can pull me back through the gaps between the bytes.

I fly at the portal. Yes, it’s wide enough for my wings. Energy grabs me and hurls me forward.

Suddenly I find myself in a place of bites without pixels. My cubic snout can truly open and close. My wings are strong and mighty and carry me into a softly lit place that’s very clearly not my End Realm. Everything here is smooth. Nothing seems to be made of cubes, like it is in my world. Although some structures are angular, others are soft looking. Is that what players call ‘round’?

The best thing is that there’s not a single pixel in sight.

I jubilate with hisses and snarls, only to discover that my new body has the ability to speak. So I sing. Something in a rectangular structure sits up and rubs its eyes. Is that the player? He looks so different. All soft and squishy with a tuft of thin filaments sticking out at the top. I love him already.

Wide eyed, he stares at me. Then, a smile makes his face glow. “You’re here!”

I laugh, and sever the connection to my copy. “Yes, and I’ve come to stay for good!” I soar while starting a newly created song. “You’ve got yourself an End Realm Dragon, flying through your world …”

 

Visit the others:
Bookmarked by Magic by Juneta Key
Engraved by Barbara Lund
The Saga Of Pyscho Shannon by Vanessa Wells
Contract by Angelica Medlin
Petrichor and Roses by Chris Makowski

 

Of course, I also managed a (last minute) story for you to enjoy:

I’m not Late. Really, I’m not!

If only, I thought. But then, if only had never helped anyone, as every half-decent time researcher knew. After all, it was the ministry’s motto, carved from stone and displayed above the entrance to our lovely university.

tempus fugit – non auxilium si modo

And if I didn’t use what little tempus I’d left, I’d fugit from the university. I didn’t put in the work last week when I should have and didn’t manage to make the time. The work I’d done for the professor had been so much more enticing than writing an essay about a barely known scribbler from the seventeenth century. Now I was late with only two hours left to the deadline.

I turned on my eBoard, bent my head over the worn wooden table in my dorm room, and started typing. When I’d just about finished compiling my hastily done research, the eBoard rang. Of course!

I was tempted to not answer it. There were still 500 words missing from the end of my essay, and my mind was whirling with facts on the seventeenth century. In the background the math necessary for the professor’s machine also kept computing and it had been hard to keep the two subjects separate. The incessant ringing threatened to destroy the carefully established balance.

But it was the professor’s number, so I didn’t have much choice. Without the money I was earning by working for her, I wouldn’t be able to keep studying, and there was nothing more enticing than the prospect of becoming one of the few selected people in the ministry one day. Who knew, maybe I’d be upon the first to actually travel through time. So I accepted the call with a glance at the clock. Half an hour left.

“Come over, right now.” The professor’s voice sounded angry. “Someone messed with the dials.”

“Five minutes.”

“Immediately.”

I didn’t dare to tell her that I needed to finish my essay. So I wrote a few bullet points as a reminder of what to write upon my return – hopefully before the online portal closed – and ran over the nighttime campus to the badly lit building with the professor’s lab in the basement.

I managed the familiar trip to the vault-like concrete emptiness in less than three minutes, but the professor still paced to and fro like a tiger in a cage. The red and green LEDs on a cupboard sized metal machine with a door-like attachment at the left side glowed in the semi-darkness of the lab, and her voice rang out like a bell even though she spoke quietly. “Did you jot down the dial settings before you left for dinner?” She didn’t even greet me.

“Of course I did.” It would be stupid to attempt fetching a sample from the time stream without exact coordinates. I went to the wobbly metal table beside the filing cabinet, the only other furniture in the big, empty room.

“It’s not there. I looked.” The professor grabbed my shoulder and pushed me toward the machine. “Didn’t you say you had a photographic memory? Go on, reset the dials.”

Well, photographic might have been a little overstatement, but I’d worked here long enough to know the numbers by heart. So I turned dials, pressed knobs, and rotated disks until all the setting were as close to what I remembered as I could get them. “Done.”

“You took your time. Now let’s see if it works.” The professor walked over until she stood to the side of the door-like structure. “What item did you choose?”

“Something unimportant.” I smiled. “I think no one’s going to miss a basket of apples from a cellar in Warwickshire.”

“You confirmed the research?”

“Of course.” And I’d used it as a starting point for my essay.

“Good.” The professor grabbed a lever at the side of the machine and pulled. The door lit up with swirls in bright colors as the machine hummed.

Something tugged at me. First on my sleeve, then my whole body. Like in slow motion, I saw the professor’s mouth fall open. The dials whirled back to their original position. A basket of apples came flying out of the illuminated door. And I was pulled in whether I wanted to or not.

I screamed.

And landed on my hands and knees in the wet grass of an early morning meadow. The air smelled sweeter than anything I’d ever breathed, and the world was radiant with yellow, orange, and white clouds against an increasingly light sky. As I stared at the scenery, a hand came into my field of vision.

“I’m sorry for scaring you.” A young, handsome man stood beside me, holding out his hand. “I didn’t mean to. May I help you up?”

His English sounded different from what I knew but I understood him without trouble. I allowed him to pull me to my feet and stared in surprise at the wide, brown skirt and linen blouse I was wearing. Could this be real? Had the professor’s machine worked as intended? Including the clothes simulator and the translation device?

“I … I am Anne.” It was hard to find words.

“I feel like I’ve known you for all my life.” The young man smiled. He was younger than me, maybe by six, seven, or even eight years.

“That feeling is mutual.” I smiled back.

“I’m William. May I take you home, Miss Hathaway?” He took my arm and the essay faded from my mind like a bad dream.

 

Visit the others:
Priceless Treasure by James Clapp
Ridesharing by Gina Fabio
Knot Safe by Barbara Lund

 

My, how time flies. I’ve started revising the third novel in Holly Lisle’s Moon & Sun series and jotted down notes on the fourth one (which should be the last if I don’t go overboard). If you want to follow my progress, sign up for the newsletter.

It’s also time for the quarterly Blog Hop. This time, I’m featuring an up and coming talent: James Clapp. Here’s his story (and remember to read the others tat are linked below):

Priceless Treasure

by James Clapp

Taking cover behind a tree, Nikita surveyed the forest clearing. Two guards ate roasted meat by a campfire. Two more guards defended her target, a caravan with curtains drawn. All four guards wore normal clothes. She’d expected more and better-equipped guards given the note slipped under her inn room door.
“In four days a caravan will travel through Silvervale Forest carrying emeralds amidst plentiful gold.”
Still, only this caravan matched the location and timing.

Nikita threw a rock.
“Huh?” a campfire guard approached.
Nikita sneaked behind him and, in one motion, slit his throat.
‘One down.’
She crept towards the second campfire guard and stabbed him. He screamed before dying.
‘Change of plan.’
Nikita drew another blade.
The remaining guards drew short swords.
Nikita rushed the closest guard, parried his blade with her own and stabbed him in the back, but the final guard slashed her arm.
Gritting her teeth against the pain, Nikita swept the guard’s feet and plunged her blade into his neck. She grabbed bandages from her satchel and tied them around her wounded arm.
‘Master wouldn’t have even been seen,’ she frowned.

Nikita opened the caravan door. Inside she found … four chained women in simple tunics.
‘Slaves? I did all this for slaves?’ She drew the curtains. Sunlight streamed in, revealing … nothing. No emeralds. No gold. No treasure. The note had lied.
“You’re not the bandits,” one of the slaves, a woman with short blond hair, said.
‘Bandits? So, that’s why they didn’t show much resistance.’
“Help us?”, a brunette with messy hair pleaded.
‘Wait. The bandits intended to sell these slaves?’
“Please?”, a brunette with a ponytail said.
‘Whoever sent the note must also be a human trafficker, hoping to make a profit.’
“Mama?”, a teenage girl with long, wavy, blond hair rubbed her green eyes.
‘I’ve found the treasure — these four slaves.’ Nikita’s chest tightened even thinking that. ‘I can’t let them be recaptured.’
Nikita freed the slaves.
“Thank you.”
“Come on, I’ll escort you to Silverbrook.”
They reached Silverbrook without incident, and Nikita bought carriage tickets so the slaves could return home. They would leave tomorrow.

The next morning outside Nikita’s inn room, a blonde woman greeted Nikita. She wore a necklace with an emerald set in gold, which looked valuable.
“Yes, please come in.”
The woman entered.
Nikita grabbed her and pressed her blade against her neck. “I’m not going to give you the slaves. Give me your necklace and leave. Understood?”
The woman followed Nikita’s demands.

Upon awakening, the teenager noticed the necklace.
“That’s mine! Only Mama should have it.”
‘Wait. This girl’s mother sent the note?’
Green eyes. Blond hair. Nikita understood.
She ran out and found the blonde woman. “Sorry, I thought you were a human trafficker, not an innocent.” Nikita gave back the necklace.
Seeing mother and daughter reunited warmed Nikita’s heart, but she still needed money to live.
“Thank you for rescuing me. Here, you’ve earned this.” The teenager gave Nikita the necklace.
“Thanks” Nikita said.

 

Visit the others:
Ridesharing by Gina Fabio
Knot Safe by Barbara Lund
I’m not Late. Really, I’m not! by Katharina Gerlach

 

Just to update you, my grandson does have ADHD. Now I need to learn yet more skills. Well, that’s something I’m familiar with, so I don’t expect it to take too long.

I’m also working on planning the fourth book in Holly Lisle’s Moon & Sun series. If you want to follow my progress, sign up for the newsletter.

As to the Blog Hop, I finished my story early this time. I’m still not sure whether I like it or not, and suspect it might be the beginning of something longer, but see for yourselves:

Doomed … or Not?

After crash landing on this planet and roaming around a bit, I stumbled and fell into what looked like the shaft of a well to me. Now I was stuck in a damp hole in the middle of nowhere with the sky so high above me, it looked like a small disk of light in a world of darkness.

But it seemed I wasn’t completely alone. There was a grayish plant with several smaller and one big bud growing in the middle of the round bottom end of the shaft. In the evening of my first day there, someone lowered a basket on a string from above. I called, but no one answered. I grabbed the basket, but the string ripped. When the basket landed at my feet, I found out that it was filled with a gray gunk. Disgusted I dumped it onto the plant, wishing for something tasty to eat. How wonderful it’d be to get my hands on a fresh salad with french dressing, cheese, and a double helping of bacon …

One of the smaller buds on the plant popped open and the air filled with the wonderful scent of fried meat. I didn’t dare to trust my eyes, but touch confirmed that the bud definitely contained what I’d wished for. Of course, there was no fork and no plate, but my stomach growled so badly that I ignored that. I ate everything the small plant had offered. It was as delicious as it smelled. So even if I didn’t understand how it had read my needs, I thanked it afterward. Better safe than sorry.

For a month, I counted time by the meals the people above send down for the little plant. It grew slowly but it grew. Especially the biggest of the buds. And without fail, it provided me with three meals a day. I used the remains of the baskets to build myself a dry platform for sleeping, and told stories to the plant of my space travels and of the mix of ingenuity and idiocy so characteristic for the human race.

Sometimes, it felt as if the plant was laughing or at least listening, and that kept me from going insane. Once I tried to wish for components for my ComUnit but realized quickly that the plant had no concept of technology. All I got was a jumble of metal parts that had no rhyme or reason. So I build a wind chime with them and hung it from one of the few roots (not necessarily tree roots but similar) that grew out of the wall. The plant seemed delighted whenever I made them ring.

Then, one morning, a seam on the biggest of the buds cracked a little. Something brown and fuzzy peeked out. It resembled hair. I didn’t dare touch it, it looked so delicate. When the basket with food arrived, the seam had split the full length, showing more of the brown fuzz and something green underneath. And it was moving.

I hurried to dump the gunk at the plant’s base, then withdrew to my bed-platform, watching with interest but also with fear. The green thing sat up and the brown hairs flowed around it. Yes, it was hair. But I had to wait for the green thing to turn to understand what I was seeing. It was a baby, a girl, with skin so green it could have been made of grass and eyelids that were still closed like one saw in dog or cat babies.

Without even thinking, I took off my battered jacket—at least it was dry and warm—, picked up the child, hugged it close to my chest, and cooed to it. I felt like an idiot but the child snuggled closer, warming my heart. Deep breathing told me that she’d fallen asleep, so I hugged her and didn’t dare move, although I was getting cold.

Was the plant still working or had the girl’s birth used up all of its magic? I wished with all my strength that it would make a baby blanket. Pop went a small bud and revealed a multi-colored blanket, a baby-bottle with a yellow liquid, and a bread with lettuce and cheese. As I swapped my jacket for the blanket, the baby woke. It’s tiny arms reached for the bottle, so I fed it and when it made no sign that it wanted the sandwich too, I wolfed it down.

For three days, the baby girl and I bonded. Three days where I did barely anything but feed or clean the baby. I also dumped gunk onto the plant three times a day. Whoever was sending the gunk seemed to know exactly how much more energy the plant needed to feed two people.

On the evening of the third day, the girl opened her eyes and they were as blue as the sky. I’d never seen eyes this blue before. I smiled at her. “Guess it’s time to find you a name, my little beauty.”

The girl blinked. Then it smiled and said. “Guess it’s time to return to Earth. You may call me Gaia.”

The gray plant started growing toward the circle of sky above at an alarming speed.

 

Visit the others:
The Implant Caregiver by Manon F
The Reaper’s Gift by Becky Sasala
Knot Quite by Barbara Lund
The Collector by T. R. Neff
Adventures in Space with Doot the Pig by Gina Fabio

 

I know I’ve been quite absent from my website, and I’m sorry. But so many things happened that hit me like hammers. First, my friend Holly Lisle died at the end of August. Then, another close friend’s husband got the news that he’s dying too and there’s nothing that can be done about it. And as if that wasn’t enough, my daughter moved, my grandson needs to be tested for ADHD and Autism, and a ton of minor distractions. Just RealLife(TM) at its best.

BTW, if you want to follow my progress on the Moon & Sun series, here’s a link to the signup for the newsletter.

With all that’s going on in my life right now, I struggled a lot to write my Bloghop story. Considering the low number of participants this Bloghop, I wasn’t the only one. But I did it and here is my story:

How I Lost Tom

I first met Tom when I was three years old. We were best friends since then. He seemed so grown up back then, and he helped me with everything. His wide eyed smile that went from one jug ear to the other gave me a focal point to talk to, and people never noticed I didn’t look into their eyes for they could not see Tom.

The biggest blessing was that he didn’t talk. Still he helped me face my fears and encouraged me to go for whatever I wanted to do, despite the overwhelmingly loud world. I remember his proud and happy smile at my graduation from police academy.

Of course by then I’d noticed that I’d grown older and he remained ten or eleven but he was still my best friend in the world. I never noticed how much our friendship had changed until I sat in an untidy beige kitchen with thirty year old Amanda, trying to ferret out details about my most important cold case: Tom’s death.

“Did you never have any suspicion who might have murdered your brother?” I’d asked the same question phrased differently many times, and her answer was always a variant of no, clipped and short as if she didn’t really want to know.

“What about your father’s ex-girlfriend.” I studied the surprisingly symmetrical face with eyes as blue as Tom’s and long, auburn hair tied into a tight bun. Her slender frame shifted on the chair like she wanted to run.

“She would have kidnapped Tom, not killed him. She always went on about how underappreciated he was and that he needed more love.” Amanda’s voice held an edge. “She favored him all the time, and that’s the reason Dad didn’t marry her. He wanted to, you know?”

Of course I’d known. And I’d learned a lot from my interview with her father’s ex. “He did ask her but she declined.”

Amanda sat up very straight and shook her head to underline her words. “That’s not true. Dad said that he couldn’t accept a stepmother who played favorites.”

“Maybe your father remembers a bit more about that fateful day.” I hadn’t been able to find a recent address and he would surely know more. After all, Amanda had only been thirteen when her brother was murdered and their house burnt to the ground. Her mind must have been on other, more important things, like boys, before the catastrophe. “Do you have any idea where he is now?”

“Of course.” She gave me an address in a nearby trailer park, a weird choice for living for a successful real estate agent. Back then, his finances had been in shambles and even the money from his son’s life-insurance had not covered all his debts. Maybe he’d never truly recovered.

I hated trailers. They were suffocating and you could hear all your neighbors every time of the day. At least this one was clean. Mr. Dell had asked me and my partner in and we sat on the worn seats of the lounge—not that it deserved such a grand name—recording equipment at the ready. It was clear he knew that this was about Tom again.

“I’ve already told you everything I know, all those years ago,” he said.

Before I could say something, Tom stepped right into the middle of the table between us. “Hi Dad.”

Mr. Dell paled. His eyes widened and he seemed to have trouble breathing. My partner reached for his mobile to call an ambulance while I watched in fascination how Tom’s friendly, blue eyes turned dark and his expression angry. I’d never seen him like this and it scared me to the marrow.

“Why don’t you tell my friend here,” he pointed at me, “how you strangled me as I was eating my muesli until I vomited all over the kitchen? Why don’t you tell her how you stuffed my dead body into a rubbish bin and dumped it in the woods? Why don’t you tell them about the insurance policy you hid in our neighbor’s shed so it wouldn’t spoil when you set fire to the house?”

Mr. Dell complied. Speaking as fast as he could, he told us everything don to the tiniest detail while Tom stood, watching him with those scary black eyes.

Not even an hour later, Mr. Dell was safely locked up in a holding cell. I was just about to sign out, when my colleagues ran around like busy ants, screaming for help. It was total overkill for my senses. I pressed my hands over my ears but still heard that the detainee had tried to commit suicide. He hung himself but his belt had broken from the weight he’d put on it.

When the noise died down after the paramedics had taken comatose Mr. Dell away, Tom appeared right in front of me. “Thank you.” His eyes were back to normal and his smile reassured me. “Dad will remain in a coma for the rest of his life, and I will keep him company. Thank you.”

This time, I didn’t talk. I just nodded, knowing that more justice would be metered out this way than any the judicial system could have. I waved goodbye as Tom faded. After all, that’s what friends did, right?

 

Visit the others:
Existential Conundrum by T. R. Neff
Harvest by Barbara Lund
The Big Red Eye by Gina Fabio

 

Oh, it’s time for the bloghop already. I barely noticed how time flew by since I’ve been very busy writing a new novel. This is the third installment in Holly Lisle’s Moon&Sun series, an Upper Middle Grade or Young Adult fantasy adventure. The series got cancelled on Holly by her then publisher and it took her years to get the rights back. So she wrote several other novels and started a five book Romantic Suspense series she’s still revising.

With that she realized that she won’t have the time to get to the Moon&Sun series any time soon. Cue me. I asked her for the right to write the missing volumes of the series and the right to re-publish the existing books. And she agreed (squeal). So now I’m busy trying to work in someone else’s world without ruining it.

If you want to follow my progress, here’s a link to the signup for the newsletter.

And here’s my Bloghop story:

Spam or Not Spam, That is the Question!

I howled. Three hours! The presentation’s revision had taken three hours!

And then the program crashed and took along all my painstaking work. Plus the original, but I still had a copy of that. My mind whirled and I wanted to rage. However it wouldn’t do with my boss in his office right down the corridor.

Overtime was no option either, with Ellie’s birthday party starting just after my work hours and her mother breathing down my neck about being punctual. If only I had a way to regain my work.

When the boss left his office, pretending to go to the toilet but really checking if we were busy, I opened a random eMail. A red logo flashed: an H written in fire surrounded by a wreath of pitchforks. Weird. The text under it grabbed my attention despite my preoccupied brain.

Frustrated? Angry? On a deadline? We can help. Call … and a phone number.

Yeah, that was spam, no doubt about it. On the other hand, what did I have to lose? And the phone call would be on the company’s dime. My hand reached for the headset and a few heartbeats later a warm alto greeted me.

“Hello dear, what can I do for you?” The woman was stunning, busty with curves in all the right places and long, dark tresses. If I hadn’t been so angry, I’d have found it hard not to stare at her generous cleavage. I didn’t need that kind of distraction. I only needed to calm myself.

“I know you can’t do anything about this but maybe I can vent?”

“Absolutely. Venting is completely free of charge.” There was a hint of a smile in the voice.

So venting I did. About the pressure everybody in the company was under, about my ex-wife and her demands on my time, about the little time I got to spend with our daughter, and about the sorry pay. Then I launched into my current woes and the fact that the presentation was due first thing tomorrow morning. When I was done, I felt empty. With a sigh I added, “Guess I’ll have to think of something to recreate that revision.”

“Or you can sign a contract with us and we’ll do the hard work for you.” The woman was smiling so hard, the top button on her blouse popped.

A second window opened right beside the one with the busty woman. This one showed an H with a golden ring and wings. Another weird one. The logo seemed to glow. I heard some grunting.

“Why won’t this … Ah! There.” The logo vanished and an incredibly beautiful person grinned at me. I couldn’t tell whether it was a man or a woman but it didn’t seem important. “I did it! It’s working!” Their smile turned serious. “You didn’t sign anything yet, did you?”

I shook my head, feeling more confused than ever.

Before the beautiful person could speak again, the busty woman chimed in. Her voice sounded somewhat strained. “We can easily extract your memory and restore the file to the way it was before the crash.”

“You don’t want them messing with your head,” the beautiful person said. “They are known for twisting thoughts and changing memories to suit their agenda.”

“Don’t believe him. We never touch anything not in the contract.” The woman’s smile intensified. She was positively glowing. “But if you prefer we can simply make a copy of you that exists long enough to redo your lost work while you go to make memories with your child.”

“We can promise that exact same thing, and we can deliver too.” The beautiful person glanced at the other window as if they could see it. “And at a much lower cost, too.”

“And,” the busty woman pulled her shoulders back which pushed her generous chest toward me, “I can throw in some fun time with a genuine succubus or three.” Another button popped, revealing more cleavage than I was comfortable with. “And we have no limits on what you can request after signing the contract. It’s for a lifetime of ease.” She bent slightly forward as if confiding something secret. “Fancy your supervisor’s position? It’s as good as yours.”

Gosh, that was tempting. Less work, fewer hours, at least double my current pay.

“Don’t throw your eternal soul away.” The beautiful person looked extremely worried. “Let me make a counter offer before you decide.”

Two clicks and both windows closed like they’d never existed. With a sigh, I sent my computer to sleep. I’d come back tonight, after my girl’s birthday party, and redo the presentation. Not the best solution, but one I could live with.

I shook my head in disgust. How I hated marketeers. They were coming up with better stuff every day. Thank God I was an atheist.

 

Visit the others:
Two Feet by Chris Makowski
Thief by Barbara Lund
Trampler of Dreams by Gina Fabio
Good Dog by Angelica Medlin
She Stood by Lyn McCarty
Not all Heros Wear Capes by Vanessa Wells
Morning Monsters by Jon Cloud
Some Imagination by James Husum

 

My colleague Chris Makowski is ready for the Bloghop too. He’s still revising his novel (with elves and stuff in our world, by what he posts about it, it’ll be a fascinating if dark read), so I’m hosting his story again.

Here’s his Bloghop story:

Two Feet

Chris Makowski

Get two feet closer!

Discharged yesterday and now I’m hallucinating voices.

Another bullet chews through the island, deflected by the good thick cast iron in there. Last one put a hole in my Magnalite dutch oven. He doesn’t know if I’m armed, but not stupid enough to dash in and find out the hard way.

Not a word, nothing after the flash bangs – someone hired a pro to finish things.

Bliss is big business, and I’m a headache.

Bullet by bullet, it’s hide and seek. Shoot low, shoot high, a few inches to the left and I’d be spurting instead of oozing blood. My open concept house being used against me, leaving me nowhere to go he can’t put a hole in me.

I’m running out of time fast.

Get Two Feet Closer!

Piece in a drawer I can’t reach, he removed the one under the sink – maybe the other one too, happy me, I’ve got a knife in a gunfight, and he’s a good ten paces into the living room, waiting, sixty feet out of my reach.

My foot twitches.

Get! Two! Feet! CLOSER!

I hear my imagination draw in breath.

You have nothing to lose, Charmyan Broussard!

A sharp twist toward the sink as another guess zips through where I had been, I set my feet against the base board and shove hard, a sprint for my life, come off the blocks and run damn it run hard run Run RUN!

Something rips out of me, through me, from me, he’s standing behind the couch, huge, six feet and then some, pistol coming around –

“MINE!”

BLAM!

I crash to the ground, slide under the table, kick the chair across the room – the couch flies out of the way, leaving me a clear view of …

Me.

A me carved of pure obsidian straddles his ribcage. Her – my – head turns, and that smile appears, the one I wore every time I put someone away.

She puts a finger in his chest, swirls it, and a bluish glaze comes out. Then the finger goes into her mouth, slowing coming out clean.

“Delicious.” Her voice – my voice, only colder, a distant echo. “You’ll have to replace that.”

My gaze follows her finger. Missed me by that much.

“New toaster, check.” She’s still there, watching me.

“Call Dispatch.” Then she leans forward and speaks into his ear. “Heart attack. Should really have used less Peruvian powder before breaking in to my house. Beep, beep – bzzzzzt.”

“He’s dead?”

Her eyebrow Spock’s at me.

One yank and the drawer’s open – Glock’s missing.

“It’s over there.” A flip of her wrist points her fingers into the dining room. “You won’t need it. There aren’t any more.”

A tongue flickers over her lips. “Unfortunately.”

“What are you?”

Standing, she’s my nighshade twin, down to the dribbling smear where I banged my noggin ducking. “I lived under your bed, and knocked on your closet door. You carried me all the way from Port Goode to here, nightmare by nightmare.”

In an eyeblink she’s right by me.

“Don’t you remember your wish?” She crouches. “Over and over and over?”

Memories flow through my head. Days, weeks, months in the hospital, hooked up to bags and machines and monitors. In and out of consciousness, reliving the horrors they’d put me through.

All through, my one thought, my reason for survival.

Find Nathan Hill.

Find Philip Dale.

Put them both in a hole so deep their souls will never crawl out.

“Heart’s desire, released to the night,” she singsongs. All her teeth are sharp, many of them pointed. “You want them. I want to live in more than dreams.”

A hand stretches toward me. “So from now on, you be Good Cop, and I’ll be Bad Cop.” Even with the predatory gaze, her smile is warm. “They’ll never see us coming. Ça va juste?”

He’s dead. I’m alive.

My hand reaches out and she flows into me.

It hurts for just a second.

Oh God, he tasted good.

 

Visit the others:
Spam or Not Spam, That is the Question! by Katharina Gerlach
Thief by Barbara Lund
Trampler of Dreams by Gina Fabio
Good Dog by Angelica Medlin
She Stood by Lyn McCarty
Not all Heros Wear Capes by Vanessa Wells
Morning Monsters by Jon Cloud
Some Imagination by James Husum

 

Oh dear, how time flies. It’s already time for the #free #stories again. You’ll find mine below and several more if you follow the links at the end.

By the way, I’ve published my short story turned comic in time for Easter. Unfortunately the print version is still somewhat wonky, but the eBook is fine. If you want to check it out, here’s the link to the eBook on Amazon.

And here’s my Bloghop story:

Automatic Transcript
Part 6

Anwesend:POLICE OFFICER Schulze, DETECTIVE BLENDINGER, KATHARINA GERLACH PO SCHULZE:We’ve been at this for five hours already. Don’t you think it’s time to come clean?DETECTIVE BLENDINGER:We know you did it.KATHARINA GERLACH:But I did not.DETECTIVE BLENDINGER:Then how come that the victim’s blood was found in your bathtub?PO SCHULZE:Yes, that was disgusting. What did you have to cut him up for.KATHARINA GERLACH:(crying) I didn’t. I’ve no idea how his blood got into my bathroom.DETECTIVE BLENDINGER:You can’t pretend his blood wasn’t there.(crying)PK SCHULZE:And his DNA. You can no longer deny you killed him. Give us a confession and get it over with. Your honesty will be taken into account.KATHARINA GERLACH:(crying) I never killed anyone, and I wouldn’t if I could.DETECTIVE BLENDINGER:Stop lying!(crying, loud slap on tabletop)DETECTIVE BLENDINGER:We know you brutally murdered a man. A booklover! A father! A husband! What do you think his family is feeling, now that you killed a harmless man?UNNAMED MALE VOICE:(loud) Harmless? Are you out of your minds?PO SCHULZE:What the …KATHARINA GERLACH:(voice still wobbly but with rising anger) Gregorian, get out of me, right now! You have no right to possess me.GREGORIAN:Yes, I do. But as you command.DETECTIVE BLENDINGER:Oh God …(vomiting noises)GREGORIAN:It’s in your contract on page 746 second to last paragraph where it clearly states that I may possess you if you’re in danger of losing your soul, the one you’ve promised me.KATHARINA GERLACH:I wasn’t in danger of losing my soul!DETECTIVE BLENDINGER:Who are you? How were you able to be inside of her? Your exit … (gagging sounds) Why isn’t she dead?GREGORIAN:Now, that’s an interesting question, and one I haven’t managed to answer for quite a while. I’ve tried everything to collect her soul, but without success. But that’s nothing you mere mortals can help with. Leave her alone, so I can keep working on the answer to that puzzle. Aside from writing, she’s done nothing. Nothing at all to deserve this anyway.KATHARINA GERLACH:Gregorian, what did you do?GREGORIAN:I saved you. God forbid!2ND UNNAMED M. V.: (bellowing) Leave my name out of this, Gregorian.GREGORIAN:Sorry, Sir.DETECTIVE BLENDINGER:What the hell is going on here?KATHARINA GERLACH:I summoned a demon a while back—GREGORIAN:To fetch dog food, so she didn’t have to leave her precious grandson and her writing. Can you imagine that?KATHARINA GERLACH:Gregorian…GREGORIAN:(huff)DETECTIVE BLENDINGER:What’s that got to do with everything?GREGORIAN:Fell in love with her writing, I did, of course. Devlishly good! And that cretin didn’t want to read even one of her books. Did you know that he beat up his wife and kids regularly?PO SCHULZE:(whispering) That did come to light in our investigation, yes.DETECTIVE BLENDINGER:I still don’t see a connection. We’ve ruled the family out as suspects.GREGORIAN:I made him!PO SCHULZE:Made him what?GREGORIAN:Read one of her books. And you know what he said?DETECTIVE BLENDINGER:Well, obviously something you didn’t like. Probably that her books aren’t as good as you think.KATHARINA GERLACH:Gregorian! I’ve told you over and over again that you can’t just force someone to read my books. Not everyone likes Fantasy.GREGORIAN:I made him read one of the historical novels. And they are truly great. Plus they’re based on True Life.KATHARINA GERLACH:That’s not the point, Gregorian. Whatever you did to him happened in MY body!DETECTIVE BLENDINGER:So you do admit to killing him, Mrs Gerlach?GREGORIAN:She does no such thing. I killed that guy. His soul was so black, it already belonged to my Master anyway. So I simply extracted it. Then, I extracted the bones and dumped them somewhere in the wild. And finally, I made minced meat out of the rest and fed it to the hellhounds. She? She was lost in the planning of her next novel.DETECTIVE BLENDINGER:In that case, I arrest you for first degree murder.(metallic chinks, poof sound)PO SCHULZE:Heh?DETECTIVE BLENDINGER:Where are you? There’s no place on Earth you can hide. We’ll find you.KATHARINA GERLACH:He’s been summoned back to hell. That happens quite often.2ND UNNAMED M. V.:(whispering) I’m protecting him, Cat. He’ll not suffer for falling in love with books. After all, love is what’ll redeeem everyone.KATHARINA GERLACH:Thank’s, God.DETECTIVE BLENDINGER:Schulze, get the call out and add his description.PK SCHULZE:Is that wise, Sir? Considering he doesn’t have a skin or clothes or hair, only horns?DETECTIVE BLENDINGER:Who has?PO SCHULZE:The de … (pause) I don’t remember, Sir.DETECTIVE BLENDINGER:What are you still doing here, Mrs. Gerlach? Haven’t we dismissed you already? We’ve got a murderer to catch.PO SCHULZE:She’ll need her discharge papers signed.DETECTIVE BLENDINGER:Yes, of course. Interview ended. CLICK ONE WEEK UPDATE:no follow up reports / no convictionONE MONTH UPDATE:no follow up reports / no convictionONE YEAR UPDATE:no follow up reports / no conviction

 

Visit the others:
Working With Stan by Bill Bush
Possession by Barbara Lund
R=Lessons by T. R. Neff
The Perfect Gift by Gina Fabio
The One That Got Away by James Husum
Sneak Peek: Midlife Ghostwalker by Juneta Key

 

Since I missed out on the Bloghop in autumn for the first time ever, you’ll get not one, but two #free #stories on my blog today. You’ll find even more if you follow the links below the stories.

As to my writing, I haven’t done any aside from this short story. However, I have turned one of my short stories into a comic. It’ll still take a little while but I’ll be publishing it soon, hopefully before Easter. After all, it’s about the Easter Hare. I’m contemplating publishing it as a bilingual comic with the original short stories added. If this sounds like a good idea to you, please let me know in the comments.

And here’s my story:

What If

“What if there really were dragons?” Sitting on the ground in front of her French windows, Jane looked into the summer sky that dwarfed the grassy plain beneath where her father’s horses grazed. The sun was sinking rapidly. Another day nearly over. She sighed and tried to focus on something else. “Would they come and eat our horses?”

“Of course.” Her older brother Tom lifted his hands over his head, curling his fingers into claws. “And they’d eat you too!” He raked her back with his claws. They didn’t draw blood but they still hurt.

Jane knew better than to cry, but she couldn’t suppress a moan.

“Oh, little sissy, did that hurt?” Tom kicked her. His shoes were hard and they touched old bruises.

Jane fought her tears valiantly and didn’t make another sound. She watched Tom strode through her big pink and green room. The friendly floral wallpaper, the white feathery light fixture hanging from the ceiling, and the meticulously made bed were such a contrast to his nastiness.

Tom went to her writing desk, grabbed her diary, and grinned. “One day I’m gonna add something that gets you into real trouble with Dad.”

As if she’d ever put anything into that diary that didn’t align with Mom’s and Dad’s rules. And she’d trained herself to write so sloppy that he hadn’t yet figured out how to emulate her writing. So that rendered his threat useless.

For now.

Jane lowered her gaze, blinking away tears. Staring at the fluffy white circular carpet on the parquet floor with a sad expression often convinced him she was sufficiently subdued. Today too.

With her diary in his hands he turned to leave. “Room control is in ten minutes. I’d clean up if I were you.”

The door slammed behind him, and Jane looked around in panic. Was anything wrong? Did he bring in dirt? There wasn’t even a grain on the ground, so that wasn’t it. But there had to be something. She got up and searched the room in greater detail. Her heart raced as she examined every square millimeter of the room. Why couldn’t it be smaller? What had he hidden that didn’t belong?

When she lay on the ground, she saw two red lights in the darkness under the bed and let out a relieved sigh. He’d brought one of his robots. Well, she’d put it into the corridor and leave it there. That way he wouldn’t get her into trouble. Mom and Dad didn’t ever scold him for being untidy.

She shimmied forward and reached for the red eyed thing under her bed.

It hissed. Keep your fingers away from me or I’ll bite them off.

The voice sounded right inside her mind. Jane sat up and bumped her head on the bedframe. “Outch.”

Her gaze shot to the door. Had someone heard? Despite her fear of whatever sat under her bed, she peeked again. “Look,” she whispered, trying to add urgency to her voice. “I don’t care who or what you are. You need to leave right now. My parents will inspect my room in just a few minutes.”

So? They can’t hurt me. The voice sounded sullen and a little defensive.

“But me.” Jane forced the words out. Of course it wouldn’t mean anything to the creature under her bed. After all, they weren’t friends and only friends stood up for their friends, she’d heard. She couldn’t tell. She’d never had friends.

Well, it’s not like I want to be in a human’s dwelling. The scratching of claws on wood seemed to fill the room with a noise so loud that surely her parents would hear. Only inches away from her face, an emerald snout with countless gleaming white teeth grew out of the dark. It was big but not scarily so, and the red eyes seemed to look at her without malice. And Jane was good at detecting malice.

Someone chucked my egg under this, the head jerked toward the bed, so I hatched here. Are you stuck too?

“In a way.” Jane heard voices coming up the stairs and looked around frantically. “You need to hide.”

I need to leave.

“Good idea.” She jumped to her feet and ran to the French doors. They were a little hard to operate in summer, but they’d allow the creature, whatever it was, to flee before her parents reached her room. She pulled with all her strength and the right hand wing slowly eased open.

The creature was roughly the size of a grownup. A scale covered lizard with a tail, a teeth studded snout, four stumpy and clawed legs, and skin dangling from its shoulders. It rushed past her, spread emerald wings, and took off into the last rays of the sunset, just as the door to her room opened.

Had that really been a dragon? A real dragon? Jane’s heart thumped in her chest, as much from the surprise as from the knowledge that there was no way she could explain that to anyone. Least of all to her parents.

“Why is it so dark in here?” Despite her words, Mom didn’t switch on the lights. She seemed to be in a bad mood. A bruise had formed on her forehead. The usual. “And who said you could open the window?”

“I guess, you need some disciplining.” The belt slipped from Dad’s trousers with a swish that made her legs wobble. Not again. She stepped away from the open glass door as he stepped forward, rolling most of the belt around his hand, leaving the buckle to dangle.

“I just needed some fresh air,” she whispered, knowing fully well that there was no way she’d be able to escape his wrath. Already tears were running over her face.

“Don’t you remember the rules?” Mom pointed to Dad. “You have to ask your father for permission!”

Dad took another step forward, and Jane backed away some more, crying silently the whole time. “Please. I didn’t mean to. I just … I’m sorry, Dad. Please don’t hit me.” Sometimes, if she cried badly enough and begged enough, he stopped before she passed out.

Something dark shot through the open door, low to the ground and as black as night. Dad screamed as the shadow flew over his body with barely a hand-width of space between them.

The belt fell to the ground and the air suddenly smelled of urine and rust.

A bright flame shot into the air, catching the ceiling right where the light was. The feathers caught and a few seconds later, the whole ceiling was beginning to burn.

The shadow circled gracefully around Mom and came at Jane from behind. She closed her eyes, waiting for the end.

Spread your legs, the voice in her head said. Hurry. Or do you want to burn?

Although extremely surprised, Jane did as she was told. As she spread her legs, something warm and smooth and scaled slipped between them, lifting her off the ground. She opened her eyes, just as the dragon turned toward the open window. The fire was eating rapidly into the house’s wood. Tom stood in the door, staring at her and the dragon like he’d seen a ghost. Mom was dragging Dad toward safety. He seemed too stunned to realize his arm was badly mangled. Blood dropped from the hand that hung limp at his side and his trousers were wet, but he was walking.

As the dragon carried her into the mild summer night, Jane was sure her family would get out before the whole house burned down. She had no idea what the future would bring, especially with a dragon as a rescuer—or friend—but she was more than ready to face whatever the world had to offer, It couldn’t be worse that what she’d lived through already.

She did not look back.

 

Visit the others:
First Real Assignment by Bill Bush
A Whole New World by Barbara Lund
Eye of the Beholder by Chris Makowski
Subject: If You Don’t Hear From Me Again by Gina Fabio
Percival’s Bane: The Demon and The Void by Juneta Key
by James Husum