A lonely man in a dying world seizes a chance at happiness with a mythical being. Grab a cup of tea and settle in with your favorite snuggly blanket for an eight minute story that feels like getting lost in a novel. While you’re there, I would love to know what you think.
Click on the photo above to go to my Vocal Media story and feel free to comment and like. I would greatly appreciate it.
Excerpt
The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. The view from this high place included a blue sky interrupted by puffy white clouds tipped in pink from the rising sun, and their shadows moved swiftly over a patch of turbulent sea. That spot was the focus of her longing.
It was the vast land flowing away from the sea that comprised the unknown, the part of this world she had never experienced until now, the part that required a pair of feet to traverse it. She looked at her toes in wonder, curling them just to ensure it was her will operating the strange appendages.
Selena Aires is fine with her nine-to-five life in the city, using her spare time to create art instead of making friends or finding love, until her mentor insists she’s on the wrong path.
When he dies, her grief and faith in his convictions prompts her to move to a small town in the lofty Sierra Nevada Mountains. But more is waiting for her in Quincy than the invigorating pine-scented air, endless trails, and the perfect artist bungalow. What Selena didn’t expect was an encounter with an astonishing man whose barely restrained power calls to something buried in her she had no idea was there.
The alpha of the North Star Pack thought he’d faced every challenge until he laid eyes on the new human in his territory, a beautiful artist with the heart of a warrior. Andras Johns knows instantly his life will never be the same.
The two of them must find a way to merge their opposing worlds while Selena grapples with her feelings for a man with a mystery beneath the surface and faces a destiny that’s expanded beyond her wildest imagination, a destiny fraught with peril in a world that just keeps getting stranger.
Prologue
Zigan – 1988 AD
Thunder boomed and lightning flared across the wheatfields the night Zigan materialized on the upstairs landing of the farmhouse that hunkered against the storm, square and sturdy in its aged timbers.
The floor creaked under his feet as he inspected the closed doors, using the light from the watery halfmoon. He wasn’t worried. Any noise he made was concealed by the winds that rocked the house. It took him only a moment to sense the soul he was to bind himself with for the rest of his earthly life.
Soft snoring from the room at the end of the hall confirmed her parents were asleep, and Zigan was free to carry out his purpose. Still, he paused at her threshold to savor the moment he’d waited for since he was seven, the year his parents gave him to the Order of Hala.
Since then, Zigan had trained in many disciplines to prepare for this bonding and the challenges it would bring. Decades of dedication had brought him to this time, this remote California county, and to this precious infant. He pushed open the door.
Two children slept despite the raging storm and pulsating light. His own electricity throbbed on the inside of his wrist as he approached the baby girl who came awake when he leaned over the crib. Her arms and legs wiggled in response to the magic he sent surging around them.
The tiny being made no sound as she watched him from unusual ochre eyes rimmed in silver. Eyes that confirmed she was the one. He noted the feature unique to the human she was in this cycle, a heart shaped face framed by a halo of shiny dark hair. These things together would help him find her when she was grown.
A faint rustling drew his attention to the bed against the opposite wall. Her four-year old brother dreamed, nestled beneath a Spiderman cover with his own mop of dark hair peeking out.
It was time to do what Zigan had come to do. He pressed his wrist against the infant’s minuscule left shoulder. An obscure image of a half-moon and a wind symbol tucked next to it formed on her delicate skin. Her eyes sparkled, and she smiled as their souls connected.
He whispered in the quiet room against the noise of the storm, “Until we meet again, grow well, my precious one.” Zigan gathered his mist and was gone.
Chapter 1
Selena – Present Day
Gemma Landry rested her hand next to my sketchpad after setting down my beer, and I pulled my attention away from my drawing to look up at her glittering violet eyes. “Look past my hip. The show’s about to begin.”
A screech confirmed her prediction, and the source of the unruly sound tossed her drink into a man’s face.
“They’re at it again. You can see the air vibrating between them. I didn’t think drink-tossing was a thing in real life,” I said with a fair amount of amazement.
The Starlight’s cook, Kenny Sullivan, appeared at the kitchen door, wiping his hands on his apron. He winked at us while we waited for the drama to unfold between two regulars who got into heated arguments at least once a week. They had to enjoy the constant conflict.
It was the sort of scene that inspired my art, and I turned to a fresh page in my journal and started drawing.
I prodded Gemma for more predictions. “What do you think Jason’s going to do about the message dripping down his face?”
She laughed. “I’ll wager you one of Kenny’s tuna melts he walks away without kissing Lucy like he wants to, despite the insult.”
“You’re on.”
Jason’s posturing didn’t faze his wife, who kept the sparks flying his way. At one point their lips were so close they nearly brushed together, and I thought I might win the bet. But they pulled back before they made contact, and that’s when I noticed something more subtle in their interaction. An odd light flashed in both pairs of eyes.
I swallowed. “I can’t be the only one who sees that.”
Gemma cleared her throat. “Yeah. I see it. And I have no idea what it means.”
Judging by her tone and the fact that the Starlight’s most popular server was tapped into everything that went on in this pub, I was sure she had at least an inkling. But I let it go for now and added more to my drawing, even as the hairs prickled on the back of my neck like they did every time these two dueled.
Though we were convinced something more would happen, it never did. That didn’t stop us from waiting for it. I laid down more charcoal.
“How do you do that?” Gemma said as she leaned over me. “Getting action to leap from your pages. It’s two faces, and they aren’t even moving.”
“There’s a trick to it, and anyone can learn. I’ll show you sometime.” I drew her attention to other intriguing characters hunched over their beers at a table in the opposite corner. “I’ll bet you a chicken salad at Jean’s that one of those men will intervene.”
We looked at five Harley Davidson riders who, for whatever reason, acted as informal security. At least they appeared to be bikers, but like so many things in this place, more lurked under the surface.
Gemma snorted. “Nope. Not taking that one.”
I watched in fascination when the one who demonstrated authority with every move gave a wordless command to one of the other four, a man whose face was shrouded by his hood and even weirder, ebbing shadows. The effect combined with his aura of power kept me from voicing my observations. What I saw was too strange for words.
Jason stiffened in response to whatever the hooded man said, shrugged his beefy shoulders, and left without a backward glance. I didn’t blame him. I would obey the shadowy guy without question too.
The shrouded face bent to Lucy’s ear next. Her shoulders slumped and she nodded. The lights in her eyes retreated. When she joined her friends at the bar, she was no different than any other half of a rowdy Starlight couple, and I could almost believe I’d imagined all the strange signals.
Kenny caught my eye again and grinned before disappearing into the kitchen. Red Russo, the proprietor of this establishment had observed the whole thing while he stood next to Kenny rubbing a towel over a glass mug. I wasn’t surprised when he traded a glance with the honey-blond giant giving the orders.
Gemma squeezed my shoulder and headed to her next table, her black braid with purple highlights whipping around her hips. I thought about her mysterious tone earlier. Gemma might be carefree on the outside, but worry lines etched across her forehead, and she held secrets in her eyes. I wanted to help with whatever it was and hoped she would let me in soon, or I might have to start probing.
Sometimes it felt like everyone at the Starlight had secrets, and I looked down at my drawing, wondering if that were true for most small towns. I risked another peek at the five men crammed into that table. It was no surprise when the blond giant mentioned earlier looked my way.
He nodded. It wasn’t the first time.
Despite the heat flaring up my neck and the fluttering in my belly, my stubborn side kicked in, and I gave him my best smile. He held my gaze but didn’t smile back.
These exchanges were getting harder to respond to because each time, he appeared to question his wisdom in acknowledging my existence. It was confusing as hell, and it had been going on for weeks.
I broke the contact, finished my beer, and turned to another page in my journal. The sketch I landed on marked the beginning of what I could only describe as a reluctant fascination.
So much of my focus and efforts go into creating my characters (aka my Pod People) and bringing them to life through the written word, that I lose sight of the fact that once they are out there, they might live in the world of mankind forever… or as long as mankind exists, and the digital content or printed copies stay intact and available… But I, as their creator, don’t even have the potential to last too many more decades, maybe not even too many more years… weeks, or days…? I’m at that age after all.
It makes me wonder if that is why I create them.
What do you think about that? Do you write stories so that a piece of yourself will always exist, so long as there are humans out there who might read them? I know we write for many reasons, but I think I will have to admit this is one of mine.
When I think about that idea more, it makes me realize my Pod People have the upper hand. I mistakingly believed it was me who had the power over them, but it’s the other way around. That’s okay, so long as they do their job and stick in the minds of my readers.
Sam and Priss are super loveable Pod People… more stories for them in the works. Don’t you love Isa’s fairy wings?!!
Find it on Amazon with bonus content, works in progress and a couple of my favorite short stories, with awesome book covers. Hey, the tiniest stories warrant covers as much as their big cousins.
So long as they’re giving me something and not taking… Hmmm. Or are they? Well, what I don’t know won’t hurt me.
Meanwhile, characters, aka my Pod People, are bursting out of me and burgeoning all over the pages, and I now have two amazing Works in Progress, which I’m having a hard time putting down and seem to want to work on simultaneously. Anyone else getting some great new ideas for stories this summer? Let me know in the comments. Meanwhile, enjoy some quirky and intriguing alien artwork by William Louis McDonald
Enjoy a Three-Part Supernatural Horror Story – Exactly 100 Words Each
One: Brother’s Maker
Thick rivulets of blood moved down the wall like snakes slithering into Hell. Lucius thought going there himself would be better than mucking out this foul slaughter. Hiding his brother’s crimes from Prince Remus. Death by fire, their punishment if caught.
Linus, too far gone to understand the danger, had killed another valuable hunter. Lucius labored to obliterate the evidence while Linus crouched over an arm sucking out the blood and marrow like a human sucking meat from a crab leg.
Lucius had turned his brother. Watching him deteriorate was penance. Figuring out how to stop it, his only purpose.
Two: Brother’s Keeper
Lucius stared in frustration at the naked female, then grabbed newspaper from the alley trash to cover her. Copious blood soaked through, turning it to pulp. He added more paper. Didn’t help. Blood spouted like a fountain from her torn jugular. He yanked his brother, who’d pounced on her again, away from her neck.
“You couldn’t have gone one more block?” Linus whipped towards him. Lucius stifled a gasp. The nerdy, giraffe-legged brother was there. Then the eyes turned soulless, reflecting the red pooling beneath their feet, and Linus’s stark hunger. Pain stabbed Lucius where his heart once beat.
Three: Brother’s Killer
Lucius cradled Linus’s head in his lap. Just his head… which Lucius had to remove. He stared at the rectangular hole holding his brother’s body, then forced his gaze away to take in the fateful surroundings. The graveyard was damp. Dew glistened on the grass. Dripped from cypress trees and giant yews. None of it made this real. They’d been vampires for five decades, inseparable. But Linus’s self-control had deserted him. He broke too many council laws.
“You never believed you could be ended, brother. Didn’t you once think it would be me who would have to do the ending?”
Had to add this. I love making book covers, even for tiny fiction.
First drafts rejected. But I Keep Trying.
I was happy with my first attempt to do a 100-word story. The publisher, not so much. But that’s okay because I learned a lot in the process. These bits about vampire brothers were inspired by a minor character in my Starlight Chronicles series. I admit, pure horror is a challenge for me, though I love reading and watching it, the darker the better. I read Bram Stoker in my youth, along with Mary Shelly, which means those sweeping, tantalizing, horrific impressions are there, deep down, and now that I’m writing fantasy, I’m compelled to draw from their brilliance.
Vlad the Impaler has been an endlessly fascinating figure in history and fiction for me, no matter how many ways his story has been told. And today’s supernatural fantasy authors are finding entertaining ways to retell the tales. Many of them inspired me.
Luke Evans portrayed an excellent fictional Vlad. Dracula Untold sparked my imagination and gave a feel for the period and setting. I was disappointed with its box office failure, which ended hopes of a sequel. In case you haven’t seen it, here’s the trailer.
Please take a moment to read the drabbles above and let me know if I’m on the right track for a story told in exactly 100 words. Better yet, share your own 100-word story in the comments.
By D. L. Lewellyn 