BestsellerBound Short Story Anthology
Volume Three
Copyright © 2011 BestsellerBound.com/Darcia Helle
Smashwords Edition
All rights to this anthology are reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the authors. This book contains works of fiction. The characters and situations are products of each author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Rights to the individual works contained in this anthology are owned by the submitting authors and/or publishers and each has permitted the story’s use in this collection. Individual copyright information is listed with each work.
Cover design by Jaleta Clegg
Contents:
Winter Blues by Maria Savva
Skins by Jess C. Scott
Whisperer by Jaleta Clegg
The Wars Within by Jaime McDougall
The Old Bookshop by Julie Elizabeth Powell
Scale of a Dragon by J. Michael Radcliffe
Counting Blessings Along the Horseshoe Canyon by Sharon E. Cathcart
Eve & Ian’s New Love Life by Cynthia Meyers-Hanson
Laundry Day by Stacy Juba
The Day the Lights Went Out by Cliff Ball
Winter Blues
Copyright © Maria Savva
For as far back as she could remember, Adele had suffered, on and off, from a lack of motivation, feelings of anxiety, tiredness, mood swings, and a general sense of depression. Years ago, her doctor had thought she was run-down and advised her to take a few weeks off work. It didn’t help. The following year, her doctor said she could be suffering from a virus, then the year after that he said she might be a manic-depressive; he prescribed some pills: they didn’t work. Over the years, she had been for countless examinations and tests, scans and X-rays, all of which revealed that nothing was wrong with her. Finally,Adele was diagnosed as a S.A.D. syndrome sufferer: “Seasonal Affective Disorder”.
‘What does that mean?’ she asked her G.P., bracing herself for the news that she had a terminal illness.
‘It is quite a common condition these days, I’m seeing more and more cases of SAD syndrome,’ replied Dr. Ivory, as he typed something into his computer. ‘It means that when there is less daylight, you are prone to feeling a little down. So, in the winter months you are not as motivated as you are in the summer. Looking back at your history, all your anxiety related episodes have occurred during the winter months. It’s the lack of sun; that’s what causes your bouts of depression.’ He smiled sympathetically.
A sense of relief washed over her. There was nothing really wrong with her; well, nothing that a bit of sun couldn’t cure.
‘So, if I go on holiday to a sunny country, that should help?’ she asked, thoughts of beaches and crystal clear blue seas filling her mind.
‘Well, yes, that would be a short-term fix,’ said the doctor, ‘but you need to concentrate on finding something that will alleviate your symptoms all year round. With the British weather, this type of syndrome can be prevalent throughout the year, which is what makes it hard to diagnose.’
Adele wondered if she could ask for a villa in Spain on the NHS, a smile played on her lips as the thought crossed her mind.
‘But it’s not as bad as it sounds,’ continued Dr. Ivory, studying some notes on his desk. ‘There are some preventative measures you can try which have been effective for some of my patients. If you make sure you get out and about in the daylight as much as possible during the winter months, you’ll find that you feel much better. Some people need more natural light than others. It’s the way your brain responds to light. Artificial lighting, like the type we use to light our houses and offices can actually have a detrimental effect.’
‘But I work in an office,’ said Adele, frowning. ‘How can I get out and about during the day? And by the time I go home it’s dark already.’
‘Well, I can see how that could be a problem; being indoors for so many hours a day, going to work in the dark mornings at this time of year and going home in the dark might in fact be contributing to the way you feel. However, there are lights you can buy now: sun lamps. They are specially made so that they give out a natural light and can make you feel brighter.’
After returning from her G.P.’s surgery, Adele thought about what she had just been told and it began to make sense. It was all beginning to fit together like bits of a puzzle that had been scattered about but were now locking tightly into place. Although most people are happier on sunny days, Adele was aware this went much deeper for her. She began to notice that the sun had to be out for her to feel happy; and her symptoms had been getting increasingly worse. Last winter she had become a virtual recluse. She had made up various excuses as to why she could not attend Christmas parties or meet up with friends. She had locked herself away at home, hardly venturing out even to the shops to buy food. She told everyone who phoned her that she was sick with flu and that they should stay away in case they caught it too.
This year, Adele was determined to make a change; things would be different. The sun lamps which her doctor had told her about were very expensive, but she bought two; if they could stop her “sad” syndrome from rearing its head, they were worth every penny. She put one of the sun lamps in her bedroom, so that she could switch it on first thing each morning as soon as she woke up. The other lamp, she put in her office, to help cheer herself up during the working day. She slowly began to feel a bit better, as if she had more energy.
Adele began to read up about S.A.D. One Internet article had said that S.A.D. sufferers often felt more cheerful around Christmas time when streets and houses were decorated with lights of different colours. The lights and decorations in bright, vibrant colours, all helped to lift the spirits and alleviate feelings of gloom and doom.
She bought plenty of decorations: gold, silver, red, blue, green, yellow; glittering balls, sparkling stars, and shimmering tinsel. Strings of multicoloured lights now decorated all of her rooms at home and even outside the house, to welcome her home after a tough day at work.
‘But it’s only October,’ commented her friend and work colleague, Julie. ‘Don’t you think it’s a bit early for Christmas decorations?’
Adele explained everything to Julie over a hot cup of tea.
‘Well, now I understand your reasons, I’m all for it,’ said Julie. ‘I wish you’d told me about this “sad” syndrome earlier. I really believed you were ill last year. I must say I am disappointed that you were feeling so depressed and that you felt unable to confide in me; it makes me feel like a bad friend. Promise me that in the future you’ll let me know when you’re feeling down.’
‘I promise,’ said Adele.
Julie kept a close eye on Adele throughout the winter months; concerned about her state of mind, looking out for any signs of depression.
Christmas came and went and Adele was able to enjoy it with her family and friends. She felt like a different person, bubbly and joyful, full of life. When it came to Twelfth Night, she did not want to take down the decorations. She asked Julie for advice.
‘I think you should leave them up until the weather improves,’ said Julie, thoughtfully.
‘But won’t that bring me bad luck?’ asked Adele.
‘I didn’t know you were superstitious,’ said Julie.
So, Adele left the decorations up throughout most of January, and far from feeling as if she had bad luck she continued to feel optimistic about life and was hardly ever down in the dumps; it was as if her S.A.D. syndrome had been finally conquered. Her whole life had been turned around thanks to a few colourful strips of tinsel and bright Christmas lights; if only she’d known about this years ago.
Towards the end of January, Adele decided to throw a “Taking-down-the-decorations” party. She invited her family, friends and colleagues from work. They all had great fun pulling down the hundreds of sparkling lights, trimmings and embellishments, drinking wine and listening to music.
‘Your house looks a bit boring now,’ commented Julie, as she left the party.
‘Yes, it does, but I think the decorations have served their purpose for this year.’ Adele smiled.
A few days later, Adele didn’t turn up for work. Julie phone her.
‘I’ve got flu,’ said Adele.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, I’ll bring you some soup later this evening after work.’
‘No, don’t. I think you should keep away in case you catch flu.’
‘I won’t catch it,’ said Julie, ‘I’ve already had flu this year, remember?’
‘Well, don’t come over, Julie, I’ll probably be asleep.’
Almost a week later, Adele was still off work. Julie decided to pay her a visit. After she had knocked at the front door a few times with no response, she became concerned. She called Adele’s number from her mobile phone as she stood outside the door, peering through the front window for any sign of movement in the house.
‘I can’t come to the door, Julie. I’m not feeling well,’ said the little voice on the other end of the phone line.
‘Have you been to the doctor? We’re all worried about you at work,’ said Julie.
‘Oh, don’t worry, the doctor said I’ll be fine in a few days,’ said Adele, unconvincingly.
‘What’s wrong with you?’
‘I’m just run-down,’ said Adele. ‘The doctor says I should get some rest. I’ll be back at work when I’m feeling better.’
‘It sounds like this “sad” syndrome might have returned.’ Julie’s brow furrowed. ‘I’ve been thinking that maybe we took the decorations down too soon.’
‘No. I wish I’d taken them down a lot sooner,’ said Adele, grumpily.
‘But you’re obviously feeling under the weather and it’s been cold and grey these past two weeks.’
‘I’m feeling low, but it’s not because of my S.A.D.,’ came the reply.
‘Well, let me in, so we can talk about it.’
Julie sat next to Adele on the sofa in the lounge.
‘It all started last Tuesday,’ explained Adele, her head resting on her hands as she leaned forward, elbows on her knees. ‘And I’ve been feeling depressed ever since.’
‘Why? What happened?’
Adele sighed and leaned back on the sofa, still unable to meet her friend’s eyes. She fiddled with her nails as she spoke: ‘Well, as you know, I’ve had decorations up, including lots and lots of Christmas lights indoors and outdoors, for the past three months... and my sun lamps. Remember I bought extra ones for the lounge and kitchen last month?’
Julie nodded and shrugged her shoulders. ‘What has that got to do with your mood? I thought they were supposed to help.’
‘Last Tuesday I got my electricity bill,’ said Adele, her face glum.
***
About the Author:
Maria Savva is a lawyer and author from London. She travels on the London Underground by day and then, by night, writes stories about the people she sees on there... Of course, her imagination likes to add a little extra. You can read excerpts and find links to purchase her stories, by visiting her website: http://www.mariasavva.com
###
Skins
Copyright © Jess C. Scott
Skins features “Laer,” the dark elf antagonist from The Darker Side of Life (the second installment in Jess’s Cyberpunk Elven Trilogy). Hence, there’s a little bit of dark fantasy thrown into this story.
This is an incident that occurred in his younger days...
P.S. The interior décor in this story is all real.
“Welcome to Paradise!” Aleksandra Nikolic sailed into the main sitting room of the $30-million yacht she and her husband had recently purchased.
Really? 15-year old Laer looked around at one of the dwellings his good friend’s relatives called “home.”
“Nice crib, huh,” Stefan murmured.
“Don’t speak that way,” Aleksandra said sharply. She turned around, striking a pose in her impeccable Carolina Herrera gown. “You don’t come from the ghetto.”
Stefan didn’t argue with his step aunt.
Laer nervously ran a hand through his spiky hair. He wasn’t quite sure how to politely put across that the lavishness was quite, quite suffocating.
The two teenage boys stayed close to each other, seeking comfort in each other’s presence. Both of them had come from backgrounds that were vastly different from the world of the super-rich.
Aleksandra’s husband, Andre, gave a quick nod and smile to the boys as he continued chatting over the phone with one of his lawyers. Customs officials had just seized several trophies made from the skins of endangered animals from the couple’s Miami beachfront estate. The discovery of the exotic skins had resulted in a $30,000 fine, a fee which his lawyer was working on reducing.
The yacht, named the Mystère, also contained a host of similar trophies.
Aleksandra trotted out statistics like a shopping list, running through the various materials on the walls and floors as they went along. “That’s bamboo, that’s oak, that’s eucalyptus, that’s crocodile…”
Laer was getting giddy from the zig-zag pattern of zebra-skinned beddings. There was a jaguar skin rug, complete with the head, open mouth crying out in perpetual silent pain. The tiger and lion heads on one side of the wall eyed the Mystère’s guests too, with their cold lifeless eyes forever frozen in time.
Laer leaned against the dining table for some balance when he saw a cigarette holder made from python skin, next to a cigar box wrapped in elephant hide.
“Andre is spending $10 million on a gallery for his world-class collection of ivory,” Stefan had mentioned to Laer earlier that week.
Laer had heard of the Nikolics’s taste for collecting exotic animal skin clothing and furniture, though he questioned whether Stefan had been telling the truth or grossly exaggerating. It was nauseating to discover that Stefan had not embellished any facts at all.
“Andre had a strong idea of creating something…modern,” Aleksandra explained to the boys. “He said he wanted both details and clean lines. It’s genius.”
She put a hand out to the walls of one room, which were covered in ghostly white stingray hides, while the walls in the next room were covered in hand-stitched calf’s leather.
The main deck featured two Michel Haillard chairs made from alligator hides and sienna-hued horns from a deer-like animal called the kudu.
“I love beauty,” Aleksandra yattered on, “and I don’t understand ugliness in fashion, so I admire all the people who are making this world more beautiful.”
“Beautiful,” Laer repeated absent-mindedly, taking in the gruesome décor. Please explain, how spilling the blood of animals for vanity is beautiful?
Aleksandra took the indifferent silence that chilled his heart as speechless admiration.
When no one was looking, Laer tested if his magic could work on the high seas by conjuring a basic flame spell in the palm of his hand. The pale blue flame lit up in his hand without any trouble.
Laer’s boyish good looks contradicted the seething rage hidden below the surface.
Amidst all the carnage he had thus witnessed in what the Nikolics termed “luxurious details,” he knew which one made the biggest impression on him. It was the exotic Michel Haillard horned chairs covered in crocodile skin with the tails that slunk out onto the floor, like the distended tongues often seen in persons hanged on the gallows.
“While most mega-yachts are ‘vulgar’ statements of wealth and power, the interior design of the Mystère was designed to be in harmony with the sea and nature,” Aleksandra went on. “This boat has elegance and intelligence. It is not trying to show the money.”
Laer’s attention was fixed on the crocodile-skinned chairs. He thought he saw one part of the chair rear back and take the form of the crocodile’s head, as he heard the screams and cries of the animal as it was bludgeoned and skinned alive. The animal’s eyes were glistening.
The vivid image played out in Laer’s mind. No faking it. Those crocodile tears are real.
“Do you like animals?” Aleksandra asked. She admired the trophies on the wall when her teenage guests didn’t answer. “I do—nothing screams wild and luxe like exotic animal hides.”
Laer was close to throwing up, and it wasn’t because of the ocean waves.
“It’s…a…abuse,” he managed to stammer.
Aleksandra tossed her golden honey blonde hair back and tilted her chin up slightly, observing Laer from the tip of her nose. She gave a little shrug and a cold smile. “It isn’t animal abuse if the animal is dead.”
But that isn’t the case. A blinding anguish scorched Laer’s mind and seared his soul. You bloody well know it!
“I have a true passion for exotic-skin footwear and fashion accessories.” Aleksandra was proud of her fashion sense, as proud as she was of the floating paradise she and her husband loved to show off and throw parties on. “I love alligator and crocodile shoes and boots, belts, and wallets, as well as luggage, bags and furniture. Eel-skin is nice, ostrich as well, and stingray, sure...but my favorite is real, proper, sea turtle skin. My custom boots made of sea turtle belly hide—with a lambskin lining for summer and detachable mink lining for winter—is one of the crown jewels in my footwear collection. I can show it to you later.”
Aleksandra had a look her perfectly pedicured feet, before adding, “The bar lounge in the Mystère—bar stools, tables and lounge furniture—is upholstered entirely of alligator belly skin. I was included in every step of the design!”
A brilliant idea struck Aleksandra just then. She made a mental note to create bar stools covered in whale foreskin. She thought it’d be a good way to shock future guests.
Laer was thinking of setting off a round of explosives in the expensive yacht, but he realized it wasn’t the best move. It was too guerrilla, and wouldn’t humiliate or shame the Nikolics. He had to make a more sophisticated statement, to be taken a little more seriously by haute couture devotees who reveled in cold-blooded vanities to pass their time.
Arguing and activism didn’t interest Laer. He was clearly picturing a better way to make a statement. The energy he felt gathering within himself came as a surprise, like he was gaining a sense of some kind of new purpose in life.
“Sorry,” Laer whispered to Stefan from the back. “But I have to do what I have to do.”
He stood behind the unsuspecting Stefan, covering his friend’s eyes with his hands. “Lanta kaima’lova handasse.” The spell would keep Laer’s human friend asleep and unconscious for the next hour.
“Where’s Stefan?” Aleksandra called out, just as Laer turned around to face her with his piercing green eyes.
“Va, vine, viata,” he murmured, waving his hand toward the stunning silver snake arm band Aleksandra was wearing.
“Is Stefan all right?” Aleksandra inquired. The Elven words Laer was muttering were gibberish to her ears.
A chill ran through her lithe frame when she saw the absolute lack of any human warmth in Laer’s striking gaze. “Wh—”
She gave a bloodcurdling shriek as her hand went to her throat.
Laer stood still and watched as her eyes began to roll back—she was lying on the ground, convulsing, immobile after her snake arm band had come to life and slithered up her arm to bite her on the neck. Her blood was now poisoned and saturated with pure, undiluted mercury.
“I—” was all Andre managed to utter when he stepped into the room.
Laer waved his hand to the billionaire, who collapsed onto the ground alongside his former Yugoslavian pop-star wife once the silver snake had punctured his jugular vein too.
“Neuma en’ templa,” Laer chanted, to trap the 30-strong crew onboard in a sleep spell as well.
He had to work fast—he was simply not yet strong enough as a dark arts practitioner to keep a large group of people unconscious for an extended amount of time.
“Lietha guldur!” He dispelled the charm on the silver arm band. With a metallic clink, the snake band returned to its original form and stayed on the ground, unmoving, as Laer went forward to pick it up.
Once he’d disrupted the power grid of the yacht’s integrated surveillance system, Laer whistled as he worked, dreaming of skinning the Nikolics like how an animal was skinned, unfazed by the quick, unmessy murders he’d just committed.
“After all, it’s not abuse if the animal is dead…” he muttered over the Nikolics’s corpses.
But it was tricky to skin a human body. He didn’t have the time or knowledge to drain all the blood without making a big mess. He also didn’t know if he could undo any mistakes he might make, especially if it involved the removal of the head.
The young dark elf chose to strip and drag the bodies out instead, placing them on the grotesque Michel Haillard horned chairs covered in crocodile skin, with the tails that slunk out onto the floor.
The Nikolics’s stark nude bodies were displayed in the same fashion as the chairs, with their arms and legs resting on and splayed out the exact same way that the horns and tails on the chairs curled up and out.
“Two for the win.” Laer stood back, re-positioning the bodies a couple of times, admiring his precise handiwork, when he decided to add a few more things.
“Skalle,” he said, conjuring up two blood-spattered human skulls.
He placed one skull below the tiger and lion heads hanging on the wall—one human skull for each animal head—before having another flash of inspiration.
“Sk’aal’burdur,” he said as he snapped his fingers at the animal heads on the wall, replacing them with real-life replicas of the heads of the Nikolics.
“Skål,” Laer chuckled, enjoying the word play, holding one hand up like he was holding a wine glass. A Skål was a Scandinavian toast of friendship usually offered when drinking, as a casual toast. He toasted the moment to his first kills as a dark elf. It’d been worth it, and something to brag about if he ever felt like it.
Laer grabbed Aleksandra’s snake arm band, taking it as his trophy and souvenir, and as his future weapon of choice.
A thin smile appeared on Laer’s face as he looked upon the scene of his slaughter. Suddenly, the croc skins seemed to be shining even brighter than they had before. With each passing second, they were looking more and more alive under the pallid remains of Mr. and Mrs. Nikolic.
One more finishing touch, he said to himself.
He went over to their laptop, ran a quick search on how the fur trade worked, and printed out the paragraph:
“Fur items come from animals who spend their short, miserable lives in cramped, filthy cages until they are slaughtered, or they are trapped and beaten to death in the wild. Fur farmers and trappers often use the cheapest and cruelest killing methods available, including suffocation, electrocution, gassing, bludgeoning, drowning, and poisoning. Many animals are still alive and able to feel pain when workers begin to rip the skin off their bodies.”
Laer signed the paper off with “We (The Dead Animals) Are Watching You,” to infer to the authorities that it was the dead skins that had come to life and taken their revenge on the hard-partying socialites.
After scribbling one final thought that summed up his entire feelings on the exotic skins trade, Laer tacked the piece of paper onto the side of Aleksandra’s death-trapped face. He thought it was fitting that she had died with her mouth open, akin to the head of the jaguar rug on obscene display in the middle of the room.
He carried the still-asleep Stefan over his shoulder and vacated the scene, getting into one of the Hov Pods stored aboard in the side tender garage of the Mystère. He had just enough manna left in him for the day to accelerate the motor and head back to shore, somewhere faraway from the luxury yacht and scene of the crime.
As he felt the delightfully warm sun and fresh breeze on his face, Laer thought of the line he’d written down at the last minute, in his small, neat handwriting:
We should all learn to feel comfortable in our own skins.
***
About the Author:
Jess is an independent author/artist/non-conformist who’s dedicated to writing original stories that are both meaningful and entertaining. She works in a diverse range of genres, such as contemporary fiction, YA fiction, poetry, urban fantasy, and cyberpunk. She thanks you for your support of indie authors.
Learn more about Jess and her writing at: http://www.jessINK.com
###
Whisperer
Copyright © Jaleta Clegg
I smelled her long before she made her entrance, a musky animal scent that still remained feminine and alluring. I scribbled a note in the margin of the police report pretending to ignore her. She sashayed across my office like a supermodel, all long legs, tiny waist, generous bosom, and platinum hair. It might have worked if I’d been a male PI from the fifties. I set the pencil aside and fixed my gaze on her face. Marilyn Monroe would have sold her soul to have that face and those emerald eyes. I suppressed a flare of jealousy. Some women have all the luck. I’m not one of them.
“May I help you?” I smiled my blandest please-don’t-waste-my-time-or-I-might-have-to-hit-you-before-I-throw-you-out-on-your-shapely-derriere smile.
She cocked her head, green eyes studying me. Silvery blonde strands swirled like silk over her bare shoulder. I wondered how her slinky cocktail dress could possibly keep her warm in our high altitude spring weather. Goose Falls lay on the north slope of a big mountain. Snow lingered into late June most years. Good for the tall pines that hugged the slopes and the ritzy ski lodges on the other side. Not good for curvaceous women in revealing cocktail dresses.
She extended her hand. Was I supposed to kiss it? She set a square of cream paper on my police report. “My name is Maeve. I hear you have a wolf problem.”
That got my attention. I sat straighter in my chair. “Have a seat.” I waved at the battered chair across from me. I’d found it abandoned in a parking lot. Stuffing crawled from one torn corner. It listed to the right. I found it encouraged people to get to the point as quickly as possible. I wasn’t much for small talk.
The woman sat. The chair remained upright and stable. I watched for the slightest hint of discomfort.
Maeve smiled, red lips curving to reveal just the tips of perfect teeth. “You are Tori Jespers, are you not? And you are investigating the wolf attacks over the last winter?”
I nodded. “And you have information?”
She tapped one scarlet nail on her card. “I’m a wolf whisperer. I can help.”
I studied her simple card. The outline of a howling wolf stamped in gold, her name—Maeve Lupus, Canid Control, and a contact number. “I’m a consultant for the police on the matter. You should see if they’ll pay you for your services.” I slid her card towards her.
“I have. They sent me to you.” She turned up the wattage on her smile.
If I’d been male, it would have melted me. But, since I was female, it only activated the rivalry response system hard-wired into my primitive brain. My smile twisted into a partial snarl. I didn’t like Maeve Lupus. “I’m afraid I can’t accept your offer, Miss Lupus. Thanks for stopping by.”
She rose from her seat. “Give me a call if you change your mind. I can make it very worth your while. Perhaps you can even afford a decent office chair.” She showed her white teeth.
I gritted mine. “Thank you for coming, Miss Lupus. I’ll be sure to call if I need your services.”
She gyrated her way from my office.
I tapped her card on my desk. I’d bet my entire business, such as it was, that Maeve Lupus knew something about the wolves. But I’d be damned before I worked with her and her slinky evening gown at ten in the morning. I gathered my maps and notes. It was time to find my own resources.
The ranger station lay at the far edge of town, a whopping ten minute stroll from my office above Lillian’s hair salon and drugstore. The bell above the door jangled as I shoved it open.
“Morning, Tori.” Roy tipped his hat. He reminded me of a bear, all bulk and shaggy brown hair. His tribal heritage added to the image.
“Hey, Roy. Got a minute?”
“For you, darling, I’ve always got time. What’s up?” He shifted the gift shop gadgets to the far side of the counter.
I spread my maps across the space. “Wolves.”
“What do the police want you to do with them?”
I shrugged. “Trap them, relocate them, anything but shoot them. The environmental skiers would have a tizzy fit and complain to their friends in the government if we did that. I set up traps starting last March all along the game trails. Every single one tripped but the only thing I caught was a very angry skunk.”
Roy wrinkled his broad nose. “Bad spirits with these wolves.” He muttered in his native language, a phrase I’d never heard before. “You need Larou’s help.”
I bent over the map to hide the flush in my cheeks.
“He’s at Beaver Lodge,” Roy continued, as if he didn’t notice my reaction. “He knows more about the wolves in the park than anyone. I’ll let him know you want to talk.”
“Thanks. What are your thoughts on these wolves?” I traced the markers pinpointing attack sites. They moved progressively closer to town.
“Bad spirits. You’ll want this.” He removed a pouch from around his neck, holding it to me by the leather thong. “Herbs, spirit magic, protection from bad wolves.”
The pouch was worn to buttery softness. I sniffed. It smelled odd, not in a bad way. I slipped the leather thong over my head and tucked the bag inside my shirt.
“Wear it in good health, Tori Jespers.” Roy made it sound like a formal blessing.
The door jangled as a group of campers entered. I rolled my maps, nodding to Roy as I left the ranger station.
***
“I smell a bitch in heat.”
My heart skipped more than a few beats as I looked up from the police reports I was reading. “Nice to see you, too, Larou.” I couldn’t keep the bitter note from my voice. I thought we’d had a relationship at one time. He’d left me one night without a word of explanation.
Larou shook his head, his golden hair flopping across his brow. He got his coloring from his French Canadian mother and his exotic features from his Native American father. I didn’t know where his golden eyes came from. I’d never met anyone with eyes that shade. “No, a wolf bitch. In heat. Your office reeks of it.”
“I can assure you that I have not been entertaining wolf bitches in my office. Only human bitches in evening gowns.” I tapped my pen on the police reports.
Larou straddled my uncomfortable office chair. He folded his arms across the wobbly back. “I sense a story. Want to share?”
I twiddled the pen between my fingers. “What happened to us, Larou? You walked out one night and never came back. Not a word for months.”
He shrugged. “Roy said you needed help with the wolves. Judging by the smell in here, I’d say he’s right.”
“I loved you.” I still did, but saying that wouldn’t change anything and might scare him off permanently.
“Come to my cabin tonight and I’ll help you with the wolf threat. I don’t like the signs I’ve been seeing all spring. You’ll need these, it’s a full moon tonight.” He set a small box on my desk. “You still carry that little gun?”
I opened the box. Bullets gleamed silver in the afternoon sunlight.
“It wouldn’t have worked, Tori.”
He was gone before I could answer.
***
I wrapped my jacket around me. Moonlight spilled across the daffodils blooming in the town square, turning them from yellow to pale silver. My gun weighted my pocket. I’d loaded the silver bullets and tucked the extras in my pocket, though I wondered at Larou’s superstition. He’d never seemed to care about such things before, but I didn’t know him as well as I’d thought at the time. The herbal scent of Roy’s pouch surrounded me, released by my body heat as I walked through town to the cabin at the far edge that Larou called home.
I saw few people. The chill kept most indoors by their fireplaces. In another month, the mosquitoes would keep them inside. I breathed deeply of the pine-scented darkness. I paused on the wooden footbridge across Goose Creek. Water rushed over stones below me, invisible in the shadows. Moonlight didn’t reach below the tall pines.
Branches crackled on the path behind me. I glanced over my shoulder, my hand sliding into my pocket to cradle the handgun. I saw nothing in the darkness. The breeze kicked up. PIne cones scattered across the ground. I let out the breath I’d been holding.
I started at a brisk pace up the path beyond the creek. Larou’s cabin was another quarter mile. The pines hid the town lights behind and below.
I rounded a bend and stepped into a pocket meadow. Moonlight spilled across the spring grasses. A wolf, black as midnight and as large as a small pony, stepped from the shadows on the far side of the meadow. He planted himself on the path, head down and tail high. The hair on my neck crawled at the sound of his growl.
I swore, backing slowly. The wolf problem had found me. I knew the pack was attacking lone hikers, but not this close to town. I turned at the edge of the meadow.
A silver wolf bitch loped along the trail, headed for me with murder in her green eyes. Three more wolves, more normal size and coloring, followed.
I backed into the meadow. My finger slid into the trigger guard of the gun.
The black wolf advanced, one slow step at a time. He was playing with me. Two more wolves danced behind him, big brindled grays.
My pulse thudded as my adrenaline kicked into high. I pulled the gun from my pocket. A shot or two usually scattered wolf packs. I doubted it would work with this one. The leaders, the big black and the silver bitch, weren’t normal wolves. Larou had warned me about the full moon. Werewolves in Goose Falls? Stranger things had happened, like the cat who stole baby chipmunks to raise as kittens. Or the people who claimed they spoke with Indian spirits and channeled crystal power from the native rocks. I just never thought I’d have to believe in folk tales. I was facing one now and it wasn’t amusing in the least.
“Maeve Lupus,” I addressed the silver wolf. “Where’s your evening gown?” I aimed the gun at her head, using both hands to steady it square between her eyes.
She sat on the trail, tongue hanging from her mouth. I swear she laughed at me.
I tightened my grip, squeezing the trigger. Knowing Larou, the bullets he’d given me were silver. I wondered if they’d really kill a werewolf any more than regular bullets.
The black wolf hit me from behind, knocking me to my belly on the trail. The gun fired as it bounced from my hand. I swore as I scrabbled in the dirt. Hot wolf breath brushed my face and neck as he snapped his teeth beside my ear. I elbowed him in the head. He growled, his paws clawing at my jacket.
Maeve the Werewolf joined in the attack. She bit my hair, snapping my head to one side. I wrapped one arm around my head, punching with the other. She yelped as my blow landed home on one ear. I scrambled to my knees as the black wolf snapped teeth shut on my jacket sleeve. I slammed my arm into his head. He growled, jerking backwards. My jacket tore. His teeth left flaming scratches across my bare arm.
I needed help and I needed it fast. I lunged to my feet, then turned to kick at the two wolves. They circled, growling and snapping at my feet and flailing arm. I dug through my pocket for my cell phone. I saw no sign of my gun in the night-dark meadow. Maeve jumped, her front paws thumping on my chest. I stumbled backwards, falling on my rump in the grass. My cell phone spun away. One of the other, smaller wolves caught it, crushing it in broad jaws.
“Damn you,” I shouted. “You won’t win this easy. Come and get me now, bitch.”
They rushed me at the same time. Black and silver fur and gleaming fangs, green eyes full of hate, I went down under the assault. Maeve buried her teeth in my arm. I screamed as fire burned through my veins from her bite. The smaller wolves howled as they circled us. I kicked and punched and kept screaming as we thrashed across the meadow. The wolves played with me, teeth snapping shut just shy of my face. I swear Maeve smiled as she chewed my sleeves off. Blood dripped from the bite on my arm.
My vision blurred with a golden haze. A sense of reassurance washed through my mind. The touch was gone as quickly as it had come.
I rolled through a patch of dandelions, their strong scent mingling unpleasantly with the musky scent of the wolves. The black male snapped his jaws shut on the pouch Roy had given me. He howled in surprised pain, backing away and shaking his muzzle. I grabbed the silver bitch by her scruff, slamming my head into hers. She rolled away. The other wolves launched themselves at me as the leaders retreated. I went down again in a pile of snapping teeth and clawing paws. I curled up, with my arms over my head.
A wolf yipped in pain. The yowl of an angry mountain lion silenced them. The wolves tucked tails between their legs and ran for the trees, except for the leaders. My heart rate doubled. The giant cat was right above me. It yowled again, planting its big feet on either side of my head. I stared at claws the length of my fingers on paws the size of saucers. What other wildlife was going to attack me tonight?
The werewolves advanced, hackles raised. Silver and black fur blurred as they charged the mountain lion. I rolled the other way as the three tangled in a heap of snapping jaws and flailing limbs. I scooted backwards, feeling my way across the meadow. My hand closed on my gun. I clutched it like a lifeline. I aimed at the wrestling animals.
Then hesitated. Something about the cat’s golden eyes was too familiar. I couldn’t shoot the wolves without hitting the cat. My aim wavered. Blood slicked the grip of the gun from the bites on my arm.
The rest of the wolf pack crept from the woods, eyes fixed on me. I pulled the trigger. The lead wolf tumbled to the ground to lay still. The other four kept coming, crouching as they stalked me.
I couldn’t retreat, not while sitting on the ground and aiming my gun. They’d charge if I gave them an opening. I squeezed off another shot. The wolves scattered, all four still closing but now from different directions. The night air was full of growls as the three large animals tore up the center of the meadow. The other wolves crept silent now. I pulled the trigger. The shot echoed through the night. One wolf howled, biting at the bleeding gash on its flank.
The three remaining wolves charged. I emptied my gun, missing all three. I scrambled backwards. A huge shape loomed out of the trees behind me.
“Oh, crap,” I muttered as the grizzly stepped into the meadow. It growled, a deep bass rumble. Nobody with any brains messed with a grizzly, especially not one already standing and threatening. One swipe of those claws would kill me. The beast looked ten feet tall from where I sat in the torn up meadow fumbling bullets into my gun.
The wolves were already in an attack frenzy. They snarled, throwing themselves at the bear. He swung his massive paws, knocking them ass over teakettle across the meadow. Two lay still. The other one limped into the forest as fast as it could go, tail tucked firmly between its legs. The one I’d shot took one look at the bear and followed its pack mate.
The bear shook itself, fur rippling silver in the moonlight. It glanced down at me. I couldn’t move, frozen in fear. Its brown eyes held more intelligence than I expected. I felt something brush through my head, a touch of amusement. The grizzly stepped past, dropping to all fours to charge the wolves fighting the mountain lion.
I stared, too shocked to do anything as the four animals squared off, mountain lion and bear fighting the two wolves. Fur and blood flew, black in the moonlight. The black wolf squealed, an almost human scream, as the grizzly ripped its throat open. The silver wolf snapped teeth shut on the bear’s front leg. The mountain lion roared, jumping the wolf bitch with both claws and teeth. She howled, long and loud, as the cat bit through her spine. She fell to the ground, twitching and moaning. The grizzly placed a paw on her throat and leaned. Her breath choked out.
The cougar looked at me, golden eyes glowing in the night. Blood stained his muzzle. I raised my gun, my aim wavering as I waited for his attack. He nudged the limp black wolf, eyes fixed on me. Was he offering me a present like a housecat with a mouse?
The mountain lion sat on his haunches. I swear he sighed, as if I were stupid. He nudged the wolf with one paw, eyes flicking to my gun.
The grizzly grumbled, copying the cat’s gestures with the silver wolf bitch under his paws.
“You want me to shoot them?”
The cat nodded his head. He stepped back, out of range.
I walked forward, one shaky step at a time. The bear and cougar sat back, watching me. I took aim and shot into the head of the black wolf. His form wavered, as if it were underwater. A naked man lay in the torn up and bloody grass, a bullet hole in his forehead. I swallowed bile.
The grizzly nudged the silver wolf. My hand shook as I raised the gun again. I licked my lips my gut twisting. I’d had to shoot animals sometimes, but never people. I lowered the gun.
“I can’t,” I whispered.
Brown and gold eyes watched me, full of compassion and resolve. The grizzly nudged Maeve’s still form. Blood leaked from her throat, staining her silver fur. I shook my head.
The mountain lion sighed, a very human sound. He shook himself, his golden fur blurring. I blinked. Larou rose to his feet in the place where the cougar crouched. His naked skin gleamed in the moonlight. Blood marked several scratches and bites on his arms and shoulders.
“You understand now, Tori?”
I flapped my mouth, unable to find words.
“A werewolf isn’t dead unless you shoot it with silver or behead it,” Larou said. “So unless you want me to fetch you an axe, you need to use the gun.”
“What about the bodies? What about the police?” My voice cracked.
“Roy will take them someplace where their remains might surface in a year or two. Or maybe never.”
I shifted my gaze to the grizzly. “Roy?”
The bear growled impatiently.
“But they’re people, Larou. And we murdered them.”
“Self-defense, Tori. Finish her off.”
The silver wolf twitched, front paws scraping dirt. Her eyes blinked open, lips lifted in a silent snarl.
I fired. The explosion echoed too loud in my ears. Maeve went limp, her form shifting to her human shape. I dropped the gun, closing my eyes.
Larou caught me in a tight hug. “Don’t think too hard, Tori. Werewolves would have taken over the town.”
I wrapped my arms around him, feeling his warm, supple skin under my shaking hands. I breathed in the clean woodsy scent of him. “What about the bites? Isn’t that how you become a werewolf?” I pushed away from him. “You’re one, too.”
“A were-lion?” He grinned. “Not really. You never asked about my tribe. We don’t need moonlight to change, only the right incentive.” He took my arm, wiping blood from the ragged bite. I winced though his touch was gentle. “They shared their blood and their curse. I can change that, if you choose. You’ll have to join my tribe, though.”
“Is Roy one of you, too?”
“And others.”
I met his golden eyes. “Is this why you left?”
“Can you handle my other face, Tori?”
“If you can handle mine.” I cupped my good hand over his on my bloody arm. “Does this mean I’ll be a real bitch?”
He laughed. “Only when you choose.”
I stepped into his embrace, accepting the unexpected future I’d just been handed.
***
About the Author:
Jaleta Clegg likes to live in other peoples’ heads, which is where many of her stories come from. She writes silly horror, science fiction adventure, fantasy, and now rural dark fantasy, since it isn’t quite urban fantasy. It has werewolves. You can find more of her work at: http://www.jaletac.com
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The Wars Within
Copyright © Jaime McDougall
“Go on ahead and make yourself comfortable. She’ll be in to see you soon.”
I stepped inside the small, empty office and looked around, not making eye contact with the short, plump – oh, what was the politically correct term these days? Big-boned? – receptionist, Tammy, who let me in. She waited at the open door as if she expected something. I sat down on one of the fake leather chairs in front of the desk and stared forward, waiting for her to leave. The sound of her wheezing breath became agitated for a few moments before I heard her shuffle off and the door click shut.
I stood and began examining the room. The offices never seemed to change much. Even when you were alone they always felt like boxes. Containers filled with pictures of flowers or landscapes hanging on white or grey walls, a solid colour clock with a white background and black numbers. The occasional stuffed animal or ‘inspirational’ quote calendar.
Today’s quote? “Always look on the bright side.”
Louise giggled, and I let her. I probably would have giggled too, had I not realised what being in this room meant.
Sighing, I sat down again and looked at the desk situated, as always, directly opposite the door. There were a few knick-knacks and a pen holder along with a box of tissues on it but not much else.
They never family photos on display. I assumed they were afraid. I would be. I’d never display family photos in an office like this. Not with the kind of people who made these appointments.
Someone knocked softly and I spun around, my jaw and fists clenched. A woman in red skirt and jacket with her blonde hair neatly pinned back came in. I relaxed and came back to myself. She looked nice. Gentle, even.
Red. A bold colour. She must be new at this.
“Hello…” She looked in the file she held. “Allison. I’m Dr. Santia. Please take a seat.”
No handshake. No physical contact at all. I like that. Louise did, too, but she usually liked meeting new female friends no matter how they chose to greet her.
I sat down in the chair and crossed one knee over the other, folding my hands in my lap. I looked down at them for a moment, focusing on the dirt under my fingernails, and took a deep breath. Then another. Unlike some of my instant defences, Julia took a little coaxing.
“There’s no need to be nervous,” Dr. Santia said. She smiled. “I’m not very good at these first appointments, either. I get a little nervous, too.”
The buddy-buddy route. Haven’t had that one in a while.
I’d been through it before. One or two more deep breaths would shut “Allison” off and bring out Julia. Julia, the social queen, domestic goddess, and gracious hostess the world has always loved to think I truly am. I don’t remember when she first appeared, but I think it was sometime shortly after starting school and the pressure to be social started.
She would be horrified at the dirt under my fingernails.
I had others I could choose from who would come out with less coaxing than Julia, but people I don’t know seem to respond the best to her. She’s polite, quiet, agreeable, and everything else perhaps a real princess would have been trained to be. Dr. Santia would like her, and I needed Dr. Santia to be at ease.
All I had to do after that was sit back and watch. Or go to sleep and let Julia hold on as long as she liked. I chose to watch, this time. I usually do for these appointments. I like observing people.
Dr. Santia smiled. “Why don’t we get started? Tell me a little about you.”
Julia worked her magic through most of the session. She laughed softly at the right times, handled important questions with all the seriousness any slightly bubble-headed twenty-year-old should. She even skilfully paused and occasionally babbled on to push the time as far as she could while they were in the realm of pleasant questions.
Yet another reason I liked having Julia up front.
Dr. Santia nodded along, listening more than taking notes. A good sign.
“And I’ve always dreamed of doing something that helps people,” Julia said. Words from my mouth that weren’t entirely untrue, though less true as the years passed. “I’m not sure if I want to try going the charity route or just do what I can day to day to help. I’ve been looking into becoming a social worker.”
She topped that off with a sunny smile and a little shoulder shrug. Nice touch.
“Excellent, excellent,” Dr. Santia said, mimicking the habit of repeating words that I’d noticed among psychiatrists. Whether those few seconds were all that valuable or not, I don’t know, but almost all of them did it. “Now I’d like to come right out and ask you a more personal question. Have you ever been abused?”
Julia faltered.
She didn’t deal with abuse. Abuse didn’t come with subjects like knowing who to seat next to whom at a party or the best way to talk to people when you want them to do something for you.
The jolt of being pushed to the front felt almost like a slap across the face, and I looked at Dr. Santia, wondering if she had somehow noticed. Julia skittered away to wherever it is she goes when she’s not up front. I had to remind myself to swallow and breathe deeply so I didn’t panic. I just barely moved my fingers and toes, adjusting to the sudden full control.
Did the others feel that way when I called on them?
“Any kind of abuse,” Dr. Santia said. “It can come in different forms. Emotional or mental...”
So many memories tried to flood into my mind at once. Knowing at a young age I should have been born a boy. If only I had been born a boy, life would have been so much better. I wouldn’t have caused any problems. I would have made my family happy if only for that one detail so out of my control.
I felt Alexandra enter the edges of my awareness.
“Physical...” Dr. Santia continued.
I swallowed. I didn’t dare glance at the clock, lest it give away my desperate need for this appointment to be over.
‘For your health,’ they had said. That’s what they always said. Why wouldn’t they just take me to the doctor? Why did they have to beat my back so hard? At least I had learned how to stand on the edges of the bath without disturbing the shower curtain. They never found out and I avoided the boiling hot bath water. They noticed my drinking, but they didn’t care so long as I left some over for them.
Alexandra stepped forward with her full strength to shove the memory away.
“Sexual…”
Images of Uncle Bo taking me for that walk when I was a little girl popped into my mind. The little copper button on my blue corduroys. How easily the button would just pop off and the matching copper zipper could be undone.
Alexandra immediately shoved the memory away as Louise started to whimper.
“Abuse?” I asked and then licked my lips. “I...”
Next came the memories of the tall man in my nightmares. Tall with brown hair. He used to shove up my shirt and make me hold onto the cheap, metal headboard of my bed. Things weren’t clear beyond that, but he was reason I slept in the toy box or under the bed. He made me call him my prince, I think. The memories became so fuzzy and I didn’t want them to become clear.
I struggled against the details. I’d lie on the bed during the day and know my prince would come again soon. There was no love or hate in it; I simply knew he’d come.
“Allison?”
Alexandra came forward with full force once again, trying to shove all the memories away before I could become fully aware of them. I could feel her preparing to take over completely if she felt the need called for it. Julia sat in the corner, cuddling Louise and crooning to the little girl softly as they both tried to bliss away the chaos.
I submitted to Alexandra, giving up my hold on the memories as they slowly faded from my mind, but I did it too late.
From the black depths somewhere within me, Maia woke. The torrent of memories had stirred even her in the faraway place I had confined her to – that we all had confined her to. Yet the memories provided more than enough to give even Alexandra pause.
Maia’s screams bubbled up inside me, causing the memories to flood in again. People. Places. Emotions I had never fully felt. I tried to catch glimpses of the pictures before Alexandra shoved them away or Maia tore at them, sickly fascinated with the horrors of my past. Maia’s rage and yelling made me physically cringe.
I looked at Dr. Santia and Maia raged all the more. She had caused this to happen. She had disrupted the peace and sent it all into chaos. She had released what had been carefully tucked away for so many years. Maia screamed for justice and revenge, making me want to hold my head and cry.
“Allison?” Dr. Santia looked concerned. A little afraid, even. A pleasurable shiver flew up my spine.
So much. There were so many memories. So many things pushed aside. So, so much. Even things as recent as a few days past...
Maia stopped screaming. Alexandra stopped pushing thing away. Even she could not protect me from a memory so fresh.
The cane, all steel.
Mother’s face of disappointment.
The pain.
Shock.
Dr. Santia asked the question again and I looked at her. We all did.
“No, I have never been abused.” Maia licked her lips and scratched the fake leather along the arms of the chair. It had been so long since she’d had the pleasure of being in control. I took a deep breath, taking away the last bits of control over the body from Allison.
Dr. Santia nodded once again and began writing as fast as her hand would allow. I watched her, cocking my head to one side, then to the other.
Everything had gone quiet. So quiet.
I cracked the knuckles of my fingers, one by one, and wondered if the noise made Dr. Santia nervous. It shouldn’t have. After all, she had caused all the noise just moments ago. The noise that woke me up. Noise I stopped. She went and stirred up everything all over again and then expected things to be okay.
She paused when I started but only briefly. As I watched, her hand shook slightly and she began to scribble things out regularly. The corner of my mouth jerked upward for a moment. I’d forgotten how much this body – my body – could act of its own free will. I began scratching the arms of the chair again.
I didn’t like the noise the woman in red had caused. Neither did Allison. But Allison never did anything about it when people did things she didn’t like.
“I’m almost finished writing,” Dr. Santia said. “I’m sorry, but could you not scratch the arms of the chair? Something about that noise...”
I almost laughed. Something about that noise. She didn’t like noise? Well, I didn’t care for noise either, and soon she’d pay for the noise she’d caused.
“I understand,” I said and smiled.
Allison began to cry.
***
About the Author:
Jaime McDougall is a citizen of the world, currently loving life in beautiful country Victoria in Australia. She loves eating sushi, kidnapping her husband and naming her pets in honour of science fiction authors. She has been published in Chicken Soup for the Soul: High School: The Real Deal and Chicken Soup for the Soul: Campus Chronicles. She has also enjoyed writing a column called ‘The New Australian’ in local newspapers as well as various articles online.
Echo Falls is her first paranormal romance novel and is available in print and multiple ebook formats. You can visit her website at http://www.InkyBlots.com
###
The Old Bookshop
Copyright © Julie Elizabeth Powell
This story has been included in Julie’s short story book, Figments published through Lulu - 28.7.11.
I saw it in the window – Help Wanted.
I could do that, couldn’t I?
And Saturdays were free...forever probably, now that he’d gone.
It had finished.
At least they’d be no more burnt toast.
Or banging into imaginary cupboards.
I looked at the notice again.
No number to call.
Was that a mistake?
But didn’t that mean I was ahead of the game?
Ahead of the game! It wasn’t for some high-powered executive position.
I reached for the handle, trying not to giggle.
Just so stupid sometimes!
I saw my reflection amongst the etched letters spelling out The Old Bookshop and winced.
Pulling back my hand, I smoothed the blown tangles of dark-blonde hair that attempted to blind weary green eyes – olive, he’d insisted – before taking hold of the large, iron handle.
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