THE LEGEND RETURNS

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This is a continuation of my Quarter Moon Haunts novel and my Story A Day In May for Day 22. I didn't see this plot twist happening at all, but it did. I hope you enjoy it.



The Legend Returns



     Running past the burning bodies convulsing in agony on the porch – they are beyond saving - we direct our attention towards the residents and staff living in the house. Somehow, we must save them. These are the innocents in this whole mess. It is not their fault the system failed them.

     We rush past the rapidly disintegrating door and run from room to room, alerting everyone to the dangers at hand. Directing the residents to the back and side doors, knowing the front door is the worst possible exit point at the moment, I instruct them to crawl on their hands and knees so as not to get caught up in the extreme heat, but not to attempt to escape on their bellies because that’s where the toxic fumes lie. Once I find the rooms where the staff are, I have more allies in my attempts to get everyone out of here safely.

     The sounds of fire engines approach us rapidly now, but they can not possibly arrive in time to save everyone from the intensity of the flames. I hear people upstairs attempting to get down the steps to safety, but the stairs are becoming ever more fragile, the flames licking away at them with increasing ferocity.

     Even though I’m dead, the fire is frightening to me. My life was torn from me because of similar blazes, and I can feel pain when I’m in my solid form. Shit! In order to save the innocents I must suffer more pain. How can I possibly refuse to help them?

     Reducing my physical self to only what I need to move through the flames and carry people out, I decide I do not need the physical embodiment of my head. My senses will manifest them through other means. My sense of touch will be what I need the most now. Visual acumen in this fiery storm is all but impossible anyway. Yet still, I must hurry because like any other physical body, mine will be needing oxygen. I will be fading in and out, grabbing some breaths, then retreating once more into obscurity.

     Body after body is dragged down the stairs by the three of us until . . . until with all of us on the staircase, it can take no more of the power of the inferno, and it collapses, taking us down with it. We rush out the side door with the folks in our arms, hand them off to the waiting fire fighters and return back inside once more. We’re almost done. There is only one person left, but how the hell do I get upstairs to get him now?

     Timbers are sagging, sheetrock is crashing down everywhere around us, and patches of the sky can be seen through the rapidly vanishing roof. But, the cry for help can not be ignored, and I once more allow my head to become a physical part of me once more. Still, just as before, nothing can be seen to enable me to get to the second floor.

     “Use Running Deer and me as a ladder, Robert!” Mike shouts. “It’s your only option. You have to move fast!”

     He’s right, of course, and I allow them to get ready, Mike on the bottom, leaning against the strongest timber he can find, and Running Deer on his shoulder. Yes, this will do it! I still have to be quick, but this will work.

     Not wasting any time, I climb up the two of them, pull myself to the balcony and drag myself towards where the screams are coming from. It’s not easy, I’m in pain the whole time, and even with my entire physical body being used, I can hardly breathe. But I’m close . . . so close to where he’s at. I can save him. I know I can!

    The floor slumps under me, buckling and twisting, and I know I won’t need to use the ghostly duo as a ladder to get back down. Once more, as with the stairwell, everything will cave in. I need to get to the stranded guy before that happens.

     A sudden roar fills the area as a large piece of the roof caves in and more oxygen rushes in to feed the fire. Indescribable pain attacks my entire body again, and I can only imagine what the remaining guy is feeling. There is much more urgency to my mission now. Getting the fuck out in fast fashion is what I need to do. Scrambling faster, my knees burning from the heat below me, I find and grasp his hand just as the floor vanishes beneath us. Turning over so that my back is towards the floor below, we hit the lower level. My body has cushioned him, but in so doing has knocked the wind out of me.

     “C’mon, damn it!” I think to myself. “Hurry the fuck up and get your ass out of here!”

     Taking a couple of super deep breaths, filling my lungs with oxygen, I once more become headless, and run out the door with the man cradled in my arms. A cop is waiting outside, knowing no one could have survived what just happened inside and is shocked not only that I got this man out alive, but . . . but when he looks at my headless body framed against the inferno behind us, he almost drops the man as I hand him over.

     “This man is burned bad,” I say. “He needs immediate help.”

     The cop is in shock and doesn’t move. “I said he needs help. Move! Now!”

     He runs to the medics and hands him over to them, then turns back and looks at me once more. My black hoodie hanging down because there is nothing to hold it up must present quite a spectacle. He waves wildly to the other cops on the scene and all of them stare, not believing for a second that the legend of the roads could be standing in front of them. Their slow response gives me the time I need, and I dash to the Ram along with my two friends who are now invisible once more.

     My last look back before jumping into the big black Dodge shows one of the cops leveling his revolver at me. Just before he can fire, one of the other cops knocks the gun out of his hand. “You asshole!” he shouts. “That guy, headless or not, just saved a lot of people. He’s a fucking hero, dip-wad! Why do you want to kill him?”

     “He’s . . . he’s that guy that chases everyone on the back roads.”

     “Has he killed anyone?”

     “Not that I know.”

     “Then let him be. Look at all the witnesses watching you. You’d be crucified if you killed him. That’s if he can be killed.”

     I smile. Alrighty! I’m a fucking hero. Even though some idiot will try to kill my ass, I’ll be an urban legend folk hero of sorts.

     We jump into the truck and I put the pedal to the metal and zip off the dirt road and onto the main road. Home sweet home, here we come.

     “I hate to say this,” Mike says as we’re barreling down the road, “but I believe this will give you a big head. You’re difficult enough to deal with now as it is.”

     “Hey, you crazy Dutchman, how can I have a big head? Look at me!”

     “Yikes!” Running Deer shouts.  “Get your head back on and keep your eyes on the road.

     That does make sense. We’re out of harm’s way for a while. “Okay, buddy. Will do!”

     This does bring a whole new element to play with, though. Seeing the black Dodge on the roads will no longer scare the bejesus out of a lot of people now. That will make things a lot easier for me to do my job. In addition to writing the tales about Mike and Running Deer, I need to write about some of the bureaucratic snafus strangling the State and even more about the illegal shit that’s going down. The mob owns a lot of this State. No more, there’s a new sheriff in town, and he can’t be bought off. And guess what? He’s dead. He can’t be killed.

     Crooked politicians, cops, and God knows what else are about to come crashing down everywhere.

     “I’m not liking this,” Mike says. “You’re quiet again. That means your mind is working a mile a minute again.”

     “A healthy mind in a healthy body is a good thing, Mike.”

     “Your body isn’t healthy. You’re dead.”

     “Oh yeah, you’re right. I forgot about that.”

     “Well keep it in mind.”

     “Whatever you say, buddy.”

     “How much do you guys know about newspapers?” I ask.

     “Nothing,” Mike says. “What are they?”

     “They’re like daily books reporting what happened the day before,” I say.

     “We used smoke signals in the old days for that,” Running Deer says.

     I laugh. “You’re pulling my leg, buddy. Newspapers are current about all the news. The only problem is that sometimes the news is tainted. It’s a complete lie. People get paid off to write what others want them to say.”

     “Why?” Mike asks.

     “Money, influence, hushing things up. Some reporters fear for their lives when they report the truth. Some people don’t want the truth to be told.”

     “I’m still worried,” Mike says. “Where do you and, of course, us get involved with this?”

     “It’s quite simple, really. We will gather the truth and I will write what needs to be said.”

     “Shit! This doesn’t sound good to me at all.”

     “C’mon, pussy. Belly up to the bar. Grow a pair.”

     “Huh?”

     “I’ll explain it later. Right now, we’re headed to Newton. The New Jersey Herald will have a special edition tomorrow.”

     My friends hang on for dear life as I turn the Dodge around on the back road, making the best u-turn of my life. Gunning the engine sends us to Newton at break-neck pace. Almost knocking the stupid patrol cars stupid enough to be chasing us off the road as I veer right at them, I have to wonder at their stupidity. First I’m a hero, and now they want to catch my ass for something.

     All of this will work out in grand fashion, I’m sure. People other than cops listen to the police radios. I’m counting on the right person to be listening tonight.

     It’s time for my headless persona again. Newton is coming up fast. I race down the main drag when we arrive and go to the New Jersey Herald. As expected, he is waiting for me. This man I trust. He is smart – no one else would have known I was coming here – and he is completely honest. My kind of guy!

     Zipping around in the middle of the parking lot, the police cruisers surround me as soon as I stop. Jumping out of the Ram, I walk straight to the very center of the big Welcome Wagon committee. Looking at Charlie, the best damn reporter and photographer this rag ever had, I shout, “Take the picture, Charlie! There’s a new reporter for this paper. They just don’t know it yet.”

     He snaps the picture and we run for the building together. He is not the least bit afraid of me for who I am. Reaching the door and getting inside is our goal. We have work to do.

     The cops are hot on our heels and attempt to bust the door down once we’re inside, but my buddies get between us and them and make certain we will not be disturbed.

     Charlie and I rush to the press and get ready to print up tomorrow’s headline. Together, we set the type and my hands fly with the big story about the mental health fiasco. I once worked as a typesetter here, so the job comes easily to me. Charlie stares at me but, of course, he can get no indication of who I really am from my face. I have none.

     “Charlie, me lad,” I say. “We will write many stories together you and I. This rag will grow some major balls.”

     I’m almost done setting the type when a commotion comes up behind me. I turn and stare into the faces of two armed guards. Their guns are drawn and pointed right at me. Petrified at the very sight of me, their arms and hands shake wildly.

     Oh, shit! Being shot in this form of existence would hurt like hell . . .



Blaze McRob        

WELCOME TO TERROR TUESDAY AND KATHRYN MEYER GRIFFITH!

http://www.amazon.com/Kathryn-Meyer-Griffith/e/B000AP9HXQ/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1362770492&sr=1-2-ent http://www.bebo.com/kathrynmeyerG

As per my little announcement that it's time for me to stop so much with my own writing for my Terror Tuesday posts and extol the virtues of others, I present Kathryn Meyer Griffith, a young lady who just this week turned Dinosaur Lake into a paperback. I love this book. It is truly super! What's more, your children can read it as well. Woo, hoo!

Once more, I will repeat that Kathryn is my favorite end days author! The Last Vampire sizzles!

I have included clips for these two great books as well as a Q&A I did with her for a Woman In Horror post I did with her. All of this is well worth the read. Go Kathryn Meyer Griffith Go!


Blaze


This is Kathryn's best selling book. It is great!

http://www.amazon.com/Dinosaur-Lake-ebook/dp/B00943P0JK/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1362771576&sr=1-1&keywords=dinosaur+lake

   

Book Description

Publication Date: August 29, 2012

Blurb:
An ancient predator has been reborn in the caves beneath Crater Lake
...and it's hungry.


DINOSAUR LAKE:
Ex-cop Henry Shore has been Chief Park Ranger at Crater Lake National Park for eight years and he likes his park and his life the way it's been. Safe. Tranquil. Predictable. But he's about to be tested in so many ways. First the earthquakes begin...people begin to go missing...then there's some mysterious water creature that's taken up residence in the caves below Crater Lake and it's not only growing in size, it's aggressive and cunning...and very hungry.
And it's decided it likes human beings. To eat.
And it can come up onto land.
So Henry, with the help of his wife, Ann; a young paleontologist named Justin; and a band of brave men must not only protect his park and his people from the monster but somehow find where it lives and destroy it...before it can kill again. ***

Kathryn is obviously happy with the sales from this book(read below). Bear in mind that this is a self-published book! 

Blaze

    "My 16th novel, DINOSAUR LAKE....is selling

    like hotcakes, more every month and it's only been out five,

    and the great reviews (a lot of 4 and 5 stars) are rolling

    in. 22 right now on Amazon Kindle. After so many years of

    being ignored as a woman horror/mystery writer - as a

    writer- I am amazed and excited to finally be noticed. I am

    humbled. happy." Kathryn Meyer Griffith


This is the book that started me reading Kathryn's tales. The best end days book ever!

Blaze

http://www.amazon.com/Last-Vampire-Kathryn-Meyer-Griffith/dp/1615722084/ref=la_B000AP9HXQ_1_22?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1362772087&sr=1-22

Book Description

Publication Date: October 1, 2010

Author's new revised edition. The earthquakes with their falling ash, the global floods and the devastating fires arrive first. Then the worldwide plague with its stench of death. And as mankind suffers and dies out, vampires, their numbers dwindling, struggle and fight fiercely among themselves to survive in a world where there aren't enough humans to prey and feed upon. As the weeks go by they become fewer, more desperate and more ruthless. Emma, as the world disintegrates around her, finds herself alone, family all have perished...and fending off an unnatural hunger as she becomes one of the undead. Fighting her unwanted destiny she's determined to resist the bloodlust she feels, the need to kill and feed on humans, of losing her humanity, for as long as she can bear it...but she's so hungry...and the night calls.

Here is a great Q&A with Kathryn Meyer Griffith!



1. First of all, I want to tell all my readers that you are one of my all-time favorite writers, present and past, and that I am your biggest fan. All your stories, as different as they might be from each other, draw me in to them, captivating me in a very special way. Thank you very much for sharing your tales with me and the rest of the world. You may take a bow, my friend.

But I don’t feel like I deserve to take a bow…thought I’ve been writing over forty years , published for thirty since 1984, I don’t feel as if I’ve ever made it. Really. I’m going to tell you the truth and you might be very surprised. I’m not a success in any way, except that I’ve never given up and kept writing year after year; kept getting published. Right now, of all my books out, all eighteen, most of them aren’t selling well…except for my first self-published Dinosaur Lake, which, against all odds, is selling very, very well. It’s strange to have one book doing so well when all the others aren’t. I have gotten and still get great reviews on all of my works, but the sales just aren’t there. Dinosaur Lake has given me hope, though. Funny, a strange little monster novel that Zebra Books dumped at the last minute twenty years ago (six weeks from the book shelves, with covers and final editing done) was revised and revived by me last September and now is my star seller. The eBook is making me more money than all my others combined and more money than I’ve made in twelve years. Hmm. It must be the amazing cover by Dawne Dominique and the dinosaur subject. That’s all I can figure.


2. I come now to the novel that introduced me to your alluring style of writing: The Last Vampire. This is by far the best end days tale I have ever read. And, might I add that I write apocalyptic stories. However, I don’t hold a candle to what you achieved with this novel. It has Vampires, love, loss, survival, and so much more. You are my favorite apocalyptic author. Where did you come up with the premise for this masterpiece?

Another funny story that. The Last Vampire originally came out from Zebra paperbacks in 1992…to no fanfare and awful sales; it didn’t even make me my small advance back. It was like it came out and then disappeared into a black void. I never got any reviews (or none that I saw) and, though I’d thought at the time it was my best work so far, no one told me that. I thought it’d been a failure. When Kim brought it out again in 2011, rewritten by me and a new editor, I was floored to get all the five star reviews and people raving about it. Again…how strange the writing life is. But its sales aren’t very good, either. Oh, and I think the first book of mine you read was A Time of Demons, wasn’t it? Another end-of-days story, but one with a touch of religion.

3. Now I come to something I have never told anyone before. A few years back, I had gone through a divorce, and since I have eight children, my youngest being only four years old now, I did what I felt was the right thing to do and gave my family everything I owned with the exception of my books, clothes, and computer. For a while, I was caught between a rock and a hard place, with barely enough money to make ends meet. I had to save to scrape up deposit money for a decent place to stay and all. At that time Damnation books was running monthly specials on all the new books coming out, and I took advantage of them, obtaining some great books from many wonderful writers. You, young lady, are the best one of those great tale spinners. One night, I turned my computer on and read The Last Vampire. I was blown out of the saddle! Not only was your story so great, but the words gave me hope. As far down as I was, your words lifted me. I went to sleep that night happy, even though the story was sad. Does this make any sense to you? I mean: why should I have been so overjoyed after reading a tale filled with so much pain?

Sorry about your divorce. I know the pain it can bring. One day you’re going to have to tell me that story. I was divorced, too, from my first husband in 1978. He broke my heart. Left me for another woman. Abandoned me and his son and never looked back. But I was lucky to find my second husband, Russell, right after. Now it’s been thirty-five years married to him. I am blessed. And the bitter divorce back then, what I went through, gave me so much juicy fodder for my writing.
Your compliments about my book and what it did for you make me happy I kept writing…it’s for reactions like yours that I’m vindicated. Maybe I am a good writer, I think. I’ll tell you why The Last Vampire resonates, as some of my stories do with people – I put hope into them and I attempt to show the strength of the human spirit. All my books are about how human love, faith, caring and humanity will/can win out against the darkness we face every day, whether it be the darkness we find in our normal life or the supernatural. The darkness of life and the fight for survival. That’s what The Last Vampire is really about…survival of the human spirit as well as of the body. I try to embed universal truths in all my stories so they’ll appeal to as many people as possible. We all have known love, joy, hate, fear, loss, triumph, pain, hope and hardship. Everyone can identify with them.

4. Well, naturally, I couldn’t  stop with just one of your great books. I needed to read more. And I did. Many a happy night was spent reading your tales on my computer screen. I read many of them, and there wasn’t a single mediocre one in the bunch. How are you able to stay at the top of your game with all that you have written?

Ah, you should say that to the Sales God! Ha, ha. You’re only prejudiced, in a good way, towards me and my books. You must just be one of those open people. You know the reader (and writer in your case) with the empathy to get all the messages I try to put into my tales. It takes two people to have a great book. A skilled writer and a receptive, sensitive, intelligent reader. You are one of those intuitive readers. Then you must also remember that in the last three years I’ve rewritten all of those old books using the knowledge and wisdom I’ve gathered over the years, and my whole life really, since I first wrote them. Read the original books, they’re not half as good, I believe. I’ve cheated by rewriting them at my age. Knowing what I now know. What I’ve learned. But I had to as some were truly bad. Juvenile. Poorly written. I had terrible editors on most of them. A few reviewers have commented of my revised books that they heard a mature voice behind my writing or in my characters and every time I heard it I smiled. That made me proud.


5. You have been writing over forty one years and have written eighteen novels, two novellas, and twelve short stories. I’ve been writing for thirty seven years. You have me beat. However, I was much older than you when I first started writing. What drives you to spin your tales?

Good question. Who knows? I was born an artist, wanted to be a singer, and always loved words. Books. I felt I had something to say to people and I had to find a way to say it. That life is hard, but beautiful. Worth the pain we humans go through living it. Love matters. Family matters. Books were the perfect way. And without my writing I’d probably be a crazy person. Writing has always been a sort of therapy for me.  Funny that most of what I write is horror or paranormal and, as a person, I’m pretty much afraid of everything. Ha, ha. I have my characters often be fearless in the world. Everything I’m not. But, their inner beliefs are all mine. I believe in the innate goodness of man – or woman. But, contrary to what some reviews have said, I’m not really a goody-two-shoes, it’s just the way I like to write.

6. I know that you are self-publishing your books now, and you are doing such a marvelous job. Who does your editing, cover art, and formatting? Okay, I’m a nosey guy, but I’m sure my readers would like to know your tricks of the trade.

After forty-one years of writing, endless publishers and editors I finally am at the point where I (oh, I know people will smirk and cringe at this, but I no longer care) can self-edit and format my own books. I do it all myself now. No one helps me. Not even a reader or a proofreader. Never have. I’ve always been alone in this. My husband, sweet as he is and often the template for my heroes, doesn’t like to read. I do have a great cover artist, Dawne Dominique from Canada, who was introduced to me through Damnation Books/Eternal Press. She did all my covers there. All fifteen. She now does my self-published covers. As an artist myself, believe me when I say she’s the best cover artist I’ve ever had. I could do my own covers, but she’s better. Besides I don’t have the art programs on my laptop anymore.

7. Dinosaur Lake, one of your newer self-published stories, is selling really well. That must be making you very happy. Too many small Presses and Indie writers toil at the craft for very little money. I gave this novel a Five Star review, even though I consider it to be YA. It certainly held my interest. I found the story to be told in not only an intriguing manner, but it so aptly described a part of the country where I had lived for a number of years. As far as I’m concerned, this novel can and should be read by readers of all ages. How long did it take you to discover the fact that Crater Lake might not be merely a deep, placid body of water, but that a secret might be lurking beneath the surface?

Thanks again for the praise. But Dinosaur Lake is not a YA, or wasn’t meant to be. I think some people think it is because I don’t use any sex or heavy cursing in it. Truth is, these days I don’t like to use the really strong cuss words because I want my books to be read by people of all ages. I want them to live forever. In a hundred years, will people still be saying f--- and other words like it? No, I want the book to stand on its story and characters alone. Besides, I don’t say those words so why should my characters? One reviewer gave DL a 2 star review because he said the book was too tame, didn’t use the f--- word. Said when a dinosaur was eating a woman, someone would be saying that. Ha. I don’t feel that’s true. If a dinosaur was chasing/eating me, I’d either be running, hiding or babbling incoherently. Screaming at the top of my lungs. Not spewing that awful, crude word. No offense to those who do. It’s just not me.  Oh, about when did I discover something monstrous might be lurking in Crater Lake? Hey, I think something hideous, huge-spider scary is lurking everywhere! Behind a door, in a dark corner, in a darkened mirror or around a corner…anything could spring out at me and eat/hurt/possess/scare me. Wasn’t a stretch to think there could be something predatory lurking in a deep rim-encircled lake.

8. In Human no Longer, you mix a Vampire into a story filled with hardship and uncertainty. The protagonist appears to be more human than most any person I have ever known. Wham! Another knockout for Kathryn. Were you aiming for the soul searching mother when you sat down to write this story?

No, I wasn’t actually. Truth is, I write all my main characters as some reflection of myself. I guess my life beliefs bleed through. If that woman is human it’s because that’s how I feel, look at things. It just comes out between the words, I guess. I also have a trick I use. I give the main character something hard in their lives, a loss, a hardship, a sadness that will get instant sympathy from the reader. Usually something in their past, recent or distant. A sadness or tragedy in their early life. The loss of a loved one. I want the reader to feel something for them right away and go on the journey with them. Truth is, making her a mother wasn’t my idea. It was the idea of the agent I once had. I thought she’d represent the book five years ago if I did as she asked. Write about a woman, a mother, who becomes a vampire and how she’d deal with it. I took the concept and built on it. I’m so glad you liked it. The book’s still so new I’m just now getting the responses in to it. I didn’t think it was that good, myself, and was afraid others would feel that, too. I just wanted to get another self-published novel out there after Dinosaur Lake. Alas, it’s not selling so far.

9. Tell us about Scraps Of Paper, please. This is a bit of a departure from your norm, but it is so intriguing.

Gee, Blaze, you need to read all my Backstory Essays on Amazon Kindle attached to all my books. It explains why/how/when I wrote my books, old and new. Quick explanation: It was one of two murder mysteries I wrote for Avalon Books ten years ago. I’ve always loved murder mysteries. Sherlock Holmes. Murder She Wrote. PBS mysteries.  Scraps of Paper I wrote and sold in 2003 and the second in the series, All Things Slip Away, in 2006. I was having trouble selling horror novels, trouble selling anything for eight dry years, so I tried writing mysteries for a while. Sold both to Avalon.  Hardcovers. Terrible, terrible ten year contracts. Low advance. Never saw a penny, nor a royalty statement, in ten years because of a sell-off limit they say I never reached. I just got the rights back to the first book and self-published it. Getting good reviews, it’s still not selling, though. I think it’s a good book. Now you know why I’m self-publishing. I can’t number the ways publishers have cheated me over the years. Made me feel like an incompetent writer and kept me living in poverty. Oh well. Onward and upward.

10. You have also combined four tales into a collection called Four Spooky Short Stories. How is that working out for you?

Same as Scraps of Paper and Human No Longer…not selling yet. But I’m a patient person. I’ll keep trying. They’re four horror/romantic horror short stories I whipped up a few years ago for a fantasy/horror magazine that went under before I could get them accepted. So I decided to self-publish them, too. Good stories, in my mind, if people would give them a chance. My favorite is Ghost Brother (darker, grittier than rest), but a reviewer recently liked the ghost story Too Close to the Edge the best.


11. I have mentioned Damnation Books, and Eternal Press is a sister Press for them. I have the utmost respect for Kim Richards and know she has worked hard to get your past titles published with other publishers back into print. How did you hook up with Kim?

I think I saw her post on a horror loop somewhere in 2010, I forget where exactly now. She was posting that she was beginning a new horror publisher, Damnation Books, and was looking for submissions. I had two books I’d been sending out everywhere for years and no one wanted. A Time of Demons and The Woman in Crimson. No joke. My confidence was at an all time low. I sent them to her and she loved them, contracted them right away. Then looked me up on the Internet and noticed I had many old Leisure and Zebra paperbacks out of print going back to 1984 and asked if I wanted to rewrite and re release them with her; put them in eBooks for the first time. I said yes and spent the next two years rewriting and re releasing all of my 15 older novels. And here I am.

12. How might people get a peek at the self made book trailers you have made?

Go to You Tube and key in my name, Kathryn Meyer Griffith, and all of them will come up. I think I have five or six. I stopped making them when I got so busy rewriting my old books and haven’t made any since my brother got sick. My talented musician brother, Jim Meyer, did all the original music for them, except Egyptian Heart. I even sing with him in the book trailer for A Time of Demons because it mimics the two main characters. I used to sing with him when we were young, folk and rock, in the 1960’s. And I’m so glad he did that music for me  since his cancer surgery his voice is pretty much gone. At least I have the book trailers and a bunch of jam DVD’s we did together in the last few years. My husband is even on the DVD’s playing the stand-up bass. Ah, memories.

13. You write so many different kinds of tales that I just shake my head in amazement. There is supernatural horror, Sci-fi horror, romantic time travel, murder mysteries, paranormal romance, ghosts, ancient Egyptian Spirits, and haunted places. Have I left anything out?

Yep, my very first written novel, but my second published in 1985, was an historical romance. The Heart of the Rose. Out now again, rewritten, of course, as the original was horrendous. Ha, ha. I know, I know. Me, historical romance? A bodice-ripper, even…with explicit sex in it. A rape scene because my stupid editor (and this happened a few times in my career where I was forced to add sex to my stories but didn’t really want to…yes, some of my older books have sex in them) back then made me write one. Said all the best-selling romances had them. Ech!  I was a twenty-one year old when I started it; trying to find my writer’s voice. I hadn’t found it yet. But it was about an alleged witch in 15th century England. So the stage was set, so to speak, for my horror writing career. My second written, but first published in 1984 by Leisure paperbacks, novel was a horror, Evil Stalks the Night.
The Egyptian thing? I always had a fascination with ancient Egypt. Loved the movie The Mummy. That’s why a few of my books are ancient Egyptian themed. Same with witches. I was always intrigued with the subject. Ghosts? My Grandmother Fehrt, an Austrian immigrant, used to tell me and my six brothers and sisters ghost stories when we were little. It rubbed off, I guess. Then, also, I saw a ghost when I was sixteen. A real ghost. Of my Great Aunt Mary two days after she’d died; the night before we were to bury her. In my home’s hallway. Middle of the night. In a ball of glowing light. Scared the bejesus out of me. I ran and hid under my blankets. Ha, ha.

14. I see I have more reading to do, Kathryn. All of these genres and sub-genres intrigue me no end. Is it tough to juggle so many different thoughts in your mind?

Nope. If you read enough of my books you’ll realize I actually always write the same kind of books over and over. Good versus evil. Good usually wins. Strong characterizations. Lots of details and human feelings. People, love and faith count. That universal stuff again.

15. You are a Christian lady. Your tales are not peppered with a lot of the vulgarity that I might use when I spin some of my yarns, and yet your point gets across, and there is a sense of humanity in all your tales. Do you find it difficult to talk about the Dark when you believe in the Light?

If the light exists, then so, too, does the dark. Being raised a Catholic if it taught me nothing else, taught me that. Horror? Supernatural? Ever read about those Catholic martyrs, those miracles? The Bible? That Ten Commandments movie where Moses parted the Red Sea?  The Church and demon possessions. Heck, no wonder I grew up to write what I write.

16. This is your time to talk about whatever you wish. Tell us about your next forays in to writing more of your fantastic stories or whatever else tickles your fancy. You have the floor, my friend.

Right now I’m in the middle of a new adventure. Six of my books are being made into Audio Books by ACX. They’ll be available from Amazon.com, Audible and iPhones by summer. Witches. The Last Vampire. The Woman in Crimson. Dinosaur Lake. The Heart of the Rose. Egyptian Heart. It’s so neat hearing the narrators speaking my stories. They come alive.
Then…who knows what. I’m getting older and in two years my husband, Russell, will retire and we want to travel the United States in a camper. Maybe my writing will slow down then. Maybe not. I’ve been thinking of a sequel to Witches and one to Dinosaur Lake. Also another Spookie Town Mystery (would be the third in my mystery series) after I get the rights back to the second book because I love those quirky characters in those books. Love the town. I’m not sure. I do know one thing, though. The stories will always be in my head and I hope to get a few more out before my days on earth are through. If God allows it.

17. Thank you for taking the time to answer my questions, Kathryn. I realize I never ask the simple stuff, but you’re not a simple lady. You are an amazing, talented author, and a person I am very happy and honored to call my friend. I will always be your number one fan.

Robert, you do amaze me. That you love my books so much. You are my number one fan and have brightened my days as much as you say I’ve brightened yours. I have to smile, though, over you because you think I’m so special. I’m not all that. Really. If I were then I’d be famous, and rich, and I’m not, not by a long shot. Maybe it’s something special in you that reads between the lines of my work and see/hears things that most people don’t. Could be only you see them. Could be all I really need in the future is more exposure. I’m trying hard to get it. Until then I just keep trying to write the best book, story, I can. So here, now, I want to thank you for all you’ve done for me. Keep being my friend.



Kathryn's Amazon bio:


I've been writing for over 41 years now...published for 30 of those years since 1984; have EIGHTEEN novels, 2 novellas and 12 short stories to my name...and more coming. Aug. 30, 2012: I (first time ever!) SELF-PUBLISHED MY 16TH NOVEL *DINOSAUR LAKE* TO AMAZON KINDLE DIRECT! January 2013 I SELF-PUBLISHED MY 17TH NOVEL *HUMAN NO LONGER*, my fourth vampire novel. Also in January 2013 I self-published my rereleased murder mystery (originally a 2003 Avalon Books hardcover) SCRAPS OF PAPER-Revised Author's Edition and FOUR SPOOKY SHORT STORIES, a collection of 4 horror/romantic horror short stories.
I write traditional supernatural horror, SF horror, romantic time-travel, murder mysteries and paranormal romance. I've been writing about ghosts, ancient Egyptian spirits, haunted places and evil vampires WAY LONG BEFORE Stephanie Meyer (no relation to me even though my maiden name is Meyer) and the rest of the vampire author crowd, ha, ha. And now ALL 15 of my older Zebra, Leisure paperbacks, Avalon Books murder mysteries and my Wild Rose Press books have been revised, reprinted and rereleased for the first time in many years (and in e-books for the first time ever) from DAMNATION BOOKS www.damnationbooks.com and ETERNAL PRESS www.eternalpress.biz and AMAZON KINDLE DIRECT. Yippie! So look for them.
I'm a wife of almost 35 years (husband, Russell), mother (one son, James) and grandmother (two grandchildren, Caitlyn and Joshua). I was a graphic designer in the corporate world for 23 years; and have published with Dorchester, Kensington, Avalon Books, The Wild Rose Press, Amazon Kindle Direct, Damnation Books and Eternal Press, and Amazon Publishing. Six years ago I crossed over into e-books as well as paperbacks and now ALL my old/new books are in ebooks...and soon to be in AUDIO BOOKS from ACX. I love cats and nature, classic rock and country music (my brother, JS Meyer www.jsmeyermusic.com, is a singer/songwriter and does the songs for all my self-made book trailers that are on my websites). VISIT me at www.myspace.com/kathrynmeyergriffith or www.bebo.com/kathrynmeyerG or www.authorsden.com/kathrynmeyergriffith to see all my book covers and trailers.
My published books: (ALL OF THESE OUT AGAIN...PLEASE LOOK FOR THEM!) Human No Longer (2013),Dinosaur Lake (SF horror), Scraps of paper-Revised Author's Edition, Evil Stalks the Night (supernatural horror), Leisure 1984; The Heart of the Rose (historical romance) Leisure 1985; Blood Forge (supernatural horror), Leisure 1989; Vampire Blood (romantic supernatural horror), Zebra 1991; The Last Vampire (supernatural horror), Zebra 1992; Witches (romantic horror), Zebra 1993 & Pinnacle 2000; a novella called The Nameless One in Dark Seductions, an erotic horror anthology, Kensington, 1993; The Calling (supernatural horror), Zebra 1994. The Nameless One, a short erotic novella in the 1994 Zebra Anthology Dark Seductions. And Scraps of Paper (hardcover mystery) Avalon Books, 2003; All Things Slip Away, the second mystery in the series came out also from Avalon Books in February 2006 and now both are out again from Amazon and both in ebooks for the first time ever. And my three novels and two short stories from The Wild Rose Press are out again from ETERNAL PRESS: Egyptian Heart(ancient Egyptian time travel romance); Winter's Journey(a romantic suspense novel); The Ice Bridge, (a contemporary romance e-novel with a dose of murder mystery) and two ghostly short stories, Don't Look Back, Agnes and In This House. BEFORE THE END: A Time of Demons, an apocalyptic saga from Damnation Books, June 2010. THE WOMAN IN CRIMSON, a vampire eternal love story, is out now from ETERNAL PRESS www.eternalpress.biz. The Complete Guide to Writing Paranormal Fiction: Volume 1 (I did the Introduction) 2011 and Telling Tales of Horror 2012(I did the chapter on Putting the Occult into your Fiction)***

OUR MOON

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This is my Story A Day In May for Day 21. I wrote this a while back for someone very special. I know she remembers it well. I altered it somewhat to fit the beautiful picture I chose to use, but I still have the original poem. Some things must be left as they are. This is another side of Blaze: he who writes of the Dark. This is anything but Dark. I hope you enjoy the message contained within.


Our Moon


A huge orange moon rises up o'er the mountain
casting a warm, gentle glow on all it touches,
the air so clear, no wind to be found,
a night so peaceful and calm.
Slowly it rises, the color changing with its journey,
'till a great silver roundness befriends my vision.
Oh glorious moon, a sight to behold,
but something is missing: I view it alone.
My sadness is great, I feel pain in my heart,
for my lady and I are so far apart.
For the touch of her hand, a kiss on her lips,
I would give all I have, willing and free.
And then it comes, a thought so simple:
that great moon above that I'm looking at,
can be shared with my sweetheart, here and now.
Our souls can't be parted, they remain as one.
We are one incarnate and always will be,
no distance too great to shatter our love.
So I look at the moon , and I feel her hand,
her hug, and her kiss upon my lips.
I come back inside and read a message,
that from my cherished one has come.
" We stood together and looked at the moon,
we hugged and we kissed and held hands a while.
Our love we shared, we held nothing back.
The distance between us can not break our love.
You said so yourself, and I know it's true:
for ever and ever, it's just you and me.
Whenever you're lonely, don't ever forget,
that sky up above is yours and mine.
We don't have to share it with anyone else.
The darkness, the light, it doesn't matter,
we share them both within our hearts."
Her hand slips away, but I can still feel it,
and the warmth of her body so close to mine.
I love this sweet lady with all my heart,
and someday, oh someday, we never will part.
True love can't be hidden or stored on a shelf,
and our love will blossom and forever grow.
I cast off my clothes and jump into bed,
alone, but yet, I'm really not.
My sweet lady's soul lies down beside me,
" I love you, " she says: " I always will. "
" I know you do, sweet child of mine,
and my love comes back a hundred times. "
Our souls joined together, we fall asleep,
and our dreams, our dreams, are so deep and sweet.


Blaze McRob

ETERNAL DAMNATION

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This is a continuation of my Quarter Moon Haunts novel and my Story A Day In May for Day 20. The plot thickens!



Eternal Damnation



     Once more, the flurry of those from the Dark attack Sergeant Thomas in the same manner as they did Dr. Nielsen. This is more than a vendetta by God for him having killed the doctor in such a gruesome manner. After all, he was pushed over the edge by the medicine and subjected to extreme psychiatric posturing by what happened here at the hospital, and even by what I had done to give him a push towards the abyss of sanity.

     And yes, it was I who undid his straps and allowed him the opportunity to dispatch of the doctor. Am I as guilty as Sergeant Thomas?

     Rapid visions of horror pass as a disjointed collage before my eyes when the evils from the lives of Dr. Nielsen and Sergeant Thomas flit around and in front of me, not sparing any part of my visual acumen. Needles, pills, shock treatment, and more, combine with handcuffs, and the raping of innocent “suspects” in a patrol car sitting hidden on some back road hardly ever traveled. How many women were subjected to such torture? How many patients were subjected to the lunacy of a health care professional who was anything but what he was supposed to be?

     Back and forth, evil to evil, death to death. My mind can barely comprehend what I am seeing, the horror of it all leaving an imprint which can never be forgotten. My soul is agonized for the pain suffered by those abused and destroyed. Why? Why do things like this have to happen? Why must men be such monsters?

     With final gasps from both men as their souls are dragged to Hell assaulting my ears, I drop to the floor, totally spent from the experience, expecting a special cadre of demons to be coming for me now.

     But they don’t come, and my breathing slowly returns to normal.

     The yells and pounding on the door intensify, but it is not time yet for them to be opened. The light . . . the light comes down from above, and the room is soon filled with spirits ready to walk to their new home. Many victims of rape perpetrated by Sergeant Thomas, and murder at the hands of callous health care, are patiently waiting their turn to begin the next stage of their existence. And this time, there will be only joy.

     My wife is the last one to walk into the light. Far up ahead, I see her parents and others who have gone before her and have been patiently waiting for her to come to them. “Thank you, Robert,” she says, looking at me just moments before she vanishes.

     No more, no less. I am confused, but then again, I shouldn’t be. Her release has come. In life or death, it is over between us. Does this mean I will not be walking into the light? Will I take the route to the afterlife that Dr. Nielsen and Sergeant Thomas have?

     Again, I wait for the Dark ones , but they do not come.

     “Oh, sweet Robert, you are so confused. I’m sorry, but I can not yet reveal to you what is in your future. You see, a large part of that is entirely of your own making. Free will, my good man. You still have it, and will be called upon many times to do what is right even when everything says it is wrong. Yours is not an easy journey.”

     Looking at my ravishing Angel, I say, “If I am not mistaken, I have no more ties to the past. All those I loved when I was living have or will go their own ways. My wife, for example, will not be waiting for me if and when I walk into the light.”

     “Does that bother you, Robert?”

     “Yes, it does. It appears everything I have done in life was for nothing. When my present stage of existence is over, there is nothing for me to look forward to. I will be alone. Walking into the light will mean nothing more than the fact that the Demons of the Dark have not taken me. My paradox of existence will mean my Heaven is a Hell.”

     Tears fall down the cheeks of my special Angel, not just a few, but many. “Please, Robert, do not feel that there is no purpose in what you do, that you will not be able to experience joy. Oh how I wish I could give to you what you crave right now, but I am not able to. Try to understand what I am saying.”

     I reach for her, knowing it is not the right thing to do, but aware also that I must do something to calm her, to keep her from experiencing my pain. There is no need for her to suffer.

     She wraps her arms around me and brings me in to her, both of us absorbing something special from the other. Oh the complexities of all that is going on around me is tearing me apart, but I must be strong and get by the bad things. Even in death, I have those who count on me.

     The door is close to breaking in on us. “Go now, special lady,” I say. “You have things you must do, and so do I.”

     The light vanishes from the room, and so does my Red-Haired Angel. Yet within the complexities of all that surrounds me, she is my only constant.

     There is hope after all.

     With a crescendo borne from urgency, the door is broken open and people rush in, some of them retching from the sight before them. The looks of agony on the faces of both men is very much evident. Twisted mouths, looking much like stroke victims having their facial muscles subjected to the whims of the disease taking them over, leer back at the “rescuers.” Too late is too late.

     The assemblage of medical experts can do nothing. It is time for the bodies to be slapped into those impersonal zippered bags and sent to the Medical Examiner to determine the cause of their deaths. I could tell him if I wanted too, but why should I? That’s why they get paid the big bucks. Let them stew over it. 

     Running Deer, Mike, and I walk to the parking lot. All that needed to be done here has been done. Well, maybe not everything. A fire or explosion destroying the entire piece of shit hospital would be a good thing, but not tonight. Maybe, just maybe, somebody in this shit-hole can step up to the plate and do some good. I’m not holding my fucking breath, though.

     Yeah, like that would make a difference anyway. I’m fucking dead for God’s sake.

     “Man, that was pretty intense shit,” Mike says. “I knew we were going to be traveling down some weird-ass roads together, but you keep surprising me, Robert.”

     “As long as you’re not bored by all that’s happening, my friend,” I say.

     “That’s not a word in your vocabulary. Even before you died, you kept us on our toes.”

     “Well, my toes are hurting at the moment,” Running Deer says.

     “Then I suggest you get into the black chariot awaiting us, my friend,” I say.

     “Are we going straight home?” Mike asks.

     “What? The night is still young,” I say. “There are still some stones left unturned.”

     “And, of course, we are the ones to turn them over. Oh, how I enjoy participating in your midnight meanderings, Robert,” my Dutch friend says.

     “Excuse me,” Running Deer says. “What about the black truck? Everyone is looking for it, you know.”

     “Very true, but only the cops will go after it now.”

     “That’s who we’re trying to hide it from.”

     “No. we can always outrun them. We need to hide the red Ram from them. That’s the one which points to me.”

     They agree that makes sense, but I can tell they are leery of me being able to pull it off for too long.

     “Okay, where to first, Robert?” Mike asks.

     “To a long porched house sitting a ways off the Paulinskill River.”

     “And the reason?”

     “Something doesn’t set well with me about the place. It’s a sort of half-way house for people undergoing mental health care from the hospital.”

     “Half-way house?”

     “Yes, supposedly once they’ve been there for a while they will be able to go out on their own and live and work like the rest of the world. But that won’t happen with any of them. They’ve been drugged up for so long that there is no way in Hell they will ever be able to handle real life situations. They’re like children trapped in the bodies of adults.”

     “Why do you think something will happen here tonight?”

     “To cover things up, Mike. With the shit that went down at the hospital, people are worried that files will be opened up to answer questions. The State might be lax in getting these things done, but they have no choice this time around. This is a bombshell. They need to diffuse it before it explodes. Nielsen wasn’t the only piece of shit wallowing around in the cesspool of decadence.”

     I cover the distance rapidly, making certain to keep within the normal speed limits so as not to bring any unwanted attention to us. It will take time for whoever wants to eradicate evidence to get over there. I’m sure to be there ahead of them.

     Driving the truck to a point across the street from the house, I park it on a dirt road heading down to the river, maneuvering my position so everything that can possibly happen will be visible to me. Now, it’s time to patiently sit and wait. Hopefully, nothing will happen, but everything tells me my gut feeling about this whole scenario is well grounded.

     An hour later, a dark colored Chevy Nova pulls up. It looks like a nicer version of the one I once owned. Two men, barely visible in the poor lighting, get out of the car and walk to the house, carrying a few bulky items. All the lights are turned off inside. They don’t bother to knock, but merely set the items down on the porch.

     What the hell. Something’s going down. Shit! I know what it is now.

     All three of us jump out of the truck and run as fast as we possibly can towards the house. The two men empty the contents of the containers on the porch and set a match to it. In seconds, the entire porch is lit in flame. They laugh, but their evil exhortations are a bit early.

     Careless as they were, they spilled some of the gasoline on themselves.

     Their bodies soon resemble those of the Monks in ‘Nam who set themselves on fire to protest the war. The porch roof caves in on top of them.

     The stench of burning flesh and their screams of agony fill the air . . .



Blaze McRob           

THIS BABY LIVES

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This is my Story A Day In May For Day 19. I'm a day early with this. I dedicate this to Lisa McCourt Hollar who feels as I do about this subject. Carry on the fight, Lisa!



This Baby Lives



     The abortion clinic on the outskirts of Denver is a complete disaster. One would think that it is a flop house intended for the homeless, one where no one bothers to change the sheets or other bed linen because it just doesn’t matter. In truth, this particular one, while supposedly run to the standards of the laws of Colorado, is actually more akin to an under the table money laundering scheme. The mob has nothing on the back room dealings of Dr. Sam Gomez, the Arapaho County Sheriffs Department, the Feds, and every crooked Judge in the state.

     Women come, get their abortions, many of which are late term, the Federal government hands over exorbitant amounts of money to the clinic, and everyone is happy.

     But the babies aren’t, are they?

     Many palms are greased in this operation. Why not? When one doesn’t pay for the supposed necessities needed to run a sanitary and safe operation, money is saved: graft money. But the big bucks . . . the big bucks come from late term abortions, ones against the law. Right! As if a law is really such when everyone turns their backs to what is happening.

     And Dr. Sam gets richer and richer and fatter and fatter; and more and more babies are killed. The cycle does not want to end.

      But sometimes things don’t go as planned, do they? Not everyone plays the game. Charlie Anderson doesn’t. His wife is a resident of the clinic at the moment, waiting for the moment when their precious daughter is to be snatched from her body like she was some piece of trash. Mentally incompetent they call her. “There is no way that Felicia can care for her baby,” her parents say. And what of Charlie? Doesn’t a father have rights? Grease the palms of the right judges and anything can be accomplished. Anything. The judge says Charlie would be unable to care for the baby because he has no car or visible means of support.

     Fuck! The man works. Sure it’s a low paying job, but he has relatives willing to baby sit for him if need be, and he loves his wife and loves his unborn child with every fiber of his being. His wife is not mentally incompetent: she is merely fragile, but that can be overcome. It’s not a huge obstacle.

     But his in-laws merely wish the possible stigma upon the family name to go away. Next on their agenda is to get an annulment of the marriage. With no husband or grandchild hanging around, and their daughter confined to some kind of sanitarium, they can get back to their own agenda, selfish and uncaring as it might be.

     Darkness comes, the place where the unknown dwells, where fear becomes heightened upon hearing every sound, no matter how quiet or loud. And yes, this is the time when deeds are carried out which usually would not see the light of day. Mostly, these deeds are evil, but sometimes . . . sometimes things must be performed now, for the dark will conceal the good contained within the soul of a protagonist on a mission of justice.

     Justice has not been served for quite some time in this cesspool of abomination. Sometimes a man must rise up from the ashes of consumed evil doing and take back the good; restore the fervor of life; and do what he can to restore respect for everyone and not just the select few.

     Charlie drives to the clinic with a friend, and they park a ways from the main entrance, not wanting to call attention to themselves. His friend will remain in the car. If things go bad, he will leave. That has been agreed upon up front. This will be a risky attempt at best, and Charlie doesn’t want anyone to get hurt other than himself if something bad goes down.

     Though, he doesn’t like to carry a weapon, on this night, it is a measure of insurance, a last resort. He has every intention of getting his wife and baby safe and away from the hell-hole. Two .38’s are his partners tonight. And he has plenty of ammo.

     Which room is his wife in? Usually, not many patients spend the night, so it should be easy to find her, but this place is huge, and he goes to door after door without finding her. This is not good! He must find her soon while it is still dark. Once the clinic opens, it could be too late to do anything. The place would be surrounded by the crooked cops and he would be thrown into the slammer and his wife and baby would still suffer the same fate.

     He spots a light turned on at the end of one of the long hallways and wonders if maybe this could be it. There has to be a reason the light is on. Carefully, he makes his way to the end of the hallway and opens the door on the right first. The room is dimly lit, but he has hit pay dirt. His wife is here, sound asleep, probably drugged to keep her under control.

     Damn! If any harm comes to his baby because of what they have done to Felicia and his baby, there will be Hell to pay!

     The door opens once more and Dr. Gomez and a nurse walk in. There is panic in the doctor’s voice as he says, “What are you doing here and who the hell are you?”

     Charlie takes one of the .38’s  out of his waistband and says, “All you have to know is that this baby lives. Get out of my way if you wish to do the same.”

     The doctor panics and breaks the glass on the fire alarm and lets the world know something wrong is about to happen. But his biggest mistake is when he charges Charlie. From two feet away, the slug from the .38 blows Sam’s head apart. There is no time for even a quick recognition from the doctor that something went bad. His drop to the floor is immediate.

     Freezing against the wall, the nurse is no harm to him, and Charlie merely tells her to get the fuck out while the getting is good. Still no movement. Charlie pulls out the needles attached to Felicia and runs out of the room and down the hallway as fast as he can. His friend’s car is waiting outside to take them to safety. At least he hopes it still is.

     Hearing the fire engines and other sirens approaching fast, Charlie knows he has to hurry even more. Seeing a male nurse approaching him with a perplexed look on his face, Charlie cold-cocks him, takes his white jacket, puts it on and runs outside with his wife in his arms. Met by the fire fighters outside, he says, “The end of the building! The fire is at the end of the building!”

     They rush in the opposite direction and Charlie jumps into his friend’ car when he pulls it up. They are gone before the police arrive.



                                                                  *    *    *    *



     The warm summer night is not conducive to the sleeping of his daughter, so Charlie takes her outside, lovingly cradling her in his arms. They walk together across the lawn, enjoying the solitude of the lovely dairy farm community. New Jersey is 2,000 miles away from the past. But none of that matters now. Felicia is getting stronger every day, and his precious Angela is such a delightful baby. Charlie loves her so much.

     To the rest of the world, Charlie is an outlaw, a murderer, someone to be hated and feared. Tell that to Angela now, or to his lovely wife. He hides behind a full beard, concealing the face an entire nation believes to be Public Enemy Number One. It’s all a matter of perspective, isn’t it? Who was the real murderer? Was it the butcher of Arapahoe County, or the father trying to protect his wife and daughter from a system that sucks?

     His baby’s smile, peering up at him in the full moonlight is all the answer Charlie needs . . .



Blaze McRob    

THE SUPERIOR MIND

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This is my Story A Day In May for Day 18. Today is Armed Forces Day. I salute every man and woman who has ever worn the uniform. Today belongs to us.


 The Superior Mind



     The cell is small: a straw mat, a hole which acts as a toilet, dirt floors, and walls made from the tree limbs of the prevailing timber. Whatever is the handiest. Yes, that's what's used. The door is constructed of denser wood, but again, local timber is the construction material.

     Windows would be nice, but I can't really expect that, can I? That would weaken the structure, making it easier for me to escape. We can't have that. That would never do.

     How many movies have I watched where prisoners scratch out the number of days they are kept in confinement? Far too many. Neat little blocks of five, one after the other: for what purpose? Is this something to be celebrated? I think not.

     My theory: save your energy and look for the moment when escaping the confines of your captives is the ultimate. Sharpen your mind; stay alert for all the possibilities at hand; and strike when the moment is right.

     The enemy . . .the enemy has all the weapons. Or do they? Sure,  they hold the edge with physical weapons; guns, knives, and strength of numbers. But is there more?

     Damn right there's more! How about the weapons within my mind? Stronger than the enemies'? Yes.

     Interrogation can be tough: damned tough. But I hold the edge. Through a quirk of my make up, I present their worst nightmare; I stutter. They can't understand me, and it drives them crazy. As it is, their command of the English language is spotty at best, and I come along and throw even more of an obstacle in their faces. Damn me anyway!

     When it comes time for physical torture, they have met their match. Bamboo shoots stuck up body orifices hurt like hell, but if I laugh , loud and long, as they are doing it, they stop. Cultural beliefs have them believing that I am insane, and I am possessed with an evil spirit that could jump out of me and possess them. No one wants to be the first in line to see if this is true or not.

     They back off. The torture stops.

     Night after night, day after day, I wait my chance. The moment will come. And when it does . . .

     One bomb after another drops, seemingly closer with every strike. I can hear the guards, my sadistic captors, running around outside, jabbering away like frightened children, wondering what they should do next. I'm no fool: I know the camp is set up for quick departure, a departure that means extra baggage will be killed when exit time arrives.

     When the air is silent with no more anxious mutterings, I realize they are checking out the situation before making a decision. Mine is already made. I attack the door with all my strength and my cell door from hell falls on top of the only guard left in the camp. I do what has to be done. It is him or me. I prevail.

     My mind has proven to be the superior weapon. I run free into the night.



Blaze McRob   

PSYCHIATRIC TURMOIL

This is a new chapter in my ongoing novel Quarter Moon Haunts. Also, it is my Story A Day In May for Day 17. Sussex County, New Jersey will never be the same.


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 Psychiatric Turmoil



     Running Deer and Mike both grab a hold of me, attempting to comfort me, to let me know they are there, and that which I am seeing is not from the present but from the past, a past filled with horror and guilt.

     “Damn it, Robert!” Mike shouts. “It’s not your fault. You tried to stop what was happening, but they wouldn’t let you. They are at fault. Not you!”

     But the agony, the pain still in my mind and soul after all these years, refuses to relinquish its grip on me. It is as if the time is now and not so many years ago. The visuals are so clear! What is happening to me? Why the pull on the very rationalization within my being? It makes no sense. This is a part of me I have tried to sequester from the deep seated conscious part of my being for many years.

     Yet now, it wants to come into close proximity with the present, but that present is not exactly equipped to deal with what is coming down. I can see the past, but I am in the present, and that time continuum is marred by the fact I am no longer alive. This complication of time and space prevents me from doing anything to change the past or to render the present as a time of atonement.

    Shit! The past can not be changed, and the present is all that remains, waiting on the future to solidify what is right and wrong. My head spins from the very concepts flitting about within my mind, one which for all intents and purposes should not be functioning.

     I attempt to get up from the porch swing and go to the aid of my wife, but I am powerless. Some force is holding me back, not allowing me to penetrate the barrier between the present and the past. I am able to be a spectator but not a participant. Relief for me only comes when the visual is gone and I am once more totally within the fabric of what resides now.

     “That was some scary shit, Robert!” Mike says. “For a second, I actually thought you were going to leave us and return to the past somehow.”

     My head is spinning, and reality is mere façade, but I know that for me to exist in another time frame while another me was there would be impossible. One of us would cease to be.

     “That’s an impossibility, Mike,” I say. “At best, I would have been a spectator only.”

     “Care to explain yourself?”

     “No, I don’t!” I holler, pissed off at the old Dutchman.

     Mike laughs. “That’s better, my friend. Glad to see the fire is back in you.”

     Okay, so the son-of-a bitch pulled another one over on me. He might come off as not being the most clever guy in the world, but he has plenty of savvy upstairs.

     “Now that I have your attention, Robert,” Mike says, “When do we do the knight in shining armor trick and rescue some damsel in distress, or anyone else you have a hankering to get out of harms way?”

     “We wait only as long as it takes for the flood waters to recede and we can drive to where we need to go.”

     They both look at me, knowing what I’m about to say. “Yes, my friends. The black Dodge Ram will return.”

     I walk to the mighty truck of mine, admiring the deep red hue of my baby. My sweet Angel will be able to help me when the time comes. Red is the color of joy. But black . . .  black is the color of stealth and surprise.

     And there will be some surprises.



                                               
                                                      *    *    *    *  



     The night is perfect. It couldn’t be much darker, and the air is without so much as a hint of breeze. My senses are in over-drive, waiting for the moment. Were I still alive, I could not be extracting revenge on those so totally without conscience. Yes, there are some who tried to buck the system and fight what was going on here, but their jobs vanished and they became scapegoats to the bureaucracy.

     Parking the truck in the parking lot amidst a cluster of employee vehicles so as to not have it stand out, we hop out and I lead my buddies towards the doors of the hospital.

     “What’s our plan exactly?” Running Deer asks.

     “Well, my friend,” I say, “we sort of revamp the way the Mental Health facility is being run. Out with the old and in with the new.”

     “What’s the new?” Mike asks.

     “Drs. Mike, Running Deer, and Robert,” I say. “Cool, huh?”

     “But we’re not doctors.”

     “Neither are they, Mike. They’re quacks. Dr. Nielson has been running this facility at Newton Memorial for years. He needs more help than any of his patients. The man is completely gonzo. The medication and treatment he prescribed for my wife killed her every bit as much as a knife through her heart would have done, only it was a long and painful death.”

     “Why did you leave her in his care?”

     “It was not my choice to make. The State handles that shit, and they fucked up.”

     “Sounds like you’re about to play a heavy hand, Robert.”

     “As heavy as I have to, Mike.”

     My dead heart pounds in my chest in anticipation of the moment coming ever closer to fruition. All these years of not being able to do anything will change now. But I can not allow the feelings for revenge to get in the way of going about this in the right way. It is not simply a matter of walking in, commandeering the joint, and killing a bunch of scum doctors and other staff. I would be no better than them.

     “Invisibility now, my friends,” I say. No one must see us. No one.”

     We walk past the staff at the desk, not that they would have noticed us too fast had we been visible. At this time of the night, this place is almost deserted. Every now and then someone tries to take their life and misses the mark. They get worked on for their injuries, then they are remandered here. Other than that, there’s not much happening, not that they watch too close.

     I have been here before, unsuccessfully attempting to wrest my wife away from the clutches of Dr. Nielsen, but tonight will be different, for I know his routines, the layers of depravity he works within. His methodology will be the same. What’s the old saying about changing your normal system of doing things? Tonight it will work against him.

     Walking through the doors to Nielsen’s office, I see a normal sight. Sergeant Thomas is fully secured to a table by his wrists and ankles and the quack is mixing and matching drugs to try out on his new patient. It appears the idiot wants to give him Valium and Mellaril, the same concoction that did my wife in.

     Thomas glares at him, hatred in his eyes, waiting for the moment when he can throttle the bastard. Hmmn, perhaps a few ghosts can undo the shackles securing him to the table. Oh yeah, that would make for some good sport.

     Within seconds, Thomas is loose and shoves Nielsen away. “Okay, shit head!” he shouts, “let’s reverse the procedure a bit. I feel like playing doctor, and you shall be my patient.”

     It doesn’t take much for him to force the old doctor to the table. Nielsen hollers out, but Thomas quickly walks to the door and makes sure it’s locked. What he has in mind won’t take long, then he’ll just rush past whoever manages to break the door down and escape.

     But now is fun time.

     Thomas takes every drug on the table, injected form or pill, and makes certain that all of them get into the old man’s system. It doesn’t matter where the needles go as long as the magic starts working. Shoving the pills into his mouth while holding his nose, making him gulp them down, some with water and some without, gives the Sergeant even more of a thrill.

     “How does that feel, you bastard quack? Are you feeling more mentally proficient yet? Maybe some more drugs would help, or . . . or maybe, yes, maybe some sort of electrotherapy. Damn! I don’t see anything of the sort around here. Tell me where it’s at, Mein Doctor.

     “What? You don’t want to answer me? Tsk, tsk. Not a good thing.”

     The door starts shaking wildly, the voices on the other side shouting out for the cop to let them in the room.

     “Well, you won’t get fried, doc,” the sergeant says. “You are a lucky bastard. Or are you?”

     Thomas takes a scalpel in his hands, lifts it up, then plunges it deep into the doctor’s right eye. Nielsen’s struggles are next to nothing as he succumbs rapidly to the assault and passes, his spirit rising up from his body and staring down at the worthless shell of sadistic uselessness.

     There will be no light coming for the evil doctor to walk into. The demons from the dark arrive, so many of them that they block out the light from the fluorescent bulbs overhead. I feel unclean from their very presence and attempt to stand away from them, but something holds me there, something beyond any powers I have.

     The doctor’s putrid soul is caught up within the clutches of those sent to take him to his new home, and Sergeant Thomas stares in amazement at the battle going on before him. Almost all of what was once the soul of the doctor has completely passed when something grabs at the cop and starts to separate his physical body from his soul.

     “No, no!” he shouts. “I’m not dead! I’m still alive!”



Blaze McRob

REVENGE OF THE PIZZAS

This is my Friday Frights tale for this week and is also my Story A Day In May for Day 16. This is a continuation of the Wendy, Tim, and Blaze adventures. This week, they resume battling the Alien Pizzas. You will never look at a pizza in quite the same way.


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 Revenge Of The Pizzas



     Blaze knows the assault upon his stomach is more than mere indigestion. Something serious is happening. It . . . it feels as if an entity is eating away at him from the inside, and that this “thing” is in a hurry to get out of him. But it is certainly not caring that it is causing him pain. Every bite causes indescribable agony.

     Knowing what he must do, Blaze stands up, finishes the beer he is working on, and quickly gulps down a second one. The extra beer on top of the pizza works its magic on his digestive system, sending everything back out of his stomach, through his esophagus, and spewing out of his mouth. Torrent after torrent of vomit fly through the air, attacking the contents of the room. Wendy will be pissed.

     Trying to warn his friends, Blaze finds he is unable to do so. His throat burns from the regurgitation process and words fail to come out, trapped somewhere between his brain and mouth. He takes hold of his beer bottle and brings it down against an end table he stumbles across. Wendy wakes and stares at him, disgust in her eyes, not aware that something is drastically wrong.

     “Damn it, Blaze!” she shouts. “You’re destroying my house!”

     He points to the pieces of thrown up pizza attempting to crawl up her slacks, warning her as best he can that the alien pizzas are still alive and well.

     She fights to remove them from her, but it is an endless job, and she has no choice but to remove her pants and throw them as far away from her as she can. Blaze rushes over to Tim to wake him to the danger, still sick himself, knowing that more must be expelled from inside his body.

     Tim, still groggy from a lack of sleep and the battle of mere hours ago, isn’t sure what’s going on in here, but he knows it’s not good. And the horrific pain he’s feeling deep within his gut tells him all is coming down around him.

     He watches as Blaze vomits up more and points to what is crawling on the floor, advancing towards him. “Oh, shit!” Tim shouts. “Now what?”

     “Do what Blaze is doing!” Wendy shouts. “It’s vile, but you must get it out of you.”

     No arguing with that! Tim already feels that quadruple cheese swirling around, threatening to erupt like Mt. St. Helens, ready to send the supreme extras outwards. But try as he might, he can’t cause himself to regurgitate.

     Blaze is finally able to talk and shouts to Tim, “Try some beer like I did. If you don’t upchuck, they’ll eat their way out of you and you’ll be a goner for sure.”

     That’s what he needs, Tim feels: what a way to go; eaten alive by alien pizzas which were once themselves consumed. This goes far beyond the revenge of Montezuma. It’s difficult enough to believe that these things can be alive, but for them to survive a past life and return as an even more powerful form of life, makes it even more unbelievable. Now what? How many times can they continue to replicate themselves?

     The last thing Tim feels like doing is adding to his gastro-intestinal problems at the moment. A fucking beer right now would be far less than cool. But survival is a lot better option than death. He gets out of the way of the advancing pieces of alien pizzas and goes to work with his Budweiser medicine. He has to admit that it does rank at the top of the list of tasty medicines.

     Blaze is through expelling his demonic dinner from last night and tries to reason all the whys and wherefores of this fucking mess. If the pizzas are frozen, they do no damage. If they are over cooked, they do no damage. It is only in the mid-temperature ranges that they present a problem. Shit! That’s pretty much the same as it is for leaving food out in the bacteria zone for too long a time. These pizza slimers need a temperate range in which to survive. “Yeah, right,” he thinks. “My stomach was just perfect. Not too cold, not too hot. Yuck!”

     All at once, Tim’s biological system decides to follow that of Blaze’s and more of the aliens are shoved out of his body, the extreme pain leaving once the creatures are on their way outside. It takes an even longer amount of time for Tim to expunge his groadies; after all, Blaze had a head start since he was socking the beers away before he became aware of what was happening.

     Meanwhile, Wendy is still running around the house pants-less, attacking the pieces of aliens with anything she can find to whack them with. The good thing is that the slime from the regurgitants is vanishing; the bad thing is that it is becoming harder and combining with the other pieces, forming back into large size pizzas once more. And these babies have quite an arsenal of tricks at their disposal. They don’t need legs to walk around and attack. The bastards roll around like balls, balls with brains, able to twist and turn when their foe is attacking or retreating.

     Shit!

     The green onion eyes, mushroom noses, and red onion mouths are back, and this time, the red onions have grown teeth. These bastards are ready for action!

     They slice and slash as they move about, Tim being the number one target because he is still under the spell of trying to remove the poisons from his body. However, Wendy is still vulnerable, vast swaths of her body being exposed to their attacks because of her lack of proper clothing to fight these creatures.

     All Blaze has as a weapon at the moment is his broken beer bottle, and it merely slices the demons into smaller pieces . . . pieces which re-combine anyway in time. It is only a momentary deterrent. Somehow, a long term solution must be found. If not, the three of them are finished: fodder for meat eating pizzas.

     Think, Blaze, think! You’re the NASA guy, the alien man, the physics guru. Your friends are counting on you. You need to save them; you need to save the planet.

     Shit! NASA never trained anyone for fighting alien pizzas. Most of the time, it was merely a modicum of  mathematical Physics applied over and over again so one would make certain the shuttles returned safely. Energy, mass, velocity, and speed of light was up front and personal. It always seemed as if Einstein was present in the control room.

     However, maybe, just maybe, something would pop up and spit into their faces as a shuttle was getting close to re-entry, something that defied the laws of Physics; something that defied all laws of logic.

     What then?

     That time has arrived. It is eat or be eaten, kill or be killed. Rudimentary survival skills are now more important than the laws of the universe, and Blaze must relegate himself to these truths.

     Feeling like a prehistoric cave dweller, seeking refuge wherever it presents itself, Blaze wants to break out of his condescending posture and become a vanguard of victory against the assailants working to change his way of life.

     Freeze or roast these bastards is the way to winning the battle. A truck is outside, freezers working away to keep the creatures in a dormant state. But how does one get these thinking pizzas to fall for the old Pied Piper trick?

     “Wow!” Tim shouts. “Nasty shit, Blaze! Let’s go outside and get away from these bastards. I need some air too.”

     “Don’t leave me in here alone!” Wendy shouts.

     “We had no intention of doing that, Wendy,” Blaze says. “C’mon. Hurry up. Get over here.”

     But that’s easier said than done. There are a mess of pizza pieces and whole pizzas between her and the guys, and her legs . . . her legs are covered with the crawling vermin. The red running down her legs is blood: hers. It is not the tomato sauce from the pizzas.

     “Shit!” Blaze thinks. “I have to save her ass. It’s my fault this happened to her.”

     Impervious to the danger presented by the alien pizzas, Blaze runs through them like a man possessed, only one thing on his mind: saving Wendy.

     He swipes away at the demonic alien pieces, knocking many of them off, and flings Wendy over his shoulder. “Let’s beat feet, Wendy!” he shouts. “I’ve had my fill of these bastards, pardon the pun.”

     Tim has the door open for them, and they all run outside, chased by last night’s dinner. Blaze places Wendy down on the ground and picks the remaining pieces of alien quadruple cheese off her and flings them far away. Sure, they’ll recombine and come back to attack them, but Blaze thinks the larger versions of pizzas are easier to contain. The truck! They have to get to the truck.

     Wendy runs to the truck and opens the door to the freezing unit. She peers warily inside, half expecting the contents to charge out and attack her, but it doesn’t happen. Frozen, the pizzas are no threat. Now the trick is to lead the new boys on the block to what waits for them. Yeah right! These bad boys can think. It won’t be that easy.

     As if in answer to her thoughts, Blaze jumps up into the back of the truck and waves his arms around like a mad man, beckoning to the aliens to come and get him. The cold air of the freezing unit chills him to the bone, but this is the only way. He will have to be the dangling carrot proffered to the extra-terrestrial antagonists.

     His seemingly inane antics to lure the aliens into the truck are working, and with a skill he didn’t know he possessed, Blaze is able to grab the advancing pizzas and fling them towards the front of the freezing unit, and with an adroitness that only a master Frisbee master would possess, he sends them flying against the walls of the cold container where they will keep company with their kin.

     Tim, all of the groadies having left his alimentary track now, positions himself to the bottom of the truck and flings the advancing aliens to Blaze. Teamwork, sweet teamwork in action.

     It takes a while for all the whole and partial pizzas to make their way to where the trio are corralling them, putting them into a state of suspended animation, but it is happening now. The Earthlings are turning the tide.

     When the last of the crud is contained within the freezers, Blaze jumps down and Wendy locks the doors. They make their way around to Wendy’s front door, and find a couple of cops waiting for them, their cars parked in her drive with the bubbles sending out their pulsing light.

     What the . . .

     “Excuse me ma’am,” one of the cops says, “your neighbors called in a complaint against you. It was for excessive noise, but I see by your attire that maybe something else is going on as well.”

     Wendy is not exactly in the best of moods at the moment. She’s tired; aliens are being held captive in a freezer unit she is paying for; and her friends are seemingly doing their best to destroy her house.

     “Fuck you, and fuck my neighbors!” she says. “I’m tired and I’m going to sleep. I’ve had a rough night.”

     The bigger of the two cops reaches out to grab her, but he is stopped when all the lights in the neighborhood go out. Even the bubble lights in the police cruiser have ceased functioning.

     Blaze stares around at all that’s happening. He knows what’s going on. The stupid bastards! The stupid fucking bastards! He and many others knew what was going to happen, but would they listen? Of course not. 2013 is the year of the solar flares. Not just average, run of the mill solar flares mind you. This time around, the flares are supposed to annihilate the power grids, stop the micro-chips from working in cars and computers, and pretty much, the modern world, dependent upon electricity, will cease to exist.

     This would be horrendous enough on its own, but now there is an extra added factor: aliens are trapped inside a freezer unit, a unit dependant upon electricity to power it, to keep the aliens in containment. There is no power any longer. Nor will there be any for quite a while. People will suffer from the heat because of a lack of air-conditioning, and others will freeze to death for a lack of heat. And cars will no longer run, and trucks will not be able to replenish food supplies in stores.

     The aliens will laugh at all of this when they are released from captivity.

     Humankind will not be laughing . . .



Blaze McRob