A Hard Rain's Gonna Fall WEP Bloghop

 WEP challenge for April, 2022 inspired by Bob Dylan’s, A Hard Rain’s Gonna Fall. Write, Edit, Publish is a bloghop started by Denise Covey. The ladies, Denise, Nila, Laura, Jemi, Renee and Olga serve as moderators. If you’d like to participate, we welcome you. To visit the blogs of others who also wrote stories, poems or posted pictures or did something else to highlight the prompt, go here. 

 

Tag: Life and love overcome.

A Hard Rain’s Gonna Fall

Rain and hail pelted Annie’s car as she sat in the parking lot staring at the prison. He is in there. The stuff of nightmares seared her mind, replaying that fatal night’s terror. 

Her faith had prevented her from aborting the child. His child! Despite the ugly truth, she loved her blue eyed baby boy. No longer a baby, but always a baby to her. Naming him had been so hard. Even after his birth, she’d struggled. Alone in the hospital, holding her precious bundle conceived in violence. Still, that night had motivated her to become a lawyer. As such she helped other women in the same situation. Though most of her clients had been raped by their boyfriends, not a serial rapist who turned murderer only one victim away from her ordeal.

He won’t face death, but he should. Why should he continue to be allowed to breathe, when he’d raped twenty-two women and the last ten he’d murdered? Would his son become a monster like him? Her Jessie, named for a favorite uncle. No, Jessie would be a good man, she made sure of that. She’d given him a dog and a cat, along with unconditional love. He was kind, thoughtful and passed every subject in school with high scores, usually above 90 points.

Jessie didn’t know the truth about his father and if she could help it, he never would. She put her Dylan CD in the cars player and turned the volume up. She wanted to drown out the sound of hard rain, the windshield wipers and her thoughts. Annie had always appreciated Bob Dylan’s poetic music and this song, A Hard Rain’s Gonna Fall, was especially appropriate.

If she were a monster, she’d enter the prison with a loaded gun, shoot anyone who stood in her way and go to his cell, were she’d pup bullets into his face. But she wasn’t a monster. She was woman, survivor, mother, friend, confident and professional trial attorney. The men she tried were scum. Her Jessie was brilliant, and compassionate. He would bring joy to many. Out of fear and sorrow I birthed joy!

Annie put the car in gear, backed up and then pulled out of the parking lot headed home. Once there, she’d hug the gift that was Jessie.

 

Word Count: 388

 As I listened to A Hard Rain’s Gonna Fall, I adapted a few of the lyrics to write this story. A story of violence and hope. If you enjoyed my story or not, please leave a comment. Any type of comment is fine. I'm a big girl. 

 

Head over to my website to sign up for my newsletter and receive a free short story: Loren’s Choice. Thanks, Nancy

Loren’s parents want her to choose from the young men in her village and marry. But, that’s not what Loren wants. While at the village well, a stranger arrives. Tall and handsome, he intrigues her. When the emperor’s soldiers are spotted. The threat is upon them, Loren could become a blood sacrifice. Before she can run, the stranger grabs her and gallops for the covering of the forest. What will happen next? 

Website link: https://authornrwilliams.com/

WEP, Freedom of Speech

 Time for the WEP bloghop flash fiction stories, pictures, poems, or thoughts in regard to the subject: This month it is Freedom of Speech. I want to thank the fine ladies of Write, Edit, Publish for this opportunity, Denise, Nila, Laura, Jemi, Renee and Olga. If you'd like to post something too, it's not too late.

Freedom of Speech:

 Mary took a breath and watched as the king’s soldiers took her father from their estate. The captain thrust a parchment at her mother. Turned and left to be replaced by Lord Beliveau.

“Pack what you can carry, Madam. This estate and all in it now belongs to me. You and your daughter must leave at once.”

“Why? What has happened?”

“Your husband has betrayed our king, speaking against him in the public arena.”

Belivera followed them. “Only what you can carry.”

“But I brought this from home,” her mother said, holding up the china vase.

“You have no possessions. You’re lucky I’m letting you keep your clothes.”

Much later, Mary held her mother as she wept. No one would help them, and they found themselves in an old ally between buildings, freezing. Snow began to fall.

Word count 138

 The subject of this post, Freedom of Speech is something that I can’t do in a flash fiction story. So this short piece would need to turn into a short story or novella for me to do it justice. Instead, I hope as you read this it will remind you that not too long ago, none of us had freedom of speech.

 Wikipedia:

Freedom of speech[2] (FoS or FOS) is a principle that supports the freedom of an individual or a community to articulate their opinions and ideas without fear of retaliation, censorship, or legal sanction. Freedom of expression (FoE or FOE) is generally used synonymously but, in legal sense, includes any activity of seeking, receiving, and imparting information or ideas, regardless of the medium used.

 It’s also important to note that threatening someone is not freedom of speech.

 Wikipedia:

Freedom of speech and expression is not absolute, and common limitations or boundaries to freedom of speech relate to libel, slander, obscenity, pornography, sedition, incitement, fighting words, classified information, copyright violation, trade secrets, food labeling, non-disclosure agreements, the right to privacy, dignity, the right to be forgotten, public security, and perjury. Justifications for such include the harm principle, proposed by John Stuart Mill in On Liberty, which suggests that "the only purpose for which power can be rightfully exercised over any member of a civilized community, against his will, is to prevent harm to others."[4] Idea of the "offense principle" is also used in the justification of speech limitations, describing the restriction on forms of expression deemed offensive to society, considering factors such as extent, duration, motives of the speaker, and ease with which it could be avoided.[4]

 As an American, I haven’t thought twice about freedom of speech in all my years until the last 5. Now I know, that I can lose my freedoms if the wrong person comes to power. You can find me at the voting booth.

To read what others have written or posted go here.

In other news, I'm excited to announce that my first book, The Treasures of Carmelidrium is now available in paperback. There are two ways to order. 

One, go to your local bookstore and request they order copies from IngramSparks. The Treasures of Carmelidrium, by N. R. Williams

Two, for USA customers only because shipping is outrageous, send me an email and I'll send my PayPal information: Cost is $19.99 plus $5.00 shipping. You'll get a signed copy. 

My email address is: gillael@aol.com

Be sure to tell me in the subject line that you want to order your very own signed copy of Treasures. I get a lot of spam and I wouldn't want to delete your request.

 Coming in September 2021

The Beginning of a Legend, a novella in the Chronicles of Gil-Lael.

And

The Rise of Lord Sinon, Book 2 in The Chronicles of Gil-Lael.

Thanks you for reading. Please leave a comment.

Nancy

 

 

 Time for the WEP challenge. This month the prompt is, 'Great Wave.' I want to thank Denise Covey for starting this group along with the lovely ladies who assist, Laura, Nila, Yolanda, and Olga. I appreciate your hard work. And now for my submission:

René Descombes

René Descombes lifted his catch of fish and stepped from the small boat. He could see the bonfire on top of the third hill to celebrate St. John’s Day.  His friends and fellow fishermen joined him as they trudged up the beach toward the hills.

Marram grass grew along the sand dune. By the time they reached the third hill clay replaced the sand. The sun had slipped behind billowing thunder clouds. René could taste the moist air as well as the smoke from numerous contained fires.

Before him were the tall white sea cliffs of France. To his left stretched a thick forest that climbed the bluff. On his right were more hills and beyond that the vast ocean which connected to the channel where their fishing boats rested on the shore.

The people of Leblanc had gathered around their cooking fires and took the food to the tables by the bonfire. Laughter filled the air. René’s wife, Margo stood stirring one of the pots.

He dumped the fish on a nearby table and pulled her in for a kiss, rubbing her extended belly where the babe grew. “You are as beautiful as you were this morning.”   

“And you as charming.” Her hands rubbed his back before she pushed him away while smiling. She cut his fish.

Leblanc held nearly seven hundred souls, all gathered for the feast. Tomorrow, they would travel several leagues inland to their church for St. John’s Mass.  

Steam from his wife’s pot lifted over the round edge and smelled of onion and greens. She filled her hands with the prepared fish and dumped it all in, then wiped her hands on the apron.

“I don’t see Mayor Hugues,” René said.

“Nor will you.” Margot laughed. “Not until the feast is ready and there is no more work to be done.”

René looked south toward the white cliffs that jutted straight up from the village. At the top was the mayor's grand house.

Without warning, the ground rumbled and shook beneath his feet. He righted himself and took Margot’s arm to prevent her from falling.

“What is it?” Margot asked.

The rumbling stopped for a second, then started again. A great crack splintered the cliffs. The sound like thunder made him cover his ears. Lifting his eyes to the precipice he saw that the cracks in it were massive and then slabs of rock separated and fell bringing the mayor's house with it. On impact, the rumbling noise crushed those houses too close and shot out boulders toward his fellow villagers. Screams replaced the laughter, several of the people were hit and flew backward toward the channel, crushed by the boulders. 

René took a step, his intent to run and help. Margot caught his arm. “No, you can’t help.”

He remained with her and glanced at their own hut, further from the village than the rest and far from the cliff. Thank God, his hut still stood.

The cries of his fellows had become a blare of noise from screams, crying, and voices yelling making it impossible to understand the shouts. The bonfire had escaped its enclosure, setting marrow grass on fire and a few of the villagers as well. Some rolled on the ground while other villagers helped by using blankets to put out the flames. Still more ran down the hill toward the sea only to fall before reaching it and die. The fire then leapt from their bodies to spread unchecked.

The tables with food had all overturned along with the cooking pots. The pleasant aroma of fish stew was replaced by burning flesh.

The earth heaved upward, and he pulled Margot away from her pot. He took her hand and ran further up the hill. Away from the fire that soon reached the place where they’d been standing.

“René!”

He turned to see what she was pointing at. The ocean had sucked backward. He could make out fish stranded on the beach. Then terror as the water returned, the tide growing higher in seconds, overtopping the dunes. He grabbed Margot’s hand again and they ran further up the hill toward their hut. When he looked back, the ocean had swallowed the first two sets of hills and the one they had been standing on was crumpling into the tidal wave. The scent of salt swallowed the smoke from the fires, while the roar of the waves replaced the villager's cries.

He pulled Margot down and they both rested on their knees. To his horror, he witnessed hundreds falling into the surge. A great cry lifted from the women who’d had the presence of mind to run with their children to higher ground. They hugged their children close who were all screaming so that the noise was deafening.

Rene clasped Margot close as she trembled while stillness settled around them. Shocking in its quiet after so much noise. The only sound that remained was that of the waves of water receding.

“What have we done to displease God?”

To that, René had no answer. They both remained on their knees, in shock at the horrors. He became aware that Margot was shivering and put his arms around her. She wept on his shoulder.

The storm arrived and lightning lit up the black sky. The resounding thunder made him jerk. He hadn’t realized until now that dusk had become night. The clouds above opened and a downpour drenched him.  

“Come.” He pulled Margot to her feet.

Their hut was close and while the white cliffs had spared it, the earthquake had not.

“Wait here.” René entered the pitch-black building and felt for the blankets with his hands. A second rumbling made part of the roof that still stood fall and he managed to avoid being hit. Grabbing the woolen covers, he turned back toward the door.

“René!”

“Do not worry, I am well.” He emerged from the building and took her hand.

“Where will we go?”

…

Word Count 997

This is a deleted excerpt from my short story, The Beginning of a Legend. I changed the protagonist to that babe growing in her belly, Arnoux. If all goes well, I will be releasing this story along with Book 2 in The Chronicles of Gil-Lael, The Rise of Lord Sinon, later this summer.

Comments are welcome.

Nancy

To read what others have submitted for this June challenge, go here.

WEP April Challenge When Love Takes Your Freedom Away

Greetings. It's April 2021. How is your year going? I trust it's better than last year. 

It's time once again to post for the Write, Edit, Publish Challenge. Thank you to the host, Olga, Renee, Laura, and Nila, and a special thanks to Denise for starting this fun group. 

Today's theme: Freedom Morning. I struggled with this challenge. I'm American. Freedom is part of our identity. We are the home of the brave, land of the free. We sing about freedom, march for our freedoms, argue policy based on freedom, and refuse to comply with mandates which some perceive as taking away their freedom. Every war we have ever fought in is to preserve our freedom. Or, so we are told.

I'm also white. No one has denied me service based on my skin color. No one has ever charged me with a crime based on my skin color. So while these things sadly happen to minorities in America, they have never happened to me. How could I possibly write anything about Freedom Morning? 

With this frame of mind, I talked to a friend about this challenge and she reminded me that freedom was also about things that you overcome in your life, like her story. And so, dear friends, for the first time ever I'm going to tell you a true story. The story of Akina. The names have been changed.

When Love Takes Your Freedom Away

I went back.

          Akina studied her image in the mirror. There was nothing about her auburn locks or hazel eyes to indicate that she was lost. Nothing. But she was…lost.

          From the moment she saw Pete and heard his voice she’d been lost. Her need to be loved coursed through her veins to this day. Her memory of the events, hazy even now.

          She had woke on the floor of her apartment. Pete was tuned into the football game, ignoring her. Her four-year-old son, Rob, sat on the floor beside her, holding her hand and patting it. His large dark brown eyes studied her face.

          “Mommy,” he said when she looked at him.

          “I’m okay,” she said to reassure him even though she couldn’t remember what happened.

          She sat, and then stood. A little light-headed. Pete continued to ignore her, guzzling the last of his 18-pack of beer. The carton lay empty at his feet.

          Akina went to the bathroom, did her business, and glanced at her reflection to see one eye swollen, and the bruise extending down to her cheek. And her lip was cut.

          Then it all came to her. She’d been working a crossword puzzle while Pete cheered or bellowed at the football team on the television.

          The crowd roared, she looked up, the home team made a touchdown. Pete hated the home team. He stood, grabbed her arm, and yanked her up before punching her in the breast and on her face. Her body twisted away and turned to fall, landing on their son. Everything went black.

          How long had she been out? What should she do? She didn’t know and so she went to bed.

          In the morning after Pete left for work, she called her mom. Rob was too young for school, and so her mom came and they all went to the hospital. From there, the police arrested Pete and he went to jail for domestic abuse.

          Now, close to a year later, as she stared at her own reflection in the mirror, she argued with herself. Follow your heart.

She’d let Pete move back in. She loved him. She needed him. She did it all for her son. He needed his father in his life. Right?

Her mother had spent an hour on the phone trying to dissuade her from this course. But, Akina knew what she wanted. What she needed. And that was Pete.

Her happiness didn’t even last a month. Pete quit his job, refused to do any housework, drank beer continuously, spending her money on it. He didn’t even babysit Rob, her mother did. Pete slept all day and drank all night and wouldn’t let  Akina sleep. Instead, needling her to stay up with him. Exhausted, she started making stupid mistakes at her job.

But she needed him, right? She loved him and he loved her. They had a son together. He’s changed!

Football season started. Pete stood and threw a beer at the TV and then turned on Akina sitting on the sofa next to him.

In the morning, she stared at her bruised and battered face.

But I need him. He will change.

She was trapped. She couldn’t feel anything anymore. And she knew, her love had robbed her of her freedom to choose. Her love had taken her freedom away.

 

Word Count: 563

As of this writing, Akina has turned her life around. With her mother’s help, she returned to school and is now a nurse living her best self and supporting her son, now 14, without Pete. 

Let me know what you think.

I'm pleased to announce that my epic fantasy, the Treasures of Carmelidrium is now available everywhere. 

Link to my website: authornrwilliams.com

The Kiss, WEP blog hop

It's February, and that means love is in the air and on your lips. Write, Edit, Publish has an inspiring blog hop challenge this year. The Kiss. Inspired by the artwork of  Gustav Klimt’s, entitled the same, The Kiss. My thanks go out to Denise Covey, the original creator of Write, Edit, Publish, and to the other host, Laura, Renee, Nila, and Olga. All gifted and talented writers. The good news is, you still have time to post something for the challenge. From poems to photos, stories true or fiction, share your talents with all of us. 

To read what others have written for this challenge, go here. 

Now for my story and more exciting news below that. Enjoy.

The Kiss

Jessica put the garlic bread into the oven, the spaghetti sauce was simmering, the cheese ready to grate, the noodles in the pot after going through the press, and the salad already on the table. The kitchen was a complete mess, but it was worth it, Todd was coming over.

            The door ringer chimed. She went to the speaker and pressed down.

            “Hello.”

            “Hi,” Todd said.

            “I’m on the third floor.” She pressed the buzzer to let him enter. She grabbed the mask from the table below the speaker and turned, surveying the table. Her dinnerware was out flatware, glasses, and napkins.

            A knock at the door. She put on the mask and opened it. Todd gave her a bow, stood again, and held out the wine and some flowers. She could tell by the crinkles around his eyes that he was smiling despite the mask he wore.

            “Come in.” She took the flowers.

            “Thanks. How was the drive?” She led the way to the kitchen to retrieve the corkscrew and he followed.

            “Uneventful.” He glanced at the kitchen. “Smells wonderful.” Then, he uncorked the Merlot, while she filled a vase with water. They both returned to her small table and he poured the wine while Jessica put the flowers on a side table.

            “Happy Anniversary,” Todd said handing her the glass of wine.

            They separated,  standing six feet apart, lowered their mask and took a sip.

            “Five weeks ago, you stumbled into my life,” she said.

            He grinned. “Literally, I almost knocked you down when you turned with your coffee in hand.”

            She laughed. “Then that old woman scolded us for not being six feet apart. And me, with my mask down sipping my coffee.”

            “Here’s to coffee.” He raised the wine glass again. They took a sip.

            Jessica went into the kitchen, drained the noodles, and put them in the sauce. Pulling the garlic bread out she used a spatula to put them in a basket. Todd took both from her and went to the table. He sat while she grated parmesan cheese over the sauce.

            “It pays to fall in love with an Italian,” he said.

            She laughed. “No Italian is named O’Leary. I just like to cook.”

            “No, you and your red hair are Irish?” He grinned.

            They ate and he told her all about his new job as a computer programmer. “There’s a greater need,” he continued. “With so many working from home on their computers these days custom software is required.”

            She nodded. “Things are getting better.”

            “Yeah.” He wiped his mouth with the napkin. “This was delicious.”

“Glad you like it.”

She stood and cleared the table but didn’t do the dishes. He leaned on the kitchen door frame watching as she put the remnants of their meal in the trash.

“Did you get your second vaccine shot.”

Jessica paused to look at him. “Yeah, yesterday.”

“That’s a relief. I’ve worried about you these last few months with your patients all COVID positive.”

She nodded and put the plate in the sink then grabbed the towel to wipe her hands.

“I got my second one today.”

Jessica’s eyes got a little bigger. “Really?”

“You know what that means don’t you?” He stood straight away from the wall.

“Neither of us will die.”

“That, and…” He took the three steps between them, grabbed her, and pulled her against his body and then…the very thing she’d longed for all this time. The kiss!

Her arms slid around his strong shoulders. He pulled back only to kiss her again.

Jessica had been kissed many times in the past. But never had she experienced the electric rush that spread along every nerve from Todd’s kiss.

He pulled away from her and she looked up into his handsome face. Brown hair touched his forehead and he pushed it back with one hand.

“I have something else for you,” Todd said.

“What?”

He reached in his pocket and pulled out a ring box. Opening it he showed her a diamond ring.

“It’s not as big as I want but I’ll get you another on our fifth anniversary.”

“It is our fifth anniversary.”

“I mean, let’s get hitched.” He grinned.

She slugged his arm. “So romantic.”

“Will you?”

“Of course.”

*

The next morning Jessica glared at the messy kitchen while in her bathrobe. She put the coffee on and started doing dishes. Todd joined her, dressed with wet hair from his shower. She handed him the first clean dish and he dried it.

            “Where does it go?”

            “Right there.” She pointed.

            “I want to marry you right now.”

            She smiled. “Tempting, but no. I have a big family. We have to wait for everyone to get their vaccine. No reason you can’t move in, though.”

            “My place is bigger.”

            “I can walk to work from here.”

            “I’ll give notice, put my stuff in storage, take about a month or so.”

            She stopped washing, turned, and went to him. “I need a kiss.”

            He put the towel down and pulled her close. The pressure of his mouth wanted her to return to bed.

            “I’ll never get tired of your kisses. They’re the best,” she said when he pulled back.

            Todd ran his hand in her brilliant red hair and gave her the kiss again.

Word count 887

What did you think? Let me know. 

In other news, I have a website. authornrwilliams.com  Take a peek. The monster is called symberveen. 

And, my short story, Loren's Choice is included in Sci/fi & Fantasy's new Anthology, The Depths of Love, available as soon as Sunday, Feb. 21, 2021. Paperback: $12.99, e-book: Amazon Prime free and $3.95 after that expires. Here's the link: The Depths of Love.

Plus, I updated and re-released my first book in the series, The Chronicles of Gil-Lael, The Treasures of Carmelidrium. Book 1. Will be everywhere and soon in paperback! Links aren't live yet.

Coming this year is:

The Beginning of a Legend, A Gillael Book, this summer.

The Riise of Lord Sinon, Book 2 in The Chronicles of Gil-Lael, this autumn.

The Emperor of the Moon and Stars, Book 3 in The Chronicles of Gil-Lael, winter 2022.

All currently with my editor or soon will be. 

You might say, I've been working hard. 

Cheers!

If you'd like to join my Facebook page, here's the link.

WEP Challenge, Grave Mistakes

 

Write, Edit, Publish (WEP) challenge for October 2020. WEP was started by Denise Covy, my Aussie friend. Anyone can join and post real-life stories, pictures, poems, or fictional stories. I’m in the last category. Co-host with Denise are Laura, Renee, Nila and Olga. Thank you, ladies.

This year the challenge for October is Grave Mistakes. While considering this, I struggled because the world seems upside down to me. Between politics (I’m an American), and the fires worldwide it’s a scary time and has affected me mentally and physically. My blood pressure is too high and I’m having trouble bringing it down.

So, I took inspiration from a Bible passage which I’ve never done before. I’ve included the passage after the story. Once I wrote my story, I realized it wasn’t very ghoulish, so I’m giving you a bonus story titled: Dark Shadows and Ghosts.

I hope you enjoy and as a reminder, every year on Halloween, I put up my two Halloween stories for free on Amazon. Also, you can check out other stories I’ve written in the ‘Pages’ above. Thanks for coming by.

 

Grave Mistake

Wayne Uptight stood on the 12^th floor before his window peering out at New York City. He owned the office building and had converted the entire 12^th floor into his home. The style he chose was classical Greek, with marble columns, floor, and walls. Replicas of various Greek gods were in abundance.

            He turned aside and saw his wife, naked eating at the table. This didn’t surprise him. He required her to be naked whenever he was at home or he’d withdraw her million a year allowance.

            “Going to work,” he said, entering his private elevator that took him to the  11^th floor where his office was located. The style he had chosen there was dark, polished mahogany. His employees weren’t so fortunate, sitting in cubicles on the phone or on the computer talking with customers. There pay was a pittance of his own. The many factories he owned were all in third world countries were the workers were happy to take home a couple dollars a week. He sold every product he made for 5 times its cost. Life was good.

            This day he made reservations at an upscale restaurant to meet one of his many mistresses. Despite the pandemic, this plush establishment reserved private tables for the rich, in separate rooms, free of any airborne illness. He often spent $1,000 or more per meal.

            At the noon hour, he rode his personal elevator to the ground floor, and walked through the lobby noticing every out of place object, what everyone did in their offices and those who manned the security/information desk in the lobby. He had camera’s set up in his office so he could view it all if he wanted to, even private businesses that leased their space from him. If a business was unable to pay their extravagant rent, he had them evicted. He was fine during this health crisis; they should be too.  

            When he left the building, he noticed the homeless man sitting close to the door. He’d had the police remove him many times, but he always returned.

            “Mr. Uptight, sir. Please can you give some change?”

            Wayne Uptight walked past without a glance. No way would he give that loser money even though he had plenty of cash in his pocket. He slipped into his  limousine and then placed a call to his office lobby desk.

            “Roger.”

            “Yes sir, Mr. Uptight.”

            “Get rid of that homeless man outside my building.”

            “Yes sir, right away, sir.”

            Uptight hung up.

* * *

Three days later, Uptight left his building at the noon hour once more. He stopped just past the door. The limousine wasn’t there, and the homeless man sat against his building.

            “Please sir, Mr.---”

            Uptight turned. “Shut up you sniveling beggar. I work for my money. You do the same.”

            Screeching wheels roared from behind. Uptight turned just as an out of control car hit him and the impoverished man dead on. Glass shattered as the car sped into his building. He rose out of his body, staring down at his dismembered body and that of the homeless man too. When he lifted his eyes, the poor man hovered before him.

            Angels appeared, surrounded the poor beggar, and took him into the light filled tunnel.

Wayne frowned. No angels came for him. Hadn’t he given plenty of money to his church? Then as he reflected upon that, two black shapes appeared on either side of him and one before him.

That one said, “Who’s the loser now?”

Wayne screamed as the demons pushed him all the way to hell.

 

Word Count: 601

Luke 16:19–31

19“There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. 20And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, 21who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man’s table; even the dogs would come and lick his sores. 22The poor man died and was carried away by the angels to be with Abraham. The rich man also died and was buried. 23In Hades, where he was being tormented, he looked up and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his side. 24He called out, ‘Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue; for I am in agony in these flames.’ 25But Abraham said, ‘Child, remember that during your lifetime you received your good things, and Lazarus in like manner evil things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony. 26Besides all this, between you and us a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us.’ 27He said, ‘Then, father, I beg you to send him to my father’s house— 28for I have five brothers—that he may warn them, so that they will not also come into this place of torment.’ 29Abraham replied, ‘They have Moses and the prophets; they should listen to them.’ 30He said, ‘No, father Abraham; but if someone goes to them from the dead, they will repent.’ 31He said to him, ‘If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.’”

 

And of course, we all know that Jesus rose from the dead, and there are many who don’t believe in him or that he did, in fact, rise from the dead.

 

Dark Shadows and Ghosts

Larry grinned. “Double dare ya.”

            “So, let me get this straight. You’re going to give me $100 to spend Halloween night in a graveyard?” Alex asked.

            Larry laughed. “Yeah, you won’t be able to and then I’ll get $100.”

            Alex smiled. “You’re on.”

            A week later, Alex packed his sleeping bag and drove to Hollows Grove Cemetery. They never locked the gate there and entrance would be easy. The cemetery was a couple miles from everywhere.

            He parked his VW Bug off to the side and hid it from the street. No cop would make him leave if they couldn’t see the car and he wanted that $100.

            The cemetery itself was quite large and had a section of war dead. Some graves went as far back as the American Revolutionary War. But he didn’t head in that direction. His grandparents were buried here, and he headed toward their graves which were close to three mausoleums.

Once there he stood before his grandparents and said, “I’m spending the night to be close to both of you. I miss you so much.”

There was no response. He didn’t expect one.

Between his grandparents graves and the mausoleums was a grassy knoll. No one was buried there. He laid out his sleeping bag, sat cross legged before it and pulled out his smart phone. Now he’d document with pictures that he was in the cemetery so Larry couldn’t dispute it later.

He watched the sun set between bare trees and heard a few birds fly off. Without a second thought he returned to his phone and documented the sunset before heading into Facebook and posting pictures of his night at a cemetery.

Now it was dark. Really dark, so he used his phone as a flashlight. Removing all but his underwear, he folded the clothes, unzipped the sleeping bag, and got in. Snuggled securely within, he had a marvelous view of the night sky and smiled at the beauty. This was the easiest $100 of his life. He took a picture of himself in the bag and then several more around the dark cemetery. Without checking the photos, he put the phone in the bag with him and fell asleep.

A noise woke him. He frowned and looked around. A creepy sensation rose along his spine and then he saw them. Black shapes, moving from tree to tree and coming closer. A creaking door made him look toward the mausoleums. All three doors were open a crack and lights were on.

“Larry,” he yelled. “It won’t work.”

There was no response. He rolled over and shut his eyes.

Someone whispered close to his ear, but he couldn’t make it out. He sat up. The black shapes were close. One spread along the ground and then a dozen or more where all around him. Red eyes, monstrous expressions, sharp teeth.

“I’m here to make some money.” His voice calm but his heart was thudding.

They began to touch him. Ice cold fingers and claws that broke his skin. He unzipped the bag and stood in the chilled night air Now the shapes started screaming. They ran right through him. He shivered; his body so cold made colder by whatever these things were. He peed and had to remove his boxers. Now naked, the creatures came toward him and put icy fingers on his private.

He started rolling up the sleeping bag and then had second thoughts. He’d been double dared, and he wasn’t giving up even though his fear roared in his ear.

“Leave my grandson alone!”

A familiar voice. He turned and saw his grandparents, all white standing between him and the black shapes. Grandma had a cross and she held it out.

“Leave our grandson alone,” his grandpa repeated.

The dark shapes screeched at the cross fleeing. The lights in the mausoleums went out and the doors slammed shut. When they had gone his grandma stepped closer.

“You’d better take the cross dear. And for heaven’s sake, put on some underwear.”

Larry reached out his hand. The effervesce of the cross vanished as soon as it passed from her spirit to his mortal body and he held substance in his hand.

His grandfather joined her side. “Whatever possessed you to come here and spend the night?”

“And on Halloween night?” Grandma added.

“A $100 bet.”

“You never could turn down a bet.” Grandpa said.

“Now Alex, dear, do something with your life. You only get one you know.”

He nodded. “I know, it was stupid, but I’d do it all again just to see both of you and to talk to you.”

“You’re a good lad,” Grandpa said.

“We can’t stay any longer,” Grandma said.

“We love you son.”

Grandma nodded, and then they turned together and holding hands went back to their graves where they slipped below the ground.

As soon as they were gone, the screeching started, and he saw the first of many black shapes. He held up the cross. “I’ve got the cross. You can all get lost.”

He climbed back into the sleeping bag, kept the cross around his neck and fell asleep.

The morning light woke him. Had it been a dream? No, he had the cross and nearly every exposed place on his body was scratched, and those scratches burned.

He dressed, rolled up the sleeping bag and kept the cross around his neck. He remembered that grandma had been buried with her favorite cross and now he had it.

He found Larry at his job, Jack’s Hardware Store.

“Dude,” Larry said. “Your hair is white.”

Alex ran a hand through his locks and then presented Larry with the pictures in the smartphone. As Larry scrolled through, his mouth opened, and he stepped back.

“See the last pic.? Those are my grandparents. It was great to talk to them again.”

 

Word count: 961

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