Photo Credit: Malcolm Gittins
Please welcome back the multi-talented and lovely, Tiffany Apan!! I'm very happy to have her back for a second interview, and she was awesome enough to bring with her some chapter samples as an added bonus!! So, let's get to chatting!
You have been one busy lady! What projects have you been working on since we’ve last spoken?
Thanks for having me
again! :) Well, I've been up to a lot, between home rennovations and my
artistic endeavors (though home rennovations can involve a great deal of
artistry as well). As far as writing goes, I've been working on my novel
series, The Birthrite and I will be
revisiting my short story series, Stories
from Colony Drive very soon. I also was part of a short story
series/anthology with four other authors titled One Emma Way: If Houses Could Speak (my stories, Snowflakes and Roommates, make up the fourth installment of this series).
I've also been on a few
film projects (which I will have more info on as they are released) and I am
working on some new songs with my musical partner in crime for my new album,
"Antiquity" along with a song for a paranormal documentary being put
out by Ghost Walk Films titled "Lilly's Cry" (the song has the same
title as the documentary). Also as a book editor, I've been working on projects
for other authors and I also have a gig this summer with the Depreciation Lands
Museum that will allow me to delve into the 18th century and other parts of
history (which will help me in my stories tremendously as most of what I write
has some sort of historical element).
Last but definitely not
least, I am combining my love for horror and history for my new online
magazine, The Parting of Veils, for which
I'm also excited.
You have a handful of
books currently out, including your Descent Birth Rite series and your Colony
Drive short-story collections. What are the genres of your books and which do
you feel were easier for you to write? What are your thoughts on writing a
series or saga?
Well, they are
definitely paranormal! Both are also within the Gothic genre for sure. However,
I would describe my novel series, The
Birthrite as being Gothic Romantic/Paranormal/Historical. The Colony Drive short series lean more
toward Horror, though there are also elements of Horror in The Birthrite and Romantic elements in Stories from Colony Drive. Both series are quite dramatic,
emotionally charged and definitely will take the reader on suspenseful a roller
coaster ride.
As far as which of the
two series is easier to write, I would say the Colony Drive series. Simply because they are short stories and
don't require the amount of research that The
Birthrite does (though that can change). So much research and planning went
into building the world and characters in The
Birthrite. And although I pretty much have the characters and worlds down,
there is still work that needs done as far as maintaining continuity, making
sure the story doesn't get repetitive, making sure the characters grow without
being totally out of character, etc.
I do enjoy writing
series, as they allow for more character growth, more in depth plots, AND you
don't have to let go of your characters so soon. It's funny how you mentioned
in your interview about the emotional sadness involved with ending the Divinity Saga. I know it will be the
same for me when I conclude The
Birthrite. Hell, ending Book 1 was a pretty emotional experience for me, so
I think it's safe to say that I will be a blubbering mess by the end of Book 5.
However, there is so much history and back story in this series that there is
definitely room for things like a prequel and/or spin off Birthrite-verse books. We shall see. :)
Can you give some
insight to a favorite character from your own books? What inspired you to
create them as they are?
Asking me to pick a
favorite character is like asking a parent to pick a favorite child. :D But in
writing Descent (The Birthrite Series,
#1), I spent most of my time with Nicolae and Dorothy.
Since Nicolae is
introduced in the book first, I will start with him. He is a Romani slave in
Wallachia (Romania) during the early-mid 19th century. For those unfamiliar with
what a Romani is, they are a race often referred to as 'gypsies' (no, being a
gypsy is not just a "lifestyle"...in fact, there are many
misconceptions regarding their culture). They have a long history involving
persecution and (in some parts of Europe) slavery. There is also found
documentation suggesting that some were also shipped to the Americas with
African and Irish slaves, courtesy of Oliver Cromwell. And interestingly, there
are many parallels between slavery in America and enslavement of the Romani in
Europe. Both were also abolished at around the same time.
One thing that inspires The Birthrite Series is the history not often spoken of by the
mainstream, and Romani slavery is among that. When we begin the story, we see
Nicolae as a young man of nineteen fleeing his slavemaster's land with his
little brother, Sebastian. The reason behind their escape is not revealed until
a little later in the story, but Nicolae's story was probably the one I felt
the most compelled to and passionate about telling. I feel the Romani are often
highly misrepresented in the media, being reduced to a very negative, comical
(and not a good kind of comical) stereotype. And I'm not talking about parodies
that are understood as parodies and aren't taken seriously. I'm talking about
people watching My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding and
thinking that it's real. Now that isn't to say that I write Nicolae and the other
Romani characters as complete angels. They are human after all, and every group
has its good and bad apples. But in my opinion, it has become so easy to
demonize certain cultures, thanks to our media. Even though what I write is
supernatural, I try to 'reality-ize' it. :)
Now as for Dorothy, she a young woman of almost
eighteen and living in the year 1931 in America (in the fictional town of
Plains, New York). She was also interesting to write of. Being the age she is
in the very early 1930s, she and her peers would have been born in 1913, or a
year within the 1910s. Throughout their brief lifetimes, Dorothy and her
friends Linda and Gail (along with their male counterparts, Carl, Jimmy, and
Reginald) would have lived through many transitions within the country.
They
would have seen great progress made within the new Industrial Age. They would
have seen the switch from the supposedly more reserved Edwardian era into the
Roaring 1920s and Jazz Age. They would have been alive (albeit young children)
when women were granted the right to vote (something that means a lot to Gail
and Dorothy). They would have seen many amazing steps taken toward equality for
humans and the resistance from certain groups that did not want such equality.
They would have seen both Womens Rights and Mens Rights groups stating their
cases. They also would have seen the stock market crash and Prohibition. And
like many a youth before and after them, they would have been highly influenced
by the current trends, which included jazz and "free love",
especially since they live in New York, just outside of the city.
I kept much of this in mind as I developed each
of their characters, trying to make them as complex as the time they were
living in. First you have Jimmy and Linda, the more traditional couple as far
as male to female roles go. However, these two also take advantage of the fact
that the liberation of the 1920s made sexual relations outside of marriage less
taboo.
Then there is Reginald and Gail with a more
egalitarian relationship. Gail is someone whom a reader might refer to as a
"touch chick" type, but she does have her insecurities and
vulnerabilities. She is also very much enamored with Reginald and he with her.
As for Dorothy and Carl, I did use the 'good
girl falling for the bad boy with a good heart' trope, but of course put my own
twisted touch to it. Aside from all the supernatural occurrances taking place,
Dorothy is someone struggling with her burgeoning sexuality and Carl has issues
and demons of his own. I don't want to give too much away, but it was
interesting delving into the psyches of these two.
As a side note, I will add that Dorothy's
father, Matthew, was also a very complex and interesting character to get to
know. And The Vanishing American by
Zane Grey influenced more than a couple passages. ;)
I’ve probably asked this
of you before but I have to ask again, considering how much time goes into
writing itself alone. What is your secret to juggling writing, acting, singing,
modeling, producing, dancing, and maintaining blog and web pages so
successfully?
A lot of organized planning. Sometimes one
project does have to get sacrificed for another, at least for the time being.
I'm also the queen of check lists. I think they were the most brilliant thing
ever created. Also if you make check lists, it's best to categorize according
to deadline. That way, you know how to prioritize.
What sorts of things
inspire you creatively as an artist of all trades?
Anything, really. I am
often inspired by music, but I've also been reading up on a lot of history, so there's
that as well. It's hard to point at just one thing, as I could be on a hike in
the woods and an idea will hit me out of nowhere.
Do you have a strategy
for finding reviewers or getting book reviews?
Network, network, and
network. Often, if you network with other authors in your field it is easy to
find someone willing to swap interviews, cover reveals, etc (SIDE NOTE: this
can also apply to music as film).
Reviews are a bit tricky
though. Many book bloggers get bombarded everyday with authors wanting their
masterpiece reviewed or covered, therefore making it easy for your work to get
lost in the shuffle. I say the best way to get your work known and out there is
to network with other authors and offer to feature them on your blog or website
or mailing list or what have you. Oftentimes, they are more than willing to
return the favor. Blog rings can also work well.
My music started getting
reviewed more by blogs and webzines as people became more aware of not only the
album, but the fact that people were enjoying it and that it was of a decent
quality. I think with all the (and there really is no nicer way to put this)
"wannabes" out there who slap together a first draft full of errors
and call it an ebook in order to get their 15 minutes of fame, many bloggers
are hesitant about taking a chance on a newer author. And I can't say I blame
them.
But yes, I say that
first creating a network of people with whom you can cross promote is the best
way to start. Getting your work noticed is always a slow process and very
rarely does it happen overnight (and even so-called overnight success stories
often aren't).
What do you think of
“trailers” for books?
I think they are a great
promotional tool as they allow for a more visual experience of the book. And we
humans are definitely a visual bunch.
What is your favorite
book and why?
Hands down, Emily
Bronte's Wuthering Heights. Because
it is among the most misunderstood and misrepresented works out there. Many go into
the story thinking they will be getting a romance novel out of it. And it is a
love story, though not the sort of romance novel we have come to know today.
To me, what makes the
book so intriguing is the fact that none of the characters are very likeable.
In fact, they are often downright horrible. But that is what makes them
interesting and their story so heartbreaking (I can say the same of The Picture of Dorian Gray and Madame Bovary). If you've read the book
expecting a great romance and were disappointed, go back and read again as a
Gothic story. I also have been reading a great deal on the Brontes,
particularly Emily. In doing so, I've gotten more insight to what prompted her
to write Wuthering Heights.
I guess I'm kind of
strange in the fact that when I read, I'm not necessarily looking to fall in
love with the characters as I am wanting to be intrigued by them and why they
behave the way they do. Are they a product of their environment or did some
other circumstance make them the way they are? I think this is what separates
older literature from stories written in recent years. I think we as a society
have become so wrapped up in not wanting to be offensive that much of the newer
works have become homogenized. I think one of the most important things for an
artist to recognize is that you are never going to please everyone and some
won't be pleased no matter what you do. So be bold, be daring, and be
offensive. :D
What future writing
projects do you have in the works?
Well, this summer I will
be releasing Kindred (The Birthrite
Series, #2) and Saturn Sun (The
Birthrite Series, #2.5). Look for those at the end of July and mid August
of this year. I'm also looking to release Rapture
(The Birthrite Series, #3) this coming winter. Then books 4 and 5 will
follow.
I also plan to write two
more shorts in the Colony Drive series
and then put it together as an anthology (giving potential readers the option
to purchase single stories or all of the shorts together). I will also be
releasing a couple new songs, so stay tuned. :)
You can see the progress
of my various projects at my website and blog:
You can also follow me
on Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube:
My books are also
available in both paperback and ebook form at my website along with the
following retailers:
Barnes & Noble NOOK: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/tiffany-apan?keyword=tiffany+apan&store=nookstore
Apple iTunes (my music is here as well): https://itunes.apple.com/us/artist/tiffany-apan/id277754233?ign-mpt=uo%3D4
CreateSpace:
Descent (The Birthrite Series, #1)
Sacred Atonement (The Birthrite
Series, #1.5)
https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/search?query=Tiffany+Apan&fcsearchfield=Author&fclanguages=all
***FANS OF PARANORMAL AND HORROR, TREAT YOURSELF TO TIFFANY'S WORK, YOU WILL NOT BE DISAPPOINTED!!***
And now for the treat you've all been waiting for!!
Sample
Chapters from Descent (The Birthrite
Series, #1)
Chapter
26
Saturday
October 31, 1931
Halloween was the holiday residents
of Plains lived for. As they saw it, the recession was hardly cause for a dent
in the All Hallows festivities that surpassed even Christmas. This was a time
for parties, costumes, and revelry. A time when houses, businesses, and yards
were decorated with carved pumpkins, paper skeletons, and lanterns lighting the
town with an eerie glow. A time when the trees resembled gnarled, skeletal
hands reaching out from beneath the earth as branches shed their leaves.
Since
seventh grade, George Kolinski had thrown many parties for his peers. The
gatherings were typically saturated with jazz records, necking sessions, and -
as they got older - any reefer, moonshine, gin, or cocaine he could get his
hands on, courtesy of older friends. Halloween of 1931 was no different. By six
'o' clock, the party was in full swing as the annual masquerade at the Miller
residence started up for their parents. This year, Halloween fell on a
Saturday, therefore offering plenty of freedom and opportunity for wild times.
Of course,
Jimmy, Linda, Gail, Reginald, Carl, and Dorothy were among the many in
attendance at George's. They stayed until a little after eight 'o' clock, long
enough for Jimmy and Carl to partake in reefer cigarettes, a line of cocaine,
and a little gin with George, Evan, Bernice, and some other classmates while
the music of Cab Calloway filled the room. The six then decided to head over to
Chuck's Diner for a late dinner.
The three
boys went up to George's bedroom and retrieved the jackets belonging to their
respected girlfriends before everyone said their goodbyes for the evening and
piled into Jimmy's car. Linda sat in the front passenger’s seat beside her
boyfriend, and Dorothy sat in the back seat between Reginald and Carl. As the
group settled into the vehicle, the latter two made jokes about feeling
extremely close to one another in that moment.
Because they are both apparently
twelve, Dorothy
thought. Gail also shook her head while taking her place on Reginald’s lap.
Upon
arriving at the diner, they grabbed their usual table and ordered dinners of
steak sandwiches and potato chips, a rather popular dish at Chuck's. The
conversation remained jovial with discussion of George’s party and jabs at
Jimmy and Linda over what happened at the End of Summer Party.
“Hey, look
at the bright side. You two did get applause,” Carl chided.
Jimmy and
Linda rolled their eyes as Reginald and Gail laughed. Dorothy couldn't help
chuckling either. While she hadn't been at George's End of Summer party, the
story had been told numerous times of Jimmy and Linda emerging from the guest
room they retreated to, only to be met with their friends giving them a
thunderous applause for their rather loud liason. Both had moved on from the
initial embarrassment, but of course the incident would likely be one their
classmates would still laugh over at their 50th high school reunion.
Gradually,
the subject of the group's talk took another turn. Given the season, local
folklore, urban myths, and ghost tales held much fascination and of course,
stories behind the Fleming Orphanage figured into that equation. Their table
was beside the picture window looking out to the hill on which the orphanage's
remains stood. Dark silhouettes of the trees surrounding the old buildings
towered above the town in the distance. Discussion consisted of reported
sitings of the Fleming family’s ghosts on the property and in the Plains
Cemetery. Stranger lore involved demons and werewolves coming out from the
hellmouth or vortex deep inside the forest to hunt and feast on human flesh
during a solstice or on All Hallow’s Eve. The tales ranged from chilling to
absurd, including one that involved Jared Fleming being a werewolf, which Jimmy
and Carl now debated over.
“Oh come
on,” Jimmy said as he worked on his second sandwich. “If Jared Fleming turned
into a werewolf on the night of his death, why was his body so mutilated? Did
he do it himself?”
“It's
simple,” Carl answered. “He got into a fight with another werewolf from the
woods that came up and busted into his apartment.”
“But he
was found hanging by his neck in the front hall on the fifth floor,” Jimmy
countered. “I’ve never heard of a werewolf hanging its victim after mauling it
to death. And wasn’t Maxine also ranting about how her brother Nathaniel killed
him before they took her to the nuthouse?”
“No,” Carl
said, “she was saying that he was telling her to let him in. There’s a
difference. Hey, maybe Nathaniel didn’t
really die from scarlet fever. Maybe he became a werewolf, too and just
disappeared!”
“What is
it with you and everyone being a werewolf?” Jimmy asked.
“Too many
Lon Chaney pictures would be my guess,” Gail interjected. “Dorothy, you really
need to find Carl a hobby."
Dorothy
gave her friend a wry smile as she finished the last potato chips on her plate.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“I’m doing
just fine with what I got,” Carl said, placing an arm around his girlfriend.
“Well
don’t forget the documents and journals that James Livingston kept,” Reginald
added. “He was a good friend of the Flemings and somehow convinced the coroner
to hand over the documents detailing the cause of Cedric and Margaret's deaths.
A good portion of his final years were spent making all kinds of notes. Those
particular entries are the most fascinating, but any of his journals are hard
to put down. I'm actually a little jealous of Dorothy's family getting
mentioned in them.”
“Well,
some of his journals are at the library,” Gail said, “I believe his relatives
took the rest after he died. Which I can understand. You know, wanting to keep
at least a couple in the family.”
Dorothy
nodded in agreement while sipping her soda.
Jimmy
turned back to Carl. "So with all that said, there is absolutely no
evidence backing up the werewolf claims. None.”
“There’s
nothing disputing them either,” Carl retorted. “It can go either way.”
Jimmy
grinned. “Then I dare you to go up to the Fleming property and find one.”
Dorothy
snapped to attention. Oh, Jimmy…why did
you have to say that?
While she
was still dealing with the aftermath of Carl's confession, there was no denying
her feelings, including her concern of him one day taking a dare too far. Even
if the legends were nonsense, the property wasn't a place anyone should enter
alone. Especially at night...
Carl
shrugged. “I’m willing. It's not as though we haven't been up there with the
other guys.”
"True,"
Jimmy replied. "But we never really
explored that area. Not to the extent we could, at least."
"Well
then maybe you should come with me if you're such a hot shot," Carl said.
He dropped his voice to a spookier tone. “Maybe we’ll find the vortex they come
out from.”
Jimmy
laughed. “Now you’re talking! Let's all do it. It is Halloween and the night
Cedric, Margaret, and Jared were found dead and Maxine was out rambling like a
madwoman. What about you, Reg? Are you in?”
The
light-haired young man quirked up the right side of his mouth. “Sure, why not.”
“Now wait
a minute,” Gail said, “that place is notorious for deaths and missing person
cases.”
“Yeah, a
long time ago,” Carl replied. “Jared and Maxine were the last incidents. That
was…what…fifty years ago? At least?”
“Well,
save for certain imbeciles at this table, people tend to avoid the Fleming
property like the plague," Gail said. "I doubt you would even find a
tramp up there."
Jimmy
sighed. “Look, I don't think there's anything to worry about. We’ll go up, have
a couple of laughs, and then blow.”
“I think
it's a great idea,” Linda said, leaning against Jimmy, who placed an arm around
her.
The rest
of the group turned to Gail and Dorothy.
“Well,
maybe,” Dorothy said slowly.
Carl gave
her knee a small squeeze. “That’s my girl.”
“Great,”
Jimmy said. “Dorothy’s in. Gail, come on.”
“Yeah,”
Linda chimed. “It’ll only be fun if we all do it together.”
Gail
rolled her eyes and sighed. “Fine. I guess I’m outnumbered. Far be it from me
to have respect for the dead.”
Reginald
placed a hand on his girlfriend's wrist. “Babe, don’t worry. We’re not doing
anything wrong, just a little exploring. Others have done it and lived.”
Gail
smiled at him but hardly seemed convinced.
“Well,
then it's settled," Jimmy said.
Carl's
eyebrows rose. "Say, I just had a thought."
Gail
snorted. "I'm going to let that golden opportunity pass right by."
"I'm
serious! I was going to suggest that we start at the cemetery."
“Carl’s
right,” Reginald said. “They’re all buried there. If you believe the stories,
there's even been sitings of James Livingston's ghost.”
“Hey, if
we’re going to do it, we may as well do it right,” Jimmy said. “Get the whole
grand tour.”
Linda's
eyes widened. “I have candles in my room. We can stop at my house and I can
grab them. Maybe we can do a séance or something!”
By the
time the group was ready to leave, clear plans of the intended expedition were
laid out.
The girls
retreated to the ladies room to freshen up as the boys paid the bill. Before
leaving, the kids thanked Chuck while anticipating telling their school friends
about the Halloween adventure on Monday.
Chuck
watched with amusement as the high school seniors left out the door and were
swallowed by night's black veil. He enjoyed having the kids in his diner; they
provided him with much entertainment. Since his wife's passing five years ago,
the company was always welcome.
Bernice
had requested the night off, therefore leaving him to tend the tables. The
older man hardly minded, as most of his regulars were at the Millers' party. In
fact, he would be headed there himself after closing at ten.
When the
door shut behind Jimmy, Chuck took a quick glance around the near empty diner
and made his way over to the table the group of six had sat at. As the tail
lights of the young man's car disappeared into the darkness, Chuck paused in
the midst of clearing the plates and utensils and looked toward the dark shapes
up on the hill.
“Historical
monument, my ass,” he muttered. “My vote is for tearing that eyesore down.”
The jingle
from the door's bell wrenched him from his thoughts, signaling the entrance of
more patrons. Quickly, he finished clearing the table and went to tend to his
customers.
Only one
more hour until closing.
CHAPTER
27
The Plains Cemetery was located near
the center of town, stretching out over a field that led back into the woods.
Forest hovered in the background, lining the town and trailing up the hill
toward the thicket on the Fleming property. A ten-foot iron gate marked the
entrance and a stone wall circled the grounds. Near the woods at the furthest
left corner from the last row of tombstones was the care-taker's small
pre-Civil War house. At night, the gate was kept locked, but that hardly
discouraged the occasional group of youngsters from finding a way to sneak in.
Stories of
wandering spirits were numerous. Legend told of James Livingston’s ghost
walking the grounds as he watched over the safety of the town and its
residents. There were also rumors of the patriarch’s guilt over the fate of his
close friends. The tales behind the Flemings were even more unsettling,
involving vengeance and despair. According to the lore, Cedric and Margaret
hunted for Jared, seeking revenge for ruining their daughter and business. As
for Maxine, she searched in eternal anguish for her lost love, Christian
Andrews, and their illegitimate child. A hopeless Jared walked the grounds in
aimlessly, with no place in this life or the hereafter.
Jimmy
pulled his Chevy alongside the sidewalk and put in park nearly a block down the
road from the front gates. As the key was pulled from the ignition, the engine
faded into silence. The group of six sat cloaked in night’s shadow, watching a
veil of dark clouds pass over the waning October moon and form a curtain around
its light (just as they had in Wallachia almost one hundred years ago). For that
moment, all that was present to each person was the racing of their own pulse
as they waited for one of the others to open a car door or speak. Dorothy
instinctively leaned against Carl, who placed his arm around her and brought
her close.
Finally,
Jimmy's voice broke the quiet. “Well, George and Evan loosened a bar in the
gate at the back a couple years ago. They snuck in over the summer a few times
with Caroline and Bernice to neck...and possibly other things.”
“How
morbid," Gail said dryly. "Did they see anything or were they too
occupied?”
Jimmy
snorted. “My guess would be the latter. Though George claims he heard Maxine
whispering next to him and Caroline. Evan also thought he saw a light in one of
the windows of the Livingston Mausoleum. But the whispering could have been the
wind and the light could have been moonlight reflecting off of something.”
“Yeah,”
Carl agreed. “I say we get moving, though. Nothing's going to happen if we're
just sitting here.”
The six
emerged from the car and headed up the sidewalk until they reached the front
entrance. As a light wind rustled the material of their clothing, carrying the
fragrance of autumn brush, the clouds moved away from the moon and revealed the
cemetery grounds lined with headstones. The kids gazed through the bars and
looked toward the caretaker's place of residence. The dark house sat far in the
distance, standing among the monuments dedicated to lives no longer existing.
Jimmy
motioned for the rest to follow. The group quietly rounded the gate at the
right hand side and came to a stop.
“Right
beyond there,” Jimmy whispered, pointing to the distant brush lining the night
sky.
Carl
grinned and Reginald nodded approvingly. The girls looked to one another, and
Linda clutched the paper bag holding her candles. She appeared nervous but
there was an air of excitement. As long as Jimmy was with her, she would be
just fine.
Gail was
still hesitant, looking back toward the car before Reginald put an arm around
her and gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze.
Dorothy
stared intently at the forest, not really knowing what she was looking for. As
a passing breeze stirred, she would swear the trees were whispering and moving
toward her. As it was on the night of the dance, she could hear almost every
sound produced by the forest, along with her heart pumping and blood rushing
throughout her body. Suddenly, it all seemed to close in, and she found herself
floating toward the treetops and falling backward into the branches...
“Dorothy!”
A distant, but urgent voice called to her.
Dorothy’s
limbs stiffened as a pair of branches caught her. All she could see was trees
and sky. When she looked down, her heart stopped at seeing the ground at least
thirty feet below. Then she was dropped, falling passed the veil that shrouded her
until she hit the ground with a hard thud. The voice calling to her was close
now, almost right beside her ear.
Fear
gripped her as she opened her eyes. When her vision cleared, Carl's eyes were
what she saw first. He was on the ground, holding her up from the dry grass.
“Honey,
I'm right here," he was saying.
Carl was holding me…not the trees… Dorothy relaxed, feeling small
relief but still in a state of confusion. “What happened…?” she asked. The rest
of her friends hovered overhead, regarding her with bewildered, concerned
expressions.
“Babe,
that’s what I was going to ask you,” Carl said. “You took off running toward
the woods, then tripped and fell backwards. Thankfully I caught you in time.”
Dorothy
craned her head back to observe the woods and sure enough, the trees were quite
close, but still and silent. Her surroundings were spinning again and a
familiar magnetic surge pulsed through her blood.
“Dorothy!” Carl's voice echoed as though it
were miles away.
Her being
floated as the moon fell toward her (or
she was flying up to it?). She was among stars, their dust twinkling and
gliding about. The moon was farther ahead and absolutely magnificent to behold.
There was no memory or concept of time. Here, she felt at peace and wanted to
stay. But that familiar voice kept calling to her. An urgent voice belonging to
someone she deeply cared for...
She fell
toward the Earth, landing with great force as gravity and awareness permeated
her. As she pried her eyes open, Carl still cradled her, shielding her with his
arms. A pained groan escaped her mouth and she buried her face in his jacket.
“Baby,” he
said, “what's going on?”
She closed
her eyes, trying to remember what just had happened but recalled only seeing
light...light surrounded by a lot of
darkness… "I'm fine. Just dizzy..."
“Honey, if
you want, we could leave," Carl said. "We don’t have to do this.” He
looked to the rest of the group. “Right?”
They all
nodded assuringly.
Dorothy
struggled to sit up. “No. No, I think I'll be all right. Really.”
“Are you
sure?” Jimmy asked. “I can drive you home. It’s not a big deal.”
“Yeah, you
took quite a fall,” Reginald added.
“No,
please,” Dorothy insisted. “I’ll feel even worse if I spoil everyone's fun.”
Before
anyone could reply, Gail pointed toward the caretaker's house. “You guys,
look,” she whispered.
All eyes
widened as light filled windows of the old shack.
Jimmy
gestured with his head. "The woods!"
Carl
scooped Dorothy up and carried her as he and everyone else ran toward the
trees. The kids entered the edge of the forest just before the caretaker opened
his front door a few yards away. Their hearts were pounding as the older man
stepped out onto the porch and started surveying the grounds. While he was at
too far a distance for the kids to see his face, suspicion radiated from him.
The group
stood at the edge of the gate, each trying to be still while catching their
breaths. Dorothy leaned on Carl, but was almost able to stand on her own. After
what seemed like an eternity, the caretaker finally retreated into his house
and the windows darkened.
“Alright,”
Jimmy said, “if we're going in, we have to do it now.”
“Are you
sure you’re all right, Dorothy?” Linda asked.
Dorothy
looked to Carl and each of her friends before nodding.
“Are you
sure?” Carl asked.
“Yes, I’m
sure,” Dorothy said. “Now let’s go before the caretaker changes his mind and
comes out again.”
With that,
Jimmy took hold of an iron bar, twisting it until it loosened out from the
gate. He glanced at the caretaker’s now completely darkened house before he
slid through and reached back toward Linda. After she was in, Reginald and Gail
followed, leaving Dorothy and Carl as the last ones on the outside.
Carl
gently squeezed her shoulders. “You don’t have to do this, baby. We can always
go back to the car and wait for the others.”
Dorothy
shook her head, and looked into her boyfriend's eyes. “I want to do this.”
He gave
her a slight smile and stepped aside. As she went through, her body froze when
his hand lightly touched the small of her back, bringing back a memory of their
first real date together.
After
everyone made it in, Jimmy handed the bar to Carl, who replaced it loosely
enough so leaving (or escaping) would
not be a struggle.
“Where to
first?” Carl whispered, turning back to the group.
“How about
the Fleming plot,” Jimmy suggested.
The six
ran the short distance to the first rows of tombstones while keeping noise to a
minimum and an eye on the caretaker’s house. They weaved through the grave
markers until their destination was reached. Beneath a large, stone platform
that bore a towering replica of St. Michael the Archangel were the graves of
Cedric, Margaret, Maxine, and Nathaniel.
The kids
were silent as they read the inscriptions of names and dates:
FLEMING
Cedric Marcus
February 1800-October
1867
Margaret Louise
November 1804-October
1867
Nathaniel Cedric
May 1830-April 1842
Maxine Rosalind
June 1832- October
1894
Linda
shivered and Jimmy embraced her. "Where's Jared?" she asked.
“He was
buried a couple plots down,” Reginald replied.
Carl broke
away from the group and headed down the row of tombstones. “Right here,” he
said, stopping at a much smaller headstone.
Dorothy
ran over, followed by the other four. When she stopped beside Carl, he took her
hand and laced his fingers through hers. The other four ceased their steps and
stood around Jared’s simple memorial.
Jared Ethan Fleming
April 1825-October
1880
"He
really was the black sheep," Gail said. Her eyes turned toward the
Livingston Mausoleum several feet away. “I wonder what’s in the journals that
Livingston’s family decided to keep. What made them decide to keep certain ones
while others were allowed for display?”
“Good
question,” Dorothy replied. She felt Carl unlace his fingers from her hand and
wrap his arms around her shoulders.
Sighing,
she leaned into him and allowed her gaze to rest on the rather large stone
monument in which Samantha Jo DeWitt Livingston was the first to be interred,
followed by her husband a near decade later. All three of their sons and their
sons’ wives were also there, along with a few grandchildren.
“Should I
set up my candles?” Linda asked, rummaging through her bag.
She felt
her boyfriend tense as he gently took hold of her wrist.
“Hold on,
babe,” he whispered, and held up an index finger for all to be silent.
All eyes
widened as footsteps were heard crunching over leaves on the drying grass,
drawing dangerously close. Then, a beam from a flashlight floated across the
headstones.
The caretaker, Carl mouthed.
The
alarmed expressions of the girls silently questioned. Jimmy looked to Carl and
Reginald before gesturing with his head toward the fence. The boys led their
girlfriends through the rows of tombstones, being mindful of their steps as the
caretaker’s continued across the grounds and heading toward them.
Finally,
the kids approached the last row of headstones, though distance from the gate
seemed much farther than before. Each could feel his or her pulse as the
caretaker drew near.
“Let’s
make a run for it,” Carl whispered. “He can't do anything once we're out."
(Hopefully he doesn't have a loaded
shotgun...)
Jimmy
nodded in agreement and everyone took a stance, preparing to run toward the
loosened bar in the gate. Carl looked to them and mouthed now before they all broke into a run.
Carl and
Dorothy were the first to reach the gate. He pried the loose bar out, allowing
the girls and the other two boys through first. Once his friends were safely
out, Carl quickly slipped through and replaced the bar.
Everyone
held on to one another as they moved toward the edge of the woods and ran until
reaching Jimmy's car. By then, their tense silence transformed into peels of
thrilled laughter echoing into the night.
The kids
leaned against the vehicle, catching their breath while reliving the moment in
the cemetery.
Reginald
grinned widely. “That was close!”
“What do
you think he would have done if he caught us?” Linda asked.
“I don’t
know,” Jimmy said, placing a hand on his girlfriend’s waist. “But I say your
séance would have a much better shot at the old orphanage.”
“Agreed,”
Carl added.
Dorothy
made eye contact with Gail who gave her a wry smile.
“Come on
Gail, admit it was fun,” Linda said, grasping Jimmy’s arm.
“A
little,” Gail replied, trying to hide her amusement.
“More than
a little,” Reginald said, wrapping his arms around her waist.
Gail
relented and embraced his shoulders. “Alright, it was fun.”
Reginald
responded by kissing the right side of her face.
“In that
case,” Carl said, “I say we let the fun continue. To Fleming Orphange we go.”
“I second
that notion,” Jimmy replied.
The six
resumed their places inside the Chevy and Jimmy started the engine. "And
now, 'ze second part of our tour,” he said, imitating Bela Lugosi.
“Yes, ‘ve
continue on to Fleming Orphanage where ‘ze demons 'vait to drink your blood,”
Carl added, speaking with the same Lugosi-as-Dracula accent.
The other
four laughed as Jimmy pulled the car out to the road and turned it in the
direction of the orphanage. They were so engrossed that none noticed the
caretaker standing at the entrance, peering through the gate and watching the
black 1930 Chevrolet pass him by. He was a rather gruff, elderly man who mainly
kept to himself. His occupation allowed a private existence and a roof over his
head. He had everything he needed.
Seeing the
six kids scramble frantically through the gate had given him a great deal of
entertainment. He had a way of knowing when meddling trespassers would sneak in
to make mischief, indulge in secret rendez vous, or whatever the young ones did
these days. After the Kolinski and Frasier boys managed to pry a bar in the
gate loose, he considered fixing it but in the end decided it wasn't necessary.
As Jimmy’s
car faded down the road, the man turned and headed back into the field of
tombstones. Only a light jacket shielded him against the cold as leaves and
drying grass crunched beneath his boots. His flashlight was shut off. The moon
was bright enough, and he knew these grounds like the back of his hand. The
flashlight had simply been used to make those kids squirm a little.
The
caretaker stopped at the Fleming plot and gazed at St. Michael's frozen stare.
A smile appeared across his bristled, unshaven face before he started heading
toward his small house at the farthest corner of the cemetery. As he passed the
Livingston, Mausoleum, his eyes narrowed and he gazed up at the moon.
Descent (The Birthrite Series, #1) and Sacred Atonement: A Novelette (The Birthrite Series, #1.5) are
available at Amazon, and other retailers.
Short
Excerpt from Kindred (The Birthrite Series, #2)
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This
book is scheduled for a late July release. It is also still going through
revisions, so please excuse the very naked writing.
This scene takes
place in Northeastern Pennsylvania
during the summer of
1933
Cletus was
lying on the couch, recounting the evening with Reginald and Gail. On the way
to their apartment, they had stopped at a diner for supper. After that, the
three stayed up talking into the night, quietly touching briefly on parts of
what would be discussed at Tahatan's. His eyes started adjusting to the dark as
he looked out at the moon in the sky.
His mind
started to wander, and his eyes grew heavy. As his eyelids started closing,
they suddenly snapped open as a shape appeared in the window. A face.
As he sat
bolt upright, the shape disappeared.
Chills
started enveloping his body as he glanced about the dark room. Then he heard a
whispering. He tried making out the words, but they were inaudible.
He
considered knocking on Reginald and Gail's bedroom door, but his body was
immobile, frozen in its place. Soon, the whispers were overtaken by the sounds
of a piano, one playing a familiar piece by DeBussy.
Finally,
Cletus was able to rise from the couch, but flinched as his foot touched an icy
wooden floor. His eyes darted about and breath hitched upon seeing where he
was. The Fleming Orphanage surrounded him as the summer breeze turned into a
crisp, autumn chill. All around him, leaves fell from their branches,
blanketing the ground. He felt as though there was a pull compelling him toward
the woods. He could feel his cousin Dorothy's presence, and the danger she was
in here.
Confused
and disoriented, he continued looking around, calling out to her. But she was
nowhere to be found.
The woods
and the empty buildings of the former orphanage seemed to mock him. He heard a
distant howling off somewhere, followed by the humming of a familiar tune. All the pretty little horses...
Cletus
tried to take a step in the direction of the hill that would take him to exit
the property, but it was as though the wind that had started up suddenly was
holding him back. He heard the howling again, only closer this time. It sounded
unlike any animal he knew of.
A foul
stench began seeping out from the buildings. When Cletus turned, he beheld the
windows of the buildings glowing red.
(Blood red)
The stench
of death, decomposition, and decay engulfed him and he knew he was not alone. A
bloodthirsty growl was right behind him. He tried turning to see what it was,
but his feet were planted to the ground. But he could hear it inching closer.
Now, the roaring was in his ears and he felt a powerful pounce push him
forward…
Short
Preview Excerpt from Saturn Sun: A Novella (The Birthrite Series,
#2.5)
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This
is scheduled for an August 2015 release and like Kindred, it is also going
through a revision
This excerpt takes place in
Northreastern Pennsylvania (the fictional town of Pinewoods) during the year
1944. The characters Everett and Joanna are seven-years-old when they meet in
this scene. And for now, that's all you need to know. ;)
“Come with
me,” Everett
“Where?”
Joanna's tone was skeptical.
“Just over
there to my house,” he answered, pointing.
“Why
should I?”
“Because,
there’s something really important I want you to see.”
“You’re
not going to pull down your pants or anything gross like that, are you?”
She
regarded him for another moment, still skeptical, but relented. “Fine. But only
for five minutes, okay? My friends are all going to be wondering where I’m at.”
Joanna
followed Everett
“Does your
mom like old-fashioned stuff?” she asked.
Joanna's
dark eyes continued to roam the room. “So what is it you wanted to show me?”
Her eyes
fell onto Everett, then traveled up to the wall calendar above his head. She
stared in confusion at the year the it boasted:
1944
***Thank you so much for stopping by, and a HUGE thank you to Ms. Tiffany Apan for taking the time out of her super busy schedule to stop by for a visit and to share some of her amazing work!!
