New 5 Star review for 'Frozen'

But in this we have a great “Coming of Age” love story, August 30, 2014 By Mark Payton Format:Paperback "Beyond the obvious unfortunate accident that Disney would come out with a blockbuster hit movie by the same name as this story, I found this story very entertaining. I was familiar with this story when it was just a short story, being that Elle and I are members of the same writers group. My surprise was that she successfully recreated it as a fully fleshed out novel. It holds well to the axiom that the story is paramount. While she did touch on the details needed to “paint the picture” of this world she didn't dwell on it as some writers do. But in this we have a great “Coming of Age” love story. The characters are well formed and I could relate to them all. Verick, the main character, is the clumsy, awkward side of me as a teenager. Maille, my first ever girlfriend. All the members of Vericks family tie into different members of my extended family(which is huge). While they all deal with the world they are in they still live out the human lives we see today. Because of that it was easy to see myself in that world too. Beyond My disbelief in the religious beliefs of this story I was able to suspend mine to flow along with the story. There are a few gaps or jumps in the story that I felt could have been filled to make the story flow better. Two or three more chapters would have cleared up the few times I wrinkled my brow at those gaps. However, Elle did a wonderful job of keeping me interested. It made me eager to see what was on the next page. In the end I was reminded of the classic cliffhanger. How will Verick and Maille grow together? Does he deal with his enemy? Has his new found sidekick and knowledge lead to victory over mankind’s oppressors? As they use to say in the old 1940's movies, “Tune in next time for the story of the intrepid Verick!”"

http://www.amazon.com/Frozen-Elle-Rose-ebook/dp/B00I2O26I0/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1409498496&sr=8-1&keywords=Frozen+Elle

Words on a Page

I wonder about this at times. Like when I sit down to start a new story, will the reader really see the wonderful world that lives inside my head? Will my thoughts come through as a bunch of words on a page or will the reader dive into the depths of the vision with me?
While I write, I watch the story play out like a movie in my mind and then try my best to reenact the movie through words alone.
 I guess you'll have to decide: Elle's world or just words on a page.

TBT

Today is my 4th wedding anniversary. Thought I'd share a few pictures of that wonderful day for TBT. 

Mr. and Mrs. Rose

Aug 21, 2010

First Dance

Have you seen the movie "Hitch"? Q-tip, throw it away. No, really, the Usher song was on and I did the whole dance. Love that movie!

My family. Love them all!

ALS Challenge

I've accepted the ALS, Ice Bucket Challenge.

The Rabbit Hole

Last year, the writing group I attend did a Halloween anthology which I contributed an entry titled 'The Rabbit Hole'. As we move on to this year's anthology, I will now be adding 'The Rabbit Hole' to my own short story collection, 'Fantasy Tales'. It's offered on Smashwords for free if you would like to check out the other 2 stories. Until I add it to my collection, I'd like to share it with all of you.

Happy reading!

The Rabbit Hole

By Elle A. Rose

(sci-fi)

 “Where did you get these tickets?” I ask Cam. They’re printed on the cheapest of cheap sheets of paper. I can see my fingers’ silhouettes through the flimsy material.

“Some clown on a street corner handed them to me. He said, ‘this is the best haunted house around,’” he replies, stuffing his shoulder length brown hair into a ponytail. “It sounds cool—what else do we have to do tonight?”

He’s right, it’s Halloween night, and there is nothing to do. There’s no way we’ll be caught going to a dumb costume party since we passed the age of trick or treating years ago. Plus, we’re already here. Lanterns dressed as scarecrows hang on either side of the cave entrance. The heads glow bright with fire dancing behind their hollowed eyes and gaping mouths. Every few seconds the lifelike effigies twitch like a body being electrocuted.

We drove miles to find this place. For a while, I thought Cam had the wrong directions. He’s good for that: tell you to go left when you should’ve continued straight, mix the numbers up of an address. And I doubt he could tell you if he was facing north or south, even with a compass in his grasp. As I was about to give up—egging a house would have been funnier than riding through Hickville—we spotted the sign for this place.

“Good evening.” Cam and I jump as a creepy-looking butler guy drags his hunched over frame from the depths of the cavern. “Welcome to the Rabbit Hole, we’re so pleased to have you.” His words remind me of the way Alfred Hitchcock used to speak. The slithery tone sends the hairs on the back of my neck to attention. Cam must be weirded out too because he takes a step back. This is going to be great. I love when they hire real actors for these gigs. “Gentlemen, if you’re ready, your driver awaits.” Creepy guy passes us each a plastic flashlight with pumpkin cutouts molded to the lights. When mine flickers to life, a toothless, smiling jack-o-lantern, bobs about the dark walls.

“Oh, here do you need these? How much does this cost?” My voice bounces off the dark wall of the cave, with as much excitement ringing in it as there is adrenaline zipping through my veins.

 Reaching out to offer the thin tickets to the butler, he says, “Keep them, we will make our collection at the end of the course.” As he speaks, a van pulls up and four teenagers pop out of the back. “Ah, more souls,” breathes creepy guy. “Boys, if you will kindly move along, the ferry will transport you to your destination.   

“You ready, Matt?” asks Cam, with a hard swat to my back. He fist bumps the air and flicks his lantern to life too.

 “Hell yeah!” I whoop and stuff the tickets into my pocket.

“Boys,” the butler calls. His words coil around us like a boa constrictor. “This is a very old cave. It’s been said one with a keen eye can find relics like gold coins still lying around. And mind the walls, they do move at times.”

The new group of teens draws creepy guy’s attention back to the mouth of the cave, and Cam and I edge our way into the pitch black tunnel. After a few feet, the ground seems to slope downwards. Our stupid flashlights do little to help us see.

“Did you hear that?” whispers Cam. His shoulder bumps mine and we stop walking. “I think I heard someone crying.”

 “Nope. It was probably the group behind us. We weren’t the only car out there. Maybe someone in front of us,” I respond and start walking again.

 “I’m freaking myself out and we haven’t made it to the house yet,” Cam chuckles and catches up to me. We trek along for a while in the dark. Every once in a while fake bats fly overhead. Their glowing red eyes appear to be searching the night for a way out.

 “Is it me or is it getting hotter?” I say as I remove my jacket and tie it around my waist. We’re still on a downward descent, and I swear with each step it’s getting warmer.

 “I guess,” Cam says. His sight is focused on something in the distance. “I think I see one of those gold coins old dude was talking about.” His weak light dances across a small gold speck on the left. He’s right. Bending, he smacks the ground with the back end of his flashlight to release the coin from the ground. The light from the cheap gadget flickers and with the last blow fades away. “It’s cold,” he claims and flips it back and forth before tossing it to me. I almost miss it as the shiny metal vanishes in the darkness around us. But when the heavy coin hits me in the chest with a low thud, I grasp it before it tumbles to the ground.

 “You think it’s real?” I doubt my own question, yet still try to examine the coin with the one light we have left.

“No way. I bet it’s chocolate or something on the inside,” Cam states and yanks the coin from me.

“How about you bite it and see?” I joke.

Cam reaches out and tugs on my elbow and I jerk away. “Stop touching me and let’s go,” I urge.

 “I didn’t touch you,” he snaps.

 “Okay, whatever. I felt you.” I go to walk away and he grips my arm again. “Let go.”

 “Matt, it’s not me.” Whipping around, my arm breaks the hold only to spot something moving back into the jagged wall of the cave.

 “Did you see that?” the words tumble from my lips like jars falling from a shelf in an earthquake.

 “Matt, what are you talking about? First I’m touching you and now you’re seeing things,” Cam laughs. The sound bounces off the walls before it cuts off in almost a strangulated gasp. “I felt it, too,” he yelps and jumps. Around us, arms and legs begin to emerge, some from the walls, and others the ground. I dare not look up to see if they’re looming over us too. A rotten, sulfur, old-trash, dead vermin scent fills the air and we both gag. The robotic hands reach for us, trying to haul us towards the wall.

 “Come on,” I holler. Now I hear it. Cries ring, haunting us, chasing us, and we race forward, seeking an exit.

With ease I zip pass Cam. In school, Cam is always picked last in gym, because he becomes winded too fast. I blame it on the fact that he’d rather sit and play a video game than go out and shoot hoops.

 “Matt, stop,” Cam calls from behind me. “I think we’re in the clear,” he states between gasping for air. I slow and try not to laugh. Are we a bunch of babies? We let ourselves get spooked by nothing more than props.

Screams echo behind us. We both bolt upright and edge closer together. “I bet it’s another group.” Why I say this out loud, to calm me or Cam, I have no clue. Sweat drops down my face and I wipe my jacket across my forehead. The heat is still rising. After a few steps, Cam stops and picks at something in the wall. It’s another gold coin. Repeating his actions from last time, he rams his broken flashlight into the rock wall until the coin falls into his hand. More stone falls and what looks like pale fingers wiggle their way through the hole from where the coin has vacated. I don’t know why but I reach out to touch them.

 “What are you doing?” whispers Cam in my ear. He’s closer than I thought, and just as the lifelike, ice-cold fingers stroke mine, I jump back.

 “I don’t know,” I stammer and rub my hand on my jeans.

“They’re coming again,” Cam says in an eerie voice. I don’t have a chance to question who ‘they’ are as the rotting smell wafts past my nose. Something brushes my foot and we take off running again. 

Exit to ferry flashes in a neon green light as we round the next bend. My nose, lips and throat burns from the intense heat. Cam again is a few feet behind me. I catch a glimpse of the moon beckoning me from the depths of the cave. I don’t hear Cam’s footsteps anymore so I spin, flashing my dim light back into the cave. “Matt, I found another gold coin,” says my friend from the darkness. “That smell came back and I saw those dead body parts again,” he states with a smirk and drops the coin into his pocket. He strolls towards the opening and I notice he has ditched his flashlight. Mine still works so I slip it into my pocket and follow him out. “I’m gonna sell these coins first thing tomorrow,” he declares and pats his leg.

 “No, you’re not. I’m telling you they’re fake,” I say and laugh.

A corn-stalk archway lined with a string of small lit plastic jack-o-lanterns comes into view. Please, wait for the next ferry reads the half hanging lopsided sign over the arch. I need to duck to keep from smacking my head on the jagged end of the dangling sign. Even though we are outside, it’s not any cooler. The sounds of a horse and carriage draw my attention from the sweat running down my back to the muddy road before us. Two white horses pulling a flatbed with bales of hay covering it come to a stop.

“Evening, guys,” giggles a small brunette from the cab. She’s dressed in a pair if blood-red heels, black fishnet tights, and a red-leather mini-dress fairy costume, showing ample cleavage and wings sprouting out her back. “Wipe the drool from your mouths, boys. Pay the footman and hop aboard,” she purrs, while adding another coat of her glossy crimson lipstick. Damn, I think the temperature just went up a few degrees.  

When we don’t move, the fairy slips her shades down the bridge of her nose and glares at us. She must be wearing red contacts too. Cam and I push our way to the back of the cart.

 “Hey, isn’t that the guy who substituted when the English teacher was out,” says Cam as we come to a stop in front of the steps.

 “I think so.”

 “Mr. Knox, right? Were you our substitute teacher a few weeks ago?” Cam questions. The man dressed in a leprechaun outfit doesn’t respond, but instead, shoves an empty pot in our direction.

“How much?” I say and pull my wallet out.

“To access the hayride, three gold coins will have you on your way,” he says with a wicked smile, flashing all of his teeth.

“Aw, man. I wanted to keep these,” pouts Cam as he digs the props from his pocket.

“I told you so,” I say and elbow him in the side before jumping into a huge pile of spilled hay on the wagon. As Cam joins me, I lean forward and say, “Did you see his teeth? They all have pointed ends.”

 “Yeah, they’re caps or something. They didn’t look like that in class.”

“I’m not sure if he is the same guy.”

“Of course he is,” counters Cam. “He’s acting. Just like hot chick up there.” His head bobs in the direction of our fairy. I turn and find her glaring at us.

“While riding the hayride, please keep hands and feet inside of the carriage throughout the voyage. I’d hate for you to lose a limb…on my watch.” With that, she flicks the reins and the horses jerk the buggy forward. I glance back to see if the leprechaun joined us, but he’s gone.  

After a few feet, we make a sharp right and slip between a path cut out in the middle of a cornfield. Our ride races between the dried stalks. The crops tower over us. From time to time, I catch a glimpse of the moon above us. I grasp at the other bales to hold me upright.

“This hay is making me itch,” whines Cam, as he rakes his blunt nubs he calls nails over his arms. I go to speak when I spot what looks like a person running parallel to the wagon, only meters away. “Do you see that,” my hand juts out pointing at the figure in the stalks. By the time Cam twists to look, it’s gone.

“No, what?”

“Nice  night for a ride wouldn’t ya’ say?” booms a voice from next to me. My heart leaps into my throat and I fall into Cam as I spin to see where that voice came from.

“What the hell?” stammers Cam, as he begins to push me off of him, only stopping when he notices who has somehow joined us on the cart. Before us sits a man in a genie costume. His bottle rests still on his knee as if we aren’t being jostled across this land like Jello strapped to a rollercoaster.

            The genie leans forward, pale blue lips grinning at us and says, “If you had one wish tonight, what would it be?” As he speaks, the buggy jerks right, and we skid to a stop.

My attention shifts from the genie to what has brought the ride to a halt. The horses neigh, jumping about, and our driver stands, yelling a foreign dialect. Orange flames sprout from the ground licking at the dried stalks. They’ve formed a sweltering barrier, blocking our entry to this turn on the maze.

“One wish—what would it be?” murmurs the genie. His sight is still trained on us. In the new light, his lips appear to have deepened to a dark purple. Being burned to death doesn’t seem to be a concern of his. Our driver yanks at the reins pulling, trying to redirect the horses. “I could make this go away, if you like,” he states and spreads his arms wide. The fire reacts to his movement and stretches. The walls on three sides of us now glow in bright orange flames.

Before Cam or I can respond to the genie, the fairy regains control of her beasts, and we begin to shift backwards. A few steps away from the dead end, we take off racing down another path.

 “Maybe I can be of help later,” claims the genie as he stands and jumps from the speeding carriage, disappearing into the crops. My friend’s wide-eyed appearance can only mirror my own. We take a quick left and hit a bump, losing a bale of hay. Every attempt I make to grab something to keep me from flying off the flatbed slips through my fingers as we zip down the narrow lane.

 “Do you think she knows where she’s going,” says Cam as we finally give up and hold each other to remain on the ride.

 “She must. It’s all a part of the act,” I say, but when we make another sharp turn, I question if the fairy still has control of the buggy.

“Whoa, there!” yells our driver. We’ve made a left here and right there and now the cart slows. She gives another command, stands and pulls hard to stop the horses. Curiosity tugs at me and as we roll to a halt, I get on my knees and peer over the front of the cart to see why we’ve stopped this time. Sweat drips from my forehead blurring my sight and I reach for my jacket to wipe my face. My hand searches for a moment or two, before I realize it must have become a victim of our fast ride. With the inside of my shirt, I scrub my face clean and finally spot why we are no longer moving.

Paul Bunyan, or at least an actor dressed as him and his blue ox stand in the path.

“Clear the way,” calls the fairy. Her red heel stamps the floor boards and she places her hands on her hips. In response, Bunyan lifts his axe, hoisting it over his head, and heaves it in our direction. Our driver lets out a loud scream and dives to the floor. As the axe spins like a pinwheel towards us, Cam and I spring from the buggy. A loud thud echoes in the darkness as the axe’s blade wedges itself into the wood from where Cam and I just vacated.

“Get back on the cart,” yells the fairy. Her voice sends chills up my spine. We ignore her and hide behind the hitch. Paul’s heavy footsteps seem to make the ground shake as he storms towards us. “Get back on,” calls a faded voice in my ears.

“What do we do?” questions Cam. The lumberjack yanks his axe from the flatbed and stares at us. Only feet away from us, he lifts the weapon again.

“Climb under the cart!” I scream as the blade whirls passed us. We both cringe when a huge hand swipes the air inches away from where we sit. “Go that way,” I point towards the left front wheel. Mud soaks my jeans and sticks to my hands as we crawl. When we make it to the front of the cart Cam starts to slide out when the ox sticks its painted blue nose in his way. It grunts and nips at Cam.

 “Back up, back up, back up!” he wails. I do but stop when something grabs my leg. A whimper leaves my lips as I’m hauled from under the cart. Cam’s paled face vanishes and I fight to be free of Paul Bunyan’s grasp.

 “Get on the damn cart,” yells that voice again.

My world spins. Movement sounds behind me as I’m pull upright to face the lumberjack.

“Hurry,” calls a female’s voice.

 A whip cracks. My stomach turns when Paul Bunyan leans closer. His warm breath slams into me like a sack filled with rocks. I feel the cart against my back shake and start to ease forward. From behind, someone tugs at my shirt.

 “Go!” hollers Cam.

On command, the carriage begins to move and a tug-a-war commences. Each man yanks on my tee-shirt. The cheap material starts to tear. I’m not sure what’s louder—my heart banging in my ears or the fabric shredding with each jerk.

My heart stops when Cam lets go. For an instant, I believe they will leave me, but, instead, Cam places his hands under my arms and wrenches me away from Paul Bunyan. We tumble backwards into the itchy hay, both breathing heavily as the cart dashes down the path, away from our attacker.      

“That can’t be a part of the attraction. Can it?” Cam breathes and throws his arm over his face. “It was too real. Man, I’m shaking.”

“No kidding.” Neither of us moves until the ride slows again. Like puppets, we both shoot up, as if a puppeteer has ordered us to life. “Now what?” I question. The stars have disappeared in the wake of the new light. Stretching out before us, sits a large house.

“End of the ride, fellas,” states the fairy.

Cam and I stare at each other, and then the huge mansion. Strobe lights flicker through some of the windows, and from time to time figures dash from one room to another. Screams, chainsaws, cackling, and loud music fill the air. Our driver throws us an impatient glare and Cam and I slide off the buggy. Without any answers as to why a lumberjack attacked us, the cart whips around and speeds off into the night.

 “I’m not sure I really wanna go in there,” whispers Cam.

I’m thinking the same thing. How the hell did I let him talk me into this?

“Come now, boys, the fun has just started.” The deep voice makes us jump. As we turn, we find the genie standing next to us. “There’re two ways out of the house,” he says and begins to push us forward. “Give the command and I can release you from your entombment. Or, find the exit. Your choice.”

His words fade away as flames of light blast out of the small holes in the ground leading up the aisle to the doorway.

“Where did he go?” Cam says and spins like a dog chasing its tail.

“I don’t know, man, but let’s just get this over with.”

I’m not sure, but I think the siding of the house is pulsating, and damn-it it’s only gotten hotter. As we approach the front steps, the door swings open. At first, flashing lights and smoke fill the opening. When we near the door a hunched dark shadow drifts through the smoke toward us.

“Ah, there you are,” exclaims the creepy butler from the cave. “I hear we almost lost you in the maze. It would’ve been such a shame.” His old wrinkled hands clasp, and his crooked form leaps for joy. “So few of our guests make it this far. That group behind you‒” he shakes his head and heaves a heavy sigh. “Well, enough of the gloomy news. Please enter.” Cam and I glance at each other. My best friend is sweating as much as I am. His hair has fallen from the ponytail and is matted to his scalp. Dressing up for a costume party doesn’t sound so bad anymore.

 If we were little boys, I think at this moment, holding hands would be acceptable. Instead, we fist bump, square our shoulders, and step forward.

“Wonderful! We’re so delighted you’re willing to join us tonight,” says butler guy in that eerie voice. “Take caution in the choices you make, and remember, the sign marked exit is your only way out.”

A maid saunters by carrying a tray with glasses filled with a red liquid. Flames dance on top of each of the drinks. She, too, is dressed in a very short costume with high heels.

 “I think we should go in the opposite direction that she’s headed,” I breathe.

 “Wise choice, young man,” the butler voices and steps back and bows. “Welcome to our home.”

As he speaks an ear piercing siren blares, causing Cam and I to cover our ears. The house goes dark and when the lights come back on, creepy guy is gone.

We enter the threshold at the same time and automatically make a right. “Let’s find the exit quick.”

Cam nods and turns down a long hallway. All of the doors are shut. “I say we divide and conquer. You take the doors on the right. I’ll take the doors on the left.” In response, Cam reaches out and clutches the handle near him. “One, two, three!” Both of our doors swing open. My room looks like a plain ordinary drawing-room. There’s no one in here and everything seems neat and in order. Behind me, Cam yelps and slams the door. The sound of a barking dog, scratching and ramming the flimsy wood rattles the entire wall.

 “Matt, I don’t know what the hell that was, but it wasn’t a dog,” Cam states in a shaky voice.

 A tremble moves down his body and he leans against the wall to steady himself.

 “Come on, buddy, this will be over soon.” It takes him a moment to regain his composure. When he’s ready, we walk down to the next door. Running feet slam into the floor above and as we open our next doors, screams echo in the house. Behind door number two, I find a small projector room. An old black and white film plays on the screen. It appears to be a horror movie. The light from the hallway spills into the room and the viewers moan and groan, twisting in their seats. Hollowed eyed zombies, whose heads all seem to bob sideways, face my direction. The same smell from the cave wafts passed me as I gaze into empty eye sockets. Their mouths all gape open, hanging by thin strips of skin. As one, they begin to rise from their seats and I shut the door. My heart thuds in my ears.

“Matt. Look at this.” For a moment, I dare not drag my eyes from the portal in front of me. The handle rattles a few times, but when it stops, I set my sight on Cam’s room. He’s left the door open and has stepped into the room. I follow, unsure if he should be in here.

Bubbles. They fall from the ceiling like rain. Stepping inside, my skin tingles as hundreds of bubbles land and pop on my body. “Where do you think they’re coming from?” my friend asks as he spins, arms spread wide. I go to speak when something plops on my head. Without a thought, I reach up and find something cool and mushy in my hair. Another plop lands on my shoulder as I remove the mystery object. It squirms about in my grasp and I need not see it to know what has fallen from the sky. Dad has taken me fishing plenty of times for me to detect a worm’s movements without seeing it. Yet, the next one that falls on the bridge of my nose sends an alarm off in my head. “I think it’s time to go, Cam.”

The instant I stop speaking, thousands upon thousands of worms descend from above. Unlike the bubbles, they hit the ground in a soft thud, squiggling about the floor. Cam thrashes wildly, trying to make his way through the thick curtain of creepy-crawlies. I dare not open my mouth to speak. Worms now slither down my entire body and visions of them entering my mouth make me gag. It feels like I’m walking on jelly as I step backward into the hallway. The small contents of my stomach roll like waves as I shake the writhing creatures off of me. Through the wiggling pinkish-brown veil, Cam’s fingers emerge. Flashbacks to the cave blind me for a moment before I grasp his hand and haul him from the room.

 “Get them off of me. Get them off,” he shrieks. His long frame slams to the ground, rolls from side to side kicking. His voice causes the other doors in the hall to rattle.

“Shh, Cam.” I need to say this a few times to get him to stop. Worms now litter the hallway and my best friend sits with his back on the wall.

“I can’t do this,” he says. It’s low and I need to stoop to his level to hear him better.

“Yes, you can.”

“Are you asking for an out?” the genie’s voice makes us both jump.

In this light, his skin has taken on a red hue. I didn’t notice them before, but he must be wearing fake nails, which are so long they have begun to curl. As he hovers closer to us, I gag again from the rotten smells pouring from his now blacken lips and brown teeth. “No, we’re not wimping out,” I sputter. This place is crazy but there is no way we won’t make it through this dumb funhouse. Without another glance at the actor, I yank Cam to his feet. “Come on, this was your idea. We can do this.”

Again, Aladdin’s friend disappears without a sound. I stare at Cam for a second. His appearance looks like he did last year when he caught the flu. “We need a different plan of attack. No more entering rooms unless you think you see an exit. I’m not sure, but I have a feeling the way out could be anything, from an open window to a hole in the wall. Remember it’s Halloween, and these guys are only here to scare the pants off of us.”

 “Yeah, they’re doing a really good job of it,” he chuckles.

 His voice sounds hollow and is sucked instantly into all the other noises thudding in this house.

Three doors down a guy and girl emerge from one of the rooms. His clothes mirror our own and the girl is barefoot. From where I stand, I watch their chests heave in and out like they’ve been running a marathon. Their deer-like eyes canvas the hallway, perhaps judging if we are a threat, before running our way. A chainsaw buzzes, numbing all sounds around us. “Run!” yells the guy, as he and the girl wiz passed us. Our heads jerk from one end of the hall to the other, just in time to see the couple skid around the corner. We should’ve heeded their warning. From the room they exited comes a set of boots, laced with chains that run all the way up leather covered legs, around a thick torso crisscrossing over a giant man’s shoulders. His face is masked with black leather and he grips a chainsaw over his head. When the giant spots us, he grunts and revs his tool. We need not be told again to run.

My good friend and I race back in the direction we came. The guy and girl are nowhere in sight. We zip by the front door, which now seems to be guarded by a troll and head for the room the maid carried the flaming drinks into as we entered. The chainsaw is close on our heels as we trek into more unknown territory. Soon the thumping of loud rock music washes out the buzz of the chainsaw. A disco ball hangs from the middle of the room and a checkered dance floor thrives with bodies swaying to the hypnotic beat.

Cam’s elbow jabs me in the ribs and he says, “Is she biting his neck?”

 As he speaks, the couple closest to us stops bobbing to the music and the woman jerks her head up. Blood drips from her mouth and she hisses at us, revealing fangs. The guy stands motionless, staring off into space. She releases the man and he crumples to the floor, with blood seeping from two puncture wounds on his neck.

“Fresh blood,” hisses the creature. She steps over her dance partner and glides nearer. Cam and I step backwards but stop when we bump into a barrier. If I had to guess, a male body has stopped my movement. I flinch as a nose brushes my skin. A shiver runs up my spine as the person behind me inhales.

 “Oh, you smell wonderful,” is nothing more than a whisper in my ear, but the words are deafening. 

“I saw him first,” wails the lady and lunges toward me. My eyes close and wait for the impact.

The sound of a chainsaw rips through the music and hisses follow. I sense the air around me shift and my eyes open. “He followed us,” Cam states. Around us, bodies lay on the floor, seeping blood. “Back there.” I turn and see where everyone else has gone. In the archway lurks chainsaw man, revving his weapon. The dancers have blocked his entry, hissing and flashing their fangs.

 “We need to go now, while they’re not looking,” I say and pull Cam.

On the other side of the room, I spot an opening. I’m not sure if I’m ready to face what could be waiting for us, but I can’t say that chick isn’t really going to bite me. We make our way across the floor as fast as possible without stepping on the people sprawled on the ground.

I’m happy I still have my flashlight and after a few flicks, the toothless pumpkin bounces off the steps before us. We don’t speak as we navigate our way into the basement, dungeon, or whatever clever contraption is waiting for us. As our feet hit the bottom step, a green light illuminates the area. Cages with bones dangle from the ceiling and caldrons boiling foul smelling liquids kick the temperature up almost twenty degrees.

“We have new patients,” calls a voice from an unforeseen corner. “Nurse, we need two gurneys.”

            Shoes slapping the cement ground, and the high pitch wail of a squeaky wheel follow, “Of course doctor.”     

 My flashlight drops from my grasp and Cam and I hit the floor, crawling into a dark corner. “Oh, pooh, they’ve run off on us,” huffs the nurse. From where we hide, I can see her white loafers and white fishnet stockings. She taps her foot and spins around. I move back a tad when I catch my reflection in the gurney’s wheel base. “They haven’t gone far. They never do,” promises the doctor.

I fear if we speak, they will hear us, so I tap Cam on the shoulder and point across the room. There has to be another way out. He nods and we, hugging the dark crevices of the basement crawl along the wall. If it wasn’t for the size of the caldrons, I’m sure we would be spotted. When my arm brushes the outside of a pot, I bite back a cry. The skin sizzles and the muscle tense in protest, yet I keep moving. The nurse and doctor taunt us, calling for us to come out of our hiding spot. As we round the second wall, wrapped hands break through the darkness and yank Cam to the middle of the room. My best friend gives a muffled scream and I jump out of hiding ready to attack.

A mummy drags Cam towards the doctor and nurse. Both wear white masks over their mouths and the nurse jumps for joy as they near. No one has spotted me yet. Cam fights to be free, kicking and flaying about. His motions do nothing to slow the mummy’s gait. Going unnoticed, I release a thick bone from a cage that hangs overhead. It’s wet and smells of rotting flesh. I have no time to gag from the smell as I swing the bone, slamming it into the back of the mummy’s head. Cam falls to the ground and rolls to his side, avoiding being crushed by the mummy as he tumbles forward. In the corner, I see a white light and it looks like another set of stairs leading upwards. “Come on, this way.” The doctor and nurse charge as Cam springs to his feet. We hit the stairs and dash toward the light.

 “Darn, we’ve lost them, Doctor,” echoes behind us.

Up we climb. One floor, then a second, but then again it’s hard to tell, there are no doors, nothing but the shining light at the top of the stairwell. Breathless, we reach the landing. Either the doctor, nurse, nor mummy breaches the staircase, or anyone else for that matter. A door with the number thirteen scratched into the wood greets us. Cam and I look at each other, then the door, and then back down the stairs. The bright light above us burst, sending shards of glass showering down on us. No discussion is needed as Cam turns the knob and we almost fall through the doorway. This hallway looks like the one on the first floor, except all of the doors have the number thirteen carved in them.  

This time we go together to each door. Behind gateway number one, we find a weeping bride. Her white dress and veil both drip with red goo and a silver candlestick lays at her feet. She looks up and shrills, “Why didn’t he love me?”

We dare not enter that room and shut the door. At the next room, we can’t get the handle to twist.

 “If it won’t open, I’m not going to push it,” says Cam as he moves on to the third entrance. Soft music flows from the other side of this barrier. It calls to me. My insides feel a pulling that I can’t ignore and I’m propelled forward. When the door creaks open, I enter, leaving my misgiving in the hallway. A blonde haired woman sits, playing a harp, singing a beautiful song. “This isn’t cool, Matt. Let’s go back,” says Cam and pulls on my shoulder. At the sound of our invasion, the blonde stops playing and spins to face us. Her eyes flash a crimson-red and her pouty lips pull into a sneer as the blonde hair falls to the floor revealing red-eyed snakes writhing on top of her head.  

Snakes are Cam’s biggest fear. He whimpers, backing into the door. His movement causes the door to creak shut. The soft click of the latch sends Cam into even more of a panic.

“No, no, no,” he cries and jiggles the handle.

“Yes, my pets, we have company,” coos Medusa. More snakes slither from under furniture, and vents. The ones on top of her head hiss and spit venom.

“Matt, help me get the door open.” He places his foot on the door jam and pulls hard enough to yank the knob from the fixture. Cam tumbles to the ground, landing between the snakes and myself.

 Medusa cackles and raises her hands over her head before saying, “Bring him to me, my pets.” On command, the snakes glide forward circling Cam. I reach to pull him back when a snake lunges toward me. While the creatures that corner my best friend rise to an attack pose, the others fan out creating an impenetrable line to cross. 

“I want out! Let me out,” screams Cam. He pulls his knees to his chest and lets out a loud wail.

“Is this your wish?” From the far corner of the room, the genie has propped himself on a desk.

“Yes, I want out.”

“Then your wish is my command.”

“No! He doesn’t mean it.” My gut tells me this isn’t what he wants. This isn’t want anyone would want.

With a snap of his fingers, Medusa and her pets vanish. In their place, a barrier of fire soars, scraping the ceiling and further blocking me from Cam.

My arm shields my face from the heat as I try to brave the flames. “Cam, tell him no.” The room is filling with smoke and I choke.

“I can make you the same offer,” a voice from the fire says. Although my sight is becoming blurry, I believe I see what looks like the genie’s face dancing in the flames.

“Go to Hell,” I yell back and drop to my knees gagging.

 “You have no idea,” he laughs. The barrier drops, and I spot Cam standing, stuck in a ring of fire. He stands motionless, staring at the wall. I push myself to my feet and step forward. To my left, the genie slides from the desk, and snaps his fingers. “Have it your way.” With that, the door behind me bangs open and a huge gust of wind sends me toppling into the hallway. I sail into the wall and slide to the ground. From where I sit, I watch with dread as the flames incasing Cam dissipate and the genie lures him to his side. The door slams shut and I jump to my feet. As I reach the entrance, the stupid knob on the first try falls to the floor.

 Over and over I bang my fist on the door. My foot slams into the wood until my ankle aches, and still the gateway will not open. Around me, everything goes quiet. Too quiet. When the door across the way squeaks open and a green-faced creature dressed as a witch emerges, I know I must run. She walks with a slant, and drags her broom as a caveman would carry a club. Her crooked walk doesn’t slow her down and I dash into the closest room. I don’t think before I shut myself in what could be the next line of torture, but relief washes over me when I find stairs leading down. My steps echo in the stairwell as I take two steps at a time. On the last step, my heart thrashes in my chest as I peer through the opening. From here, it looks like the hallway Cam and I first ventured down. At the top of the stairs a low thump, thump, thump, bounces off the walls. The lighting is dim and I can only guess it is the witch following me.

On the count of three, I dash out the archway and race down the hall. Feet away from the atrium, a chainsaw buzzes. I fear who or what may be coming to block me in the hallway. Going on a whim, I run to the door I believe to be the drawing room. I barely get the door shut when heavy feet sulk by. I need to find somewhere to hide in case those creatures come in here. With a quick glance, I realize I may have picked the wrong room to look for a hiding place. The only thing that sits in this room is an easel. But when I look again I notice there is something drawn on the canvas. Could it really be that easy? Here all along, had I paid attention the first time I would have seen the drawing. A picture of a window with the word Exit, sits taunting me. On the top corner of the canvas, a green arrow points to the window behind the drawing.  

Racing to the window, I pull, push, and yank the damn thing but it won’t budge. In complete frustration, I rip the canvas from the easel and slam it into the glass. Shards of glass flutter away like a bird whose cage door was left open. Cool air finally brushes my skin and pulls me to the opening. It’s pitch black out and I have no clue what I’m jumping into, but I don’t hesitate as I leap through the abyss. I soar for a moment before I smack something hard, ending my descent. Although it’s dark, my world spins and I find it hard to keep my eyes open.

“There’s no loitering, here,” huffs a deep voice. Is he talking to me? My head feels like someone drove a nail through it. “Keep it moving,” he barks and kicks my foot. I try to open my eyes, but someone is shining a bright light in my face. Rolling to my side, I inhale grass and dirt. “If you don’t get up, I’m taking you in.”

“What?” I murmur. What is he talking about? Where am I? As I roll onto my back, I realize no one is shining a light in my eyes. It’s the sun. One at a time, my eyes slide open, straining to adjust to the bright light. Looming over me is a police officer. Now that I’m awake, he straightens and steps back. I rub my eyes and try to focus them again. I could swear he looks just like the leprechaun Cam thought was our substitute teacher. Cam, where is he? I look around trying to find him or figure out where I am. “Mr. Knox?” I venture. “Where am I? Where’s Cam?”

 The cop glares at me and I wonder for a moment if I have head trauma. I’m sure his eyes flash red before he says, “If you’re not gone by the time I come back from my rounds, I’m taking you to the station.” I don’t speak as he storms away.  

It takes me a moment to get to my feet. At this new viewpoint, I pinpoint the community park where I shoot hoops. From here, I can see my car parked across the way. In my hand is a small balled up sheet of paper. My heart leaps into my throat. It’s the ticket from the haunted house. Digging through my pocket, I search for the other ticket. I had both of them. I’m positive. Yet when I come up with nothing I can only scratch my head. As the sunlight catches the thin paper in my hand, I notice there’s something on the back of the ticket. Perhaps next year, with a smiley face glares at me. A shiver runs up my back and the ticket drops from my grasp, being swept away by the wind.

 Come and become a part of the main attraction. You’ll never leave, sears my brain as I walk to my car.  

Spotlight

Hey everyone!

 Myself and 'Frozen' have been spotlighted on the Bookcrastinators in Wonderland blog page. Here's the link. Make sure to check them and me out.
http://bookcrastinators.com/2014/08/author-spotlight-elle-rose.html

Thanks Besty and Melody!

RIP Robin Williams

Zombies

Two nights ago, I had the craziest of dreams. Okay, please understand I always have strange dreams but this made me wake up the next day and question what I ate before bed. I didn't even do any midnight snacking either! 

My dream started with the preexisting knowledge that zombies were roaming our streets, throughout the world. No one knew where they came from, but we all understood that you could outrun them and you could do the typical head-shot to cease their attack. Now these zombies didn't attack you to eat you, no, this unique species only bit you to make you a zombie too. The transformation was immediate and those new recruits bore pale, droopy, decaying skin, with the huge chunk of flesh missing from the bite. 

With all of this information, I found myself living in my first apartment. Even though all the other rooms looked like my first place, my bedroom was that of the one I grew up in at my parents' house. I found myself stressed, trying to figure out where I could go to live zombie free. It was said that there were a few pockets of land that humans lived without fear. While I sat and thought about my travel plans, friends of mine came over with their son (These are real people that I know in real life). The only thing that was somewhat weird (only once I woke up and thought about it) their infant son was a talking parakeet. I used to parakeets and when we sat to talk about finding the zombie free zones, I pulled out the cage for the kid to hang out in. He and I bickered back and forth (I don't remember about what) but I do recall breaking, on accident, the bird size Ferris wheel. He became very agitated pacing the floor and yelling at me as I struggled to put the toy back together. Once he was settled and his toy was working again, it was decided which path we would take. Before we set out, I wanted to collect my brother.

Somewhere along the way I lost my friends (I believe they just kind of faded away from the dream) and it was just my brother and me. He and I walked for a while before we came to a house in the middle of the woods. For some reason we entered it, it reminded me of the house we grew up in. The stupid backdoor even stuck as I jiggled the handle to open it. Once in what should have been the backyard, we found ourselves walking into what looked like a deserted ghost town. There was only one person in sight. She informed us that if we wanted to become a part of their zombie free town, we had to show how brave we were. All of this was communicated silently (I have no clue how that worked. All I know is she opened her mouth and pointed towards a peninsula and her directions (in her own voice) filled our minds). My brother and I wandered to where she pointed. By the time we made it to the ridge of the peninsula, we had a massive round 2 seat raft in our possession. Before us, bright blue water churned with 15-20 feet waves smashing into each other. On the cement sides of the water sat hundreds of people sunning, dancing, cooking out, and playing games. When they saw us, they began to cheer and goad us on. My brother and I didn't need to discuss it even if this was the promise land we were hoping for there was no way we were not going to meet the challenge. We took a running start and jumped off the edge, landing hard in the raft in the water. Boy what a crazy ride! We spun backwards, smashed into the cement walls and water sprayed us in the faces. We held on for dear life!

 I hate to say, the ride must have been too much for my poor heart because I woke up then, gripping the sheets waiting for the next crazy twist or turn that was coming. Sigh, as I laid there in my bed letting my heart slow down, I thought about how weird and strange that dream was. If it wasn't for the fact that I dreamt it, I would have never believed someone could have had such a crazy adventure.           

A Novel...One Day Maybe

Here's a short story I wrote a while back. From time to time I think about making this story a novel. It's kind of raw, and a lot of information (hopefully to one day spread throughout an entire book or series). Comments would be great. I would love to know if I really have a story here.

Without further ado:              A Grim

Tale

By Elle A. Rose 

Copyright © 2012 By Angela Watkins, Elle A. Rose

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Blood has a distinct scent when it burns. Take the aroma of rusted sheet metal, boiling in a cast-iron pot, with seawater, and you have the smell of caramelized blood. This fragrance drifts passed me as the body of the recently deceased sizzles in its inferno tomb. I move swiftly to the driver’s side door. The car, which moments ago swerved off the side of the road, is being swallowed by orange and blue flames. In general, from the time of death, whatever the cause may be, it takes the soul twenty seconds to a full minute to leave the body.  It depends on how stubborn said spirit is before it realizes that it must exit its host. My job is to be there moments before the time of death. You see, I am a vampire, or another term, which coincidently most do not refer to in the same sentence is, the grim reaper. I and others of our kind are dispersed to a scene or accident where just before the human is expected to die, we step in.  Draining the body of its blood moments before its death, we then wait for the soul to emerge from the corpse, to collect it if you will, for its final destination.    

With the understanding that its body’s remains can no longer house its spirit, I feel a tingling sensation move across my skin as the soul and host detach.

“Where am I? What happened?”

 I don’t know the soul’s name, and I really do not care to ask. I’ve grown numb to this job.  Over eight centuries of this burden has become routine.

“You’re dead. See your car?” I direct his attention to the object he once called his automobile.  He turns and gawks at the wreckage. The emergency crew is now on the scene, working franticly to get the fire under control.

“That’s your body burning in the car. You were drunk driving and crossed over the lane and almost hit that van.”

 I point towards the other vehicle that is pulled over onto the shoulder. They’re safe. They’re the ones who called for help, although there was no saving this kid. I can’t say if I care either way, if the other motorist lived or died too, it’s just a job. “Come on, it’s time for you to go.”

“Wait! What do you mean? What’s going to happen to me?” 

I should’ve figured with the amount of time it took him to exit his body, he’d be full of questions. A firefighter brushes by me in a hurry to help with the fire.  Since I‘ve covered myself in the shadows of darkness, they cannot see me standing here waiting for John Doe to grasp that his time is up. “I mean that you’re dead. Seconds before your car smacked into that concrete wall, I joined you in the vehicle and drained you of your blood. Indubitably releasing your essence before your body was smashed and burned.” I like to think of that being the kind way out. I know of some who will wait until the body is damaged before they drain the corpse of its blood.

 “So you killed me?”

 This kid must have killed a lot of brain cells. It doesn’t surprise me. He was pretty drunk before he drove his car off the road. “No, I helped the process along. You were going to die tonight regardless of my actions. I just like my blood body temperature and not boiling hot.” 

Time is of the essence, I reach out to snag his arm. He is going to make me late for my next appointment, and I don’t want that. Only two types of creatures can touch a spirit, vampires and faeries. We both have jobs to do. I believe the vampires’ job is unpleasant, since we are the ones to welcome the souls to the afterlife of Hell.  Yes, vampires, aka, grim reapers, are the transporters of all those individuals that are condemned to Hell. Well, at least the souls that we make it to in time. Faeries, aka, angels, are the spirit gatherers most human beings would want to be collected by.  The faerie gets to give the welcoming news that the individual has lived a life which has led them to those pearly white gates.  I’ve been asked over the centuries, ‘how do I know I’m not making a mistake in the collections’ and my response is: ‘I am only sent to the location.’ I know nothing, no name, or reason why. All I recognize is the calling or draw which propels me into motion.  Once on the scene, I follow the scent of death. There is always a trail, a trace of death that begins to be emitted from the body seconds before the demise occurs. That’s one of the reasons vampires move so fast. We need to be able to step in quick enough to extract the blood from the body. Part of the eternal torture of Hell is the burning sensation. That phenomenon starts once the system is drained of the crimson liquid. This kid doesn’t know it yet, but as the last bit of that lovely substance dries up, he will start to experience the burn from the inside out. Damned spirits tend to moan in pain and as the burning increases, their cries become louder. I try to get them to the gates of Hell before that point. The hollow sound of their screams can leave a feeling of someone scraping the meat and flesh from your bones. 

“So, you aren’t an angel?”

 We are moving at a fast pace. A human body would not be able to keep up with the speed in which I’m traveling. But as a spirit, they’re no longer limited by the unconditioned muscles humans rely on.  “No, I’m not. I hate to break the news to you, kid, but you are not headed to heaven. Do you feel that burning sensation? That’s the first step in your eternal damnation.”

“But…wait! Why?”

 He tries to pull away from me when he notices that his feet do little to stop his movement. The soles of his feet glide over the dirt and tree stumps as he is forced to continue on the path that I’m leading him.  The gate is close by. I can sense the pull towards the fiery passage. Coming to a stop in the middle of the forest, I wait for the doorway to materialize.  The gatekeeper can always recognize the arrival of a new soul.  Only appearing in the darkest of locations- which could be an abandoned building, unlit parking lot, dark alley or in this case, the middle of the forest, the entrance can be revealed. 

Gatekeepers and their companions, hell hounds, are more sensitive to the light than us vampires. Death occurs at all times of the day, including while the sun is out. Because of this, vampires in the olden days would wear black cloaks to help keep our pale skin from burning. Many pictures of grim reapers depict us as skeletons under those hooded robes, but I believe because our skin is so pale and we move so swiftly, that most images the human eye could detect appear as a bone.   Therefore, black clothes are vital to keeping us protected. Any amount of sunlight on our skin will leave our pale flesh blistered and peeling. We’ve since done away with the robes, wearing all black, like a hoodie, jacket, and pants will do the trick now.

Feeling the rays of sun on our skin, would probably compare to what my John Doe is experiencing. He has started to moan and rock as we wait for the gate to appear.

“Please, can I go back?” he whispers. “What will happen to my body?”

  I glance and find him rubbing his hands up and down his arms. His semi-transparent eyes give a ghostly appearance. “You cannot go back. There is nothing left but charred remains.”

“My mom, what will she think?”

 I shrug my shoulders. I’m sure his mother will think the same thing all mothers think.

The warmth from the gate draws me forward. I slam into the invisible wall and a hiss escapes from my lips.  I’m not allowed to enter. Even the bowels of Hell do not allow me passage. The two Hell hounds perk their ears, but do not move from their seated positions; not until they’re given the commanded.  Undisturbed by my movement, Eskil, the operator of this entry bows.

“Evening, Cyrene. How be you tonight?”

“Well, Eskil. And yourself?” As he contemplates my question, he brings his blackened fingernails to his stubby chin. The act of his nails moving across the stubble sounds of steel grinding upon steel.

 “Yuh got a busy night ahead of you?  Don’t know if I’ll be seeing you again, though. I’m being pulled towards the south.”

 “Yes, the weekends tend to bring out the casualties. This one here is my first of the night. I’m being pulled towards the west after this.”

 “Reckon you better be getting on your way. No one ends up happy when they go unclaimed.”

“I think you’d be right on that.”

 Eskil gives the quietest of sounds, and the two Hell hounds shift into action. Both massive two hundred pound beasts, move from their seated position and come forth to guide the soul towards its new home. Besides the soul, the Hell hounds are the only ones able to cross the invisible line. Although Eskil craves for the coolness of the night air to brush his ashy skin, and I want to experience the heat that is being released from the depths of the gates, neither one of us can cross that line.  John Doe sees the huge hounds shuffling closer and turns to flee. One of the hounds gives a grisly howl and the spirit stops. John Doe then turns on the silent command to face the passageway, and the hounds, one in front and one behind, march the boy forward.

“No, please! I don’t want to go! Take me home! Please! I’m sorry!”

 “You’ve got a talker on your hands.” I say. 

“That we do. Those are always the fun ones.” Eskil rubs his hands together in anticipation as he watches the boy cross the threshold. Without another word the gate slams shut and the warmth disappears.

I turn on my heels and head towards the west.  I must move as fast as possible. The next death will occur soon, and I don’t want to miss it. No spirit collector wants to miss the separation of a spirit from its body. Father Time is always working against us, then again, so is Mother Nature. Besides the bickering between themselves, they also try to keep us from collecting the souls. Any spirit that is not gathered within the minute or so that it takes to depart from its body, will enter into Purgatory, as some would call it. In other words, they become a ghost.  Left in limbo in the area in which they lost their lives, that apparition will not enter Heaven or Hell. It doesn’t transpire often, but the humans that happen to occupy those locations after the body has been removed are known to have visits from said ghost.

It typically occurs when a great number of deaths take place all at once.  Take for example, the civil war. In Gettysburg alone, there were so many casualties that neither vampire nor faerie working side by side, were able to reach all of the bodies in time to collect the souls. In that case, as with the rest of the civil war, Father Time seemed to be pushing time forward, making the surroundings move faster if you will. You see, he likes to have the restless apparitions moving about the earth. Making the occasion move faster or slower depending on the situation leaves soul collectors nothing but hard work. If we don’t make it in time to gather the soul, the ghost is left to terrorize the living. Father Time recognizes poltergeists put the living on the edge, and when such fragile beings as humans are on guard they are more open to hurt one another.  Father Time since the Beginning has been racing to the finish line. He wants nothing more than for the world to turn on itself, so once there are no living breathing objects left, and he can rest.

Mother Nature is his worst enemy. She loves everything living…including vampires- if you want to consider us living. She refuses to sit back and watch Father Time ruin her world. Because of this, she and her minions work constantly to keep the world moving smoothly. Her fleet of minions or shape shifters will stop at no cost to keep humans alive. Taking on a form that will best suit the scenario, her shifters will try to defuse, block, or divert death. These are only in instances where Father Time has had his hands in things. If it is a natural death, her creatures will back down.  But take for example, the John Doe I just deliver to Hell. Let’s say before getting into his car and driving drunk, he was at a house party, where of course he was drinking heavily. A girl walks up to him and asks him to go home with her. Now this is some stranger that he has never met, and if he had gone home with her, he never would have seen her again after that following morning. The girl would have been one of Mother Nature’s shifters. Most likely before the minion changed into the pretty girl trying to coax John Doe into not getting into his car and driving drunk, she was a fox running through the woods.  Since the boy turned down the invite, he was then set in my path. However, Father Time seeing he was a stubborn soul knew that I would be slowed down. Alas, I may have collected that one soul, but in the mist of the sluggish departure, I must now work harder to make it to the next soul so that it will not be stuck in Purgatory. If Father Time accomplishes what he has set out to do, the question for us vampires is: Where does that leave us?

 Being a vampire is punishment. Of course we are not allowed into Heaven, or Hell, and because we are in a flesh and earth bound Purgatory there is nowhere left for us to go. Without the warm substance we drain from our departing souls, we will be left to walk the earth as the living dead. The thought of going without blood forever is torture enough, but to know that we walk this land of the living because of the act of kindness is the biggest punishment of them all. You see, everyone has a path in life, and once your path has been marked with death, once that final decision is made that will end your life, there should be no stopping it. Nevertheless, there is. My un-souling came five days after I wed my husband.

 Our neighbor seemed to have thought a few acres of our farming land were his. The men bickered for two days. Come the third day, things became physical. In the mists of the quarrel, the neighbor lunged forward with a pitchfork in hand, and I having sensed the danger my adoring husband was in, stepped in the way at the last possible second. Hence, I became a grim reaper.  Everything happened so fast. There were two moving objects, one was the pitchfork going towards my husband’s chest, and the other was a black blur. As the manure riddled prongs began to pierce my chest, the vampire paused, sensing that a chain of events was about to occur. After falling to the ground, pitchfork nicely wedged in my heart and lungs, I was lifted into the hands of what felt like cold metal. Moving quickly, the vampire, Dugan, transported me to a new location where the exchanging of blood commenced. Because it was during the day, Dugan was not able to shroud himself in the cover of darkness and my, like so many other births of reapers was public, which leads to legends of vampire attacks.

 Being older and wiser, my reaper knew it was best not to change me on the spot. He relocated me, but not too far away, to make it easier for those who loved me to find the body. As the exchanging of blood continued, he explained that I’d committed the worst crime known to mankind-the shift in history, some call it the butterfly effect. The butterfly effect being that history is already written, and if for some reason it is changed-as a result of stepping in front of a pitchfork at the last second that was meant for someone else- you have in effect changed the course of history. The Powers that be have to then work in overtime to make sure this history that isn’t already written remains correct. Once the change was complete, I was then enlightened on my new role in my life of the undead.  You can say it was a rude awakening to the real universe. My husband of five sun rises remarried in less than twelve settings of the sun, and I was stuck walking the earth as a blood sucking, soul snatching, Hell greeting beast.

Besides welcoming souls to Hell, this undead life hasn’t been too bad. With seniority, I don’t have to travel as long of distances as in the beginning and have been located in the States for the last five hundred years. Willem, my mate of two hundred years and I share a small underground residence. He also is a reaper, having pushed a young slave out of the way of his father’s pistol, he, too joined the ranks of the undead. Our underground house dwelling is modest, but necessary so we can walk around without all black on. There are times when we are both drawn to the same occurrence, however, most days we have to go our separate ways, and sometimes weeks will pass without seeing each other.

I’ve found my next destination. Still holding the cover of darkness around me, I watch as the next death transpires. I always find it a shame when an elderly person dies of something other than natural causes. I know the next demise will be of an elderly lady. The trail of fatality is shining bright and leading its web towards her. It appears that she has just left the local corner market. There are two men waiting at the end of the dimly lit street for her. I can hear their murmurs. The guys have tracked the old lady for two weeks, and tonight they plan to rob her of everything on her person. Once they have her keys to her house, they’re going to shoot her and then raid her apartment.  These are times that I would like to be a corrupted soul snatcher, like Dracula. Choosing the souls I’d like to drag to Hell would be nice. No one knows how he, like so few others are able to break from the internal commands we receive. Although, I wouldn’t go around trying to turn others and taunting the living, yet, I would definitely choose to snatch the souls of these two men with the gun before having to take the old lady’s soul. However, on second thought, I’m bringing her to the gates of Hell, so perhaps she isn’t as she appears either. Besides, like the barrier that keeps me from entering the warmth of Hell, the same barrier holds me in place as I wait the next death.

The street light has caught the reflection of my insignia, reaching up I place my hand over the small piece of silver. Centuries ago, when there were more farmers than townspeople, us grim reapers used to walk around with what most call a sickle; it was part of our disguise. To the untrained eye, we carried farm tools, but it was actually a replica of our fangs. As times have changed, we have done away with the sickles and now we wear such insignias as necklaces, bracelets or anything else we can find on the internet that resemble fangs.

Other things have changed with the ages. Vampire hunters aren’t as prevalent. As the world revolutionizes most don’t believe mythical creatures exist, which leaves less and less men of the cloth wearing garlic around their necks hunting us. Outside of smelling really awful -garlic for some reason has the strongest smelling aroma, and makes us gag- it has no real effect on vampires. We just don’t like the smell.  Garlic or no garlic, men of the cloth are the only ones who can end a vampire’s life…with a stake. The stake must be blessed in holy water and the man must be of the purest heart and soul to accomplish the task. So all-in-all, most attempts to stake a vampire fail. But those that succeeded… well, it only begs the question, what happened to that vampire? We have no souls to become a ghost stuck in Purgatory, and we are not allowed into Heaven or Hell. Some believe when we are staked, we become reincarnated. I only wonder if you need an essence for that.

Another change that doesn’t partially go with the shift in the world, but with a vampire becoming reestablished in the world, is after a few decades we no longer need to carry our caskets around with us. You see, while the transformation to a vampire is processing, our systems go into a sort of hibernation. This usually gives the family time to bury our bodies. Once the change is complete, most vampires need to dig themselves out of their grave and find somewhere to hide, or locate black clothing to keep them protected from the sun. It’s an instinct to bring your casket with you. Besides the clothes on your back, the casket is the only thing you enter your new life with. That is, if you’re lucky enough to be buried. That was another ‘pitchfork’ in the heart for me. Thankfully Dugan wasn’t called to his next reaping right away, so he waited to see if someone would claim my body. Realizing no one would, he moved me to his dwellings and clothed me. He no longer needed his casket since he had a proper shelter, thus as I moved into the world alone, he allowed me to take his for protection. Vacant buildings weren’t as prevalent as they are now, and unless we are removing a soul from a residents in which is occupied by the living, that invisible wall blocks us from entering. Furthermore, all holy grounds are completely off limits…even if a death occurs on the premises. As a result, most vampires aren’t left with many places outside of the casket to seek shelter in the beginning.      

I’m commanded forward to the shuffle. I watch as the taller man on the left pulls out the gun. I reach the elderly lady seconds before he fires. Sinking my teeth into her neck, I draw her warm blood into my mouth.  As I drain her essence, I hear the booming click of the gun. The woman gasps as the bullet enters her body. Dealing with weapons is a part of the job, but I hate it. I let out a sharp hiss as the bullet exits her body and enters mine. It comes with the territory. Letting her body drop to the ground, I step back into the darkness and attempt to pull the bullet out of my abdomen. This is why vampires heal quickly. Outside of my own death, I have, over the centuries been shot more times than I would like to count. I was thankful when sword fighting lost its attractiveness.  But buses, knives, cars, axes, baseball bats and even a fishing pole are some of the weapons that have battered my body over the centuries. Not to mention those times I‘ve arrived late and found myself jumping off of tall buildings or boats and other such things to make the draining before their lovely blood makes too much of a mess for me to lick up. Ironically, there has never been another pitchfork to pierce my skin. The Powers that be have a sick sense of humor. 

Digging deep into my side, I find the bullet and yank it out. The tissue and skin around the wound begin to heal. Hissing again, I throw the metal on the ground.  My Jane Doe has exited her host and is staring at me. Her murderers have begun their retreat.

“Aren’t you going to stop them?”

 Her voice is a high pitch wail. She turns and stares down at her body, and the blood that’s left, as it slowly leaks out onto the sidewalk.  “No, not today, but maybe one day I’ll get the calling to.” I glance through the new hole in my shirt and I find the puncture is completely closed. “Come on, it’s time to go.” My Jane Doe faces the direction in which the men ran and spits a saliva-less spit before turning back towards me.

“Well, now what? I’m assuming I’m dead.”

 “That you are. Follow me.”

We need not travel as far this time to the next gateway. I can sense it materializing. Making a right, we head for a dark alley that smells of urine and has a hobo sleeping under a box next to the garbage bin. As we walk past the bum, the old lady mutters an ungodly word and attempts to kick him. Her foot goes right through his leg, and he feels nothing. I stop and once again and I’m greeted by the warmth of the depths of Hell. Ormand is the operator of this opening. He, too, is flanked by two hell hounds. 

“Must be those weekend things or whatever you call them. This is my six emergence of the night.”

“How are you this fine evening, Ormand? Yes, it is a weekend, but I have a feeling it shall soon slow down. I do not sense the calling of another as of yet. This is my second of the night.”

 Ormand nods at me, and flashes a toothless smile towards our Jane Doe.

“Burning yet?” he questions with an unworldly beam. He then gives a slight click of his tongue and the two hounds stand and position themselves. 

Jane throws her nose in the air and says, “I need no assistants from these mongrels. I’ve known this was coming for some time.”

 She attempts to push past the beasts whose muzzles stop at her shoulders. With her head held high, she marches into the gates of Hell.

 Ormand smiles at me and says, “It wasn’t too long ago that I saw Willem, perhaps he’s close by.”

 Gatekeepers have no way to tell time, other than what information us vampires pass onto them. He may have seen my Willem, but it possibly was not on this evening. It could have been months ago for all I know.

“Perhaps. There are no other calls for me as of now, so I shall go home and await his company.”

Ormand steps back, pulling the gate closed, and I draw the shrouds of darkness around me.  Heading out of the alley, I head home and await Willem or my next calling, whatever happens first.