Just a reminder that the Amazon ebook giveaway in celebration of the release of Revelations: A Horror Anthology ends September 15. Don’t miss out on this!
Thanks for reading!
Just a reminder that the Amazon ebook giveaway in celebration of the release of Revelations: A Horror Anthology ends September 15. Don’t miss out on this!
Thanks for reading!
From September 11-15, 2020, I’ll be hosting an Amazon giveaway of You’re Next: A Short Novel Inspired by True Events in celebration of the launch of Revelations: A Horror Anthology.
To read Revelations at half price before its scheduled release date, follow the link below.
Revelations: A Horror Anthology on Smashwords
*Available until September 15.
I really appreciate everyone’s support and feedback. You all have been invaluable.
I love to read. I’ll read anything, especially if it’s free. I suppose others are not as discerning.
Before we go any further (just in case you are unaware) – ARC = Advance Reader Copy: As an ARC reviewer, you get a free copy of the book before it’s released in exchange for your honest review on outlets such as Amazon, Smashwords, Apple itunes, blogs, social media, etc.
I have been looking for ARC reviewers willing to read my newest book Revelations: A Horror Anthology. Now, I’ve never bothered with getting ARC reviews for my previous two books. I figured I didn’t need these reviews. And although sales on these books are decent, I’m looking to improve.
So, I got ambitious. I started the “ARC challenge” last week with a goal of getting 150 ARC reviews on my book by September 1. I’m telling you, I’ve posted about this opportunity EVERYWHERE. I’ve posted so much that feel like one of those awful spammers (and if you’ve gotten multiple emails from me about reading the book for free in exchange for your honest review, just click the link already and I’ll stop 🙂 J/K). I really try not to spam anyone… I just get too excited.
Looking for people to review my book is harder than I thought it would be. Sure, I’ve got friends and family on my ARC team, but that’s a total of, like, 10 people (I’m a loner and have a small family, what?). Way short of my 150 goal.
I’m posting this under “unsolicited advice”, but honestly, I don’t have any advice to give, really. I just needed to vent. But, in the spirit of things, I’m going to think of some advice…
Don’t give up!
Yeah, I know, that’s cliched advice, but it’s true. I’m only a week into my ARC Quest and I feel like giving up. But if I did that, I’d be giving up on myself, and how would that look? So, I’m going to keep searching for ARC reviewers. I’m going to be that annoying girl that everyone knows that’s always doing something you don’t like (very generic, I know). Because if I don’t, this book won’t get the eyeballs on it that it deserves. I’m not going to give up on myself, or my book.
That brings me to the “annoying girl” part.
I’m looking for ARC reviewers! If you’re interested, please click the link below for your free copy of Revelations: A Horror Anthology. Thank you in advance – Your support means the world to me!
Thanks for reading!
The Revelations: A Horror Anthology pre-order is now live! The pre-order is for the Kindle edition. The paperback version will be available for order on September 15. (And… I have to say this… Please don’t judge the book by it’s cover 😜, it’s a temporary cover.)
I’m also looking for ARC reviewers if anyone’s interested in writing a short, honest review on it. It would be greatly appreciated. If you are interested in the ARC thing, please email me at firstname.lastname@example.org or contact me at Elizabeth Edits.
I can’t say this enough…
Thank you for your readership. It really does mean everything. 💕💕💕
Hey guys! Just wanted to let everyone know that my post on impostor syndrome is now live on the blog Writers Helping Writers! Hopefully, the information in the post will help reassure anyone who is constantly feeling as though they’re not good enough.
Enjoy and thanks for reading!
I have exciting news! My new book, Revelations, is due for release September 15, 2020 on Amazon. Revelations is horror-meets-fairy-tale in a crazy mash-up that teaches a lesson. Examples from the book are actually posted in “fiction” on this blog, so check them out!
I will announce updates as they become available.
I am super excited! Thanks everyone for sticking around, it means the world to me!
She could hear the clock ticking. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Each second seemed to pass slowly. Each second, an eternity. She balled her hand into a fist, then relaxed again. She did this over and over again, afraid of what would happen if she stopped. The oxygen mask on her face was only second in discomfort to the needle in her hand, drawing her blood for more tests. Is this ever going to end? She thought.
She envisioned her children, her grandchildren. They weren’t allowed to visit. Not yet. The doctor said maybe in a few days, until they knew what they were dealing with. She didn’t want to wait. She needed them now. Tick, tock. Tick tock. The clock was like an alarm in her brain. Her time was almost up. She could feel it. Just a little more blood, then she could rest. Only a few more drops.
A nurse came into her room and checked the IV tubes. “All done.” She said cheerfully.
“Cheer up.” The nurse responded. “The doctor is considering letting you go home.”
A ray of hope. Maybe she wasn’t going to die at all. “I get to see my family?”
“Yes, but I’ll let the doctor tell you more about that.” The nurse gathered her sample and retreated from the room.
As she began to daydream about seeing her grandchildren again, the doctor came into the room. There was a small bounce in his step that gave her hope. “I’m sending you home, Margorie.”
“Yes, but it won’t be for another couple of days, just to make sure.”
“I’ve also allowed for a short visit from your family, if you’re up for it.”
“I am.” Margorie could barely contain her excitement.
The doctor smiled. “Okay. How about tomorrow? I’ll give them a call this afternoon to let them know.”
Margorie felt as though she could jump around the room. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”
“I know, Margorie. It’s my pleasure.”
The day passed in a blur. Margorie couldn’t think of anything but seeing her family as she thought about the visit they were going to have.
The nurse helped Margorie into a clean hospital gown. Margorie smoothed the perpetually wrinkled fabric as best she could as she heard her grandson run down the hall toward her room. As he entered, Margorie extended her arms, ready to scoop him up for all the kisses she could give him. He didn’t disappoint as he ran right into her arms.
Margorie’s son, Daniel, and his wife, Melissa, followed behind with their ten-year-old son, Matthew. Matthew hung behind with his mother as Daniel hugged Margorie. Margorie’s youngest grandson, two-year-old Michael, was still in her lap.
“Margorie, I’m so glad we’re finally able to visit!” Melissa’s voice was loaded with fakery as she crossed the room and gave Margorie a cold peck on the cheek.
“Me too, dear.” Margorie’s words were just as cold as the kiss.
Daniel ignored them both. “Matthew, give your grandmother a hug.”
With a put-out sigh, Matthew obeyed. “Hey, grandma.”
“Hey, you.” Margorie replied, a smile filling her face.
As the family visited, Margorie learned what her grandsons were doing, and what Melissa did all day when Daniel was at work. Margorie thought that Melissa had it pretty easy, while it looked as though her son were about to pull his hair out. It doesn’t matter. Margorie thought. I’ll be able to help them soon.
“Hello, everyone.” The doctor strode in.
“Doctor.” Daniel greeted him.
“Okay. Margorie’s doing well. Her tests have come back negative for the virus. It looks like she took well to the new medication and her body did the rest. You can pick her up tomorrow morning.”
“That’s great news! You can stay with us until you’re well enough to go back to the house.”
That was exactly what Margorie was hoping Daniel would say.
The nurse went into Margorie’s room at 8am, expecting Margorie to already be up and dressed, ready to go home to her family. But when the nurse saw Margorie was still sleeping, she shook her head.
“Margorie, your son is here to pick you up.” The nurse called out as she crossed the room to turn on the light over Margorie’s bed in an attempt to rouse the woman.
There was no response.
“Margorie. It’s time to go, you’re late.” The nurse continued to talk loudly as she flipped the light switch.
As light flooded the bed, the nurse sighed as she looked down at Margorie. The nurse lifted the woman’s wrist, waited a few beats, then put it gently back on the bed.
What the nurse thought was particularly sad was that no one had realized that Margorie had died nearly two hours ago.
She woke up with dried mud on her feet and red liquid splatters on her arms and hands. She took in her surroundings, blinking slowly, her breathing labored and shallow. Where am I? She thought.
Macy recounted what she could remember before the blackness. She thought about her friends and tried to come up with enough evidence to convict one of them of this terrible prank, but she came up empty. She was on the wooden floor of a musty-smelling room. Streams of sunlight shone through the single, mud-caked window. She wondered if it was mid-morning or early afternoon. From the color of the sun rays, she determined that it must be mid-morning. She was free to move around the room, which didn’t surprise her, seeing that her friends were assholes who were probably laughing about this in the school’s courtyard right about now. They didn’t mean her any harm, just a good laugh at her expense. Still, Macy couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread and unease. She knew, deep in her heart, that this was more than a prank.
Macy was a bubbly seventeen-year-old from a small, rural farming community in upstate New York. Her parents owned and managed a farm on the outskirts of that community, along an old dirt road that Macy had played on since she was three years old. The farm at one time belonged to Macy’s paternal grandfather, who in turn left the property to Macy’s father’s older brother, George, when Macy was a newborn. When George proved he could not manage the farm the way their father had intended due to his habitual drinking, Macy’s father took over the daily operations of the property and moved his family into the quaint farmhouse at the edge of the property. George, however reluctantly, moved to a neighboring town. Despite the family farm changing hands, Macy’s father and uncle maintained a cordial, if somewhat strained relationship; a tension from which Macy’s parents had successfully protected her.
Macy’s life was that of the typical small-town girl; Friday night football games at the local high school, Saturday morning farmers’ markets where her family set up a modest booth selling fresh corn and carrots, and Sunday morning church services, after which Macy’s parents would speak to the pastor for an hour or more, leaving Macy to pace by the double doors. Every morning before school Macy would help her mother feed the chickens and milk the cow, and every day after school came homework and helping with dinner. Macy realized that most kids her age went out with friends or watched television after school. Not Macy. Her mother always said: “During the week, you prepare for your future.” Macy was only allowed to see her friends outside of school on the weekends, and her parents didn’t own a television.
Macy tried to recall what day it was. The last event she remembered was having ice cream after dinner at the little stand in the center of town with Tommy Newsome. That was Sunday night. She smiled at the thought of holding Tommy’s hand on the walk to the ice cream stand. The ice cream stand was about a mile and a half away from her family’s farm, and Tommy had picked her up on foot for the date.
“Chocolate, right?” Tommy asked her, signaling to the lit menu board through the screen at the window labeled “order.”
Macy giggled. “Vanilla-chocolate twist, actually.” She corrected him sheepishly.
Macy had first seen Tommy swinging a baseball bat on the practice field behind the high school. He played for the high school’s team, the Bobcats. She thought the team’s name to be lame, and many of the guys in her school wouldn’t dare be caught playing baseball. The coveted sport was football; you only played baseball if you were planning on doing it professionally in the future. Tommy had a real knack for it, and Macy had no doubt that if he stuck with it, Tommy would “go pro.” Tommy looked at ease swinging the bat, like it was a natural extension of his arm. It seemed he was born to play baseball.
He swung at the ball and knocked it out of the field on the first swing. He jogged leisurely to first base, smiling and laughing at the jeers his teammates sent his way. After he arrived at first base, Tommy made eye contact with her, and waved. She remembered feeling her cheeks grow hot, and realized she had been openly admiring him. “Geeze,” Macy remembered saying to herself. “He thinks I’m an idiot.”
Tommy went out of his way to talk to her in the hallway at school after that spring meeting. When the semester ended, he had slipped her a jaggedly torn piece of notebook paper with his phone number on it that read, “Call anytime, but not after nine.” It wasn’t until later that Macy found out that if she called him after nine o’clock at night, she would wake his parents, and they would be angry enough to ground him for weeks. At the time, however, she smiled at the note and put the scrap paper gently between the pages of her own notebook.
Macy and Tommy spent a lot of time together once school let out for the summer. She introduced him to her parents, and he always addressed them as sir and ma’am, which made him a favorite with her mother. Her father was still on the fence about what he deemed their “friendship.” Tommy never failed to lend a helping hand around the farm when he was visiting, and always commented when he was over for dinner with “this is great, ma’am” in response to her mother’s cooking. Most nights after dinner, Macy’s parents would allow her to go over to Tommy’s house, where they would sit on the couch with a bowl of popcorn, watching his parents’ old black-and-white, rabbit-eared television.
When the summer ended and school began once again, Macy went back to her old routine, which meant she would only be able to see Tommy on the weekends. Macy wasn’t happy about it, but she thought Tommy took it a little harder than he should have. As Macy sat in the dark, dank room, a comment Tommy made wouldn’t stop echoing in her mind – “We’ll be seeing each other a lot more than that, I promise.”
That must have been weeks ago now, and there had been no mention of it since. Macy’s mind floated back to the last thing she could remember – eating her vanilla-chocolate twist ice cream cone with Tommy. Tommy had instructed her to grab the last picnic table available before someone else did, and she did as he said, realizing that there were several families milling about. Several families already occupied the remaining tables. Tommy, in turn, has requested and paid for the cones. The two of them talked and laughed as they ate their respective cones; he had ordered bubble-gum flavored ice cream for himself.
“You like bubble-gum flavor?” Macy asked, not only surprised, but a little sickened.
“I love it. You don’t like it?” He obviously noticed the green look on her face.
Macy shook her head vehemently. “Reminds me of that baby medicine my mom used to give me. So gross.”
Tommy laughed. “I remember that stuff; couldn’t wait to get sick.”
They both laughed at that.
Macy smiled as her mind drifted back to the present. Where am I and how did I get here were the only questions on Macy’s mind. She looked at her hands and realized that, aside from a few splatters of the red liquid, they were clean. Her favorite dress – white with yellow flowers – was ripped and caked with mud. She sighed, upset about her dress, and simultaneously realizing that she had not been home since last night, since ice cream with Tommy. Looking at the rays of sunlight streaming through the dirty window, she gathered that it must be Monday. Someone must be looking for me. They can’t just leave me here.
In fact, Macy’s parents were frantically searching for their daughter. They had notified the police, but had to wait until that night to file a missing person’s report, so they were on their own. “She’s not a child anymore, Marge.” Macy’s father, Hugh, said to his wife.
Rebecca knew the moon had stolen her daughter.
Two days before Christmas Eve. Rebecca picked up Molli from her dorm room for the holiday break. The roads were snow-covered and slippery, and oncoming headlights combined with strong winds made the long journey down the highway difficult. Molli sat in the front seat, seemingly oblivious to the road conditions, happily chatting about her classes and friends. Rebecca rolled down her window a crack to see if the windows would defog.
“Oh! You’ve got to see this!” Molli unbuckled her seatbelt and turned her entire body toward the back seat, trying to reach her duffle bag.
“Molli, please, can’t it wait?” Rebecca struggled to keep the car on the road.
A strong gust of wind blew the moonlight into the car. Rebecca swerved to avoid another vehicle that was drifting into her lane. She lost control of the car. The crunch of glass and metal filled the icy air. Rebecca saw the moonlight envelop her daughter.
There was no doubt – the moon had stolen Molli.
Molli’s funeral was two days after Christmas. As Rebecca and her husband, John, watched the casket being lowered into the frozen ground, Molli’s life flashed through her mind. The two of them baking cookies on cold winter afternoons when Molli was a toddler, flour covering her face and hands, licking a chocolate-frosted spoon with the biggest grin. Molli running into the house, crying, after her first day of kindergarten because she missed her mommy. John squeezed her hand and the memories vanished.
“I can’t do this.” Rebecca whispered to John as her eyes darted around the cemetery, searching for a way out.
John didn’t reply.
Unable to find an escape route, Rebecca’s eyes focused on Molli’s casket, the top now disappearing below ground. I’m not ready. She’s not ready. Rebecca’s thoughts screamed.
She felt unable to breathe. Her daughter wasn’t dead, and she wouldn’t be able to breathe underground.
“Stop this!” Rebecca hissed to John as the gravedigger began shoveling dirt into the grave.
John remained motionless.
“Didn’t you hear me?” Tears of desperation blurred Rebecca’s vision and she shook John’s hand as if to wake him.
“I heard you.” John finally said.
“Why aren’t you doing anything?” Rebecca’s desperation was quickly giving way to hysteria. “She’s not dead!” She screamed aloud.
The ritual stopped; everyone attending stared.
“I’m so sorry.” John addressed the crowd as he stood, attempting to make Rebecca stand with him.
She did stand and allowed herself to be ushered away from the ceremony, but not before she cried, “The moon has her! She’s not dead!”
The looks of concern and pity after her outburst at the funeral were not as painful as being alone in bed, the moon staring at her through the window. Rebecca stared back at it while she listened to John explain to someone that she was okay, just having a hard time accepting that Molli’s gone.
John entered the room and found Rebecca lying on her side, staring through the uncurtained window. “It’s stuffy in here.” He said as he crossed the room and opened the window a crack.
A soft breeze blew the moonlight into the room and Rebecca could feel it wrapping itself around her. She shivered.
“Dinner’s ready.” John offered.
Rebecca didn’t reply.
John sighed and left the room.
Rebecca lay stiffly on the bed, the moonlight making her eyes water. She couldn’t watch it anymore. Rebecca rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling.
Shadows began to creep along the wood floor and up the wall to the ceiling. Rebecca watched, unmoving, as the shadows entered her field of vision and began to take shape in front of her eyes. The shapes molded themselves into the events of the accident. Shadows, blacker than black, played the scene on the ceiling like a silent film. The object that stood out the most – the moon.
The scene depicted the car crash; not what actually happened, but what Rebecca was sure of in her heart. The shadows the moon cast failed to depict the moon’s role. It was trying to convince her otherwise.
Tears in her eyes, Rebecca angrily flipped onto her side and stared at the moon again. “Give her back.” She repeated over and over like a mantra until her eyes finally closed.
Rebecca opened her eyes.
The room was flooded with blinding silver light. Rebecca felt like a block of ice. She knew it was the moon.
Rebecca forced her eyes to adjust to the intense light and saw a slim silhouette standing in front of the window. She instinctively knew it was Molli. “Baby? You’re back!”
Molli shook her head. “I have to go. Just wanted to say hi.”
“No.” Rebecca was firm, getting out of bed to move closer to her daughter, but making no progress.
Molli turned toward the window.
“Don’t move!” Desperation crept into Rebecca’s voice.
Molli put her hand on the window sill as if preparing to climb out.
The desperation that had been building in Rebecca took over. “Me!” She screamed, pounding on her chest. “Let me go instead.”
Molli glanced over her shoulder at her mother but didn’t move.
“Please!” Rebecca fell to her knees, clutching her chest.
Wind from the open window whipped into the room. The intense silver light seemed to grow brighter until Rebecca couldn’t see anything at all.
The next morning, John woke to find Rebecca wasn’t breathing. The ambulance arrived in minutes. Apparent heart attack. Rebecca died in her sleep.
The first thing John did was pick up the phone and dial Molli’s dorm room to tell her the news.
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