Tag Archive | short story

The Dog Who Stole Christmas by JK Bovi

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The Dog Who Stole Christmas

JK Bovi

 

Bo-Bo wasn’t the smartest dog on the block, but my Aunt Helen and Uncle Matt loved him like the son they never had. They pampered him with doggie treats, fed him human table scraps and gave him doggie breath mints.

 

He was not a small dog, being a mixed breed with part Labrador Retriever, Irish Setter, and who-knows-what. It was the Labrador Retriever part that caused a heap of trouble one fateful Christmas Day back when I was a kid.

 

My parents, sister and I had shown up for Christmas dinner at my Aunt and Uncle’s house at noon as was our family tradition. We exchanged gifts, joyful conversation and munched on appetizers as we waited for the delicious turkey dinner to be served at 3:00.

 

At 1:00 Bo-Bo howled at the backdoor to go out. Uncle Matt opened the door and Bo-Bo dashed away without his leash. He was free to roam the neighborhood on Christmas Day and we should’ve chased after him, but Aunt Helen brought out the shrimp cocktail, veggie dip and a pile of homemade candies. With so much eating to be done we forgot all about Bo-Bo. At 3:00 Uncle Matt carved up the turkey and I was asked to call the dog in for his plate of table scraps. I called and called and called for Bo-Bo, but there was no response. Aunt Helen called for him and so did Uncle Matt, but the dog was nowhere to be found.

 

We ate without him and we were in the middle of enjoying my mother’s homemade deserts when we heard Bo-Bo barking at the back door. I’ll never forget my Aunt’s cry of alarm when she went to get Bo-Bo. “Oh my goodness Bo-Bo! What’ve you done?” All of us rushed to see what Bo-Bo had done and it was indeed a curious surprise!

 

Bo-Bo’s teeth were clamped proudly on an entire cooked turkey! He shook his head and bits of stuffing were tossed out of the bird’s cavity. A piece of tinfoil was wrapped on the end of one big leg and there was a metal temperature gauge stabbed in the turkey’s chest. Bo-Bo had mauled off one wing and ripped apart the other. He dropped the turkey to his feet and barked for us to acknowledge his extraordinary hunting success. He’d after all brought home Christmas dinner.

 

We stared in complete amazement and quickly surmised what had apparently happened; somebody in the neighborhood had put their turkey out on the back porch to cool and Bo-Bo had stolen their scrumptious turkey complete with all the fix’ns.

 

Aunt Helen closed the backdoor and left Bo-Bo to dine alone on his stolen feast. We returned to eating our deserts and ate in silence. But when I could contain myself no longer I finally had to ask, “So what do you suppose those people had for Christmas dinner?”

 

It has always been and will forever remain an unsolved mystery. I smile whenever I think about The Dog Who Stole Christmas. And I often wonder… What we would do if it had happened to us?

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***

Okay, I have to say that I had a standard poodle that stole our roast. Not even a scrap of aluminum foil was left. It had been sitting on our kitchen counter ready to serve up when I was checking on the kids. It always reminded me of A Christmas Story.

So did you enjoy her story? I did. I bet the people who had left their turkey out to cool off never did that again!

Have a super great day!!

Terry

 

 

Christmas Fun! A Red Mug and a Christmas Kiss, Dawn Marie Hamilton

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A Red Mug and a Christmas Kiss

by Dawn Marie Hamilton

Melinda had always wanted to be a Santa’s helper. At twenty-five, it seemed like a silly childhood dream.

Snowflakes danced on the breeze, landing on her cheeks and the tip of her nose. She shivered and sipped from the red ceramic mug she’d just purchased at the garden center’s gift shop along with hot cider. The owners of Foxgloves were Scottish and all the greenery was decorated with tartan ribbon and bows.

Wandering past rows of Christmas trees, the sharp scent of fir, along with apple and cinnamon from the cider, reminded her of Christmases long past. She missed her family. Felt alone in this new mountain town.

In the center of the display garden, a Christmas village had been erected. Young men, dressed in kilts and tunics and wearing elf hats, used hand puppets to entertain children waiting their turn to sit on Santa’s lap and give the white-bearded man their Christmas wish lists.

Melinda couldn’t help but ogle the guys’ muscular legs exposed to the chilly air. She’d be covered in goose bumps if she—

“Lass, would you be so kind as to help me with a medieval skit?”

She lifted her gaze from a firm pair of masculine legs, up a tight body, to very kissable lips that broadened into a grin. Blue eyes glinted with humor. Heat burned her cheeks. And it wasn’t from the steam rising from the red mug.

“Aren’t you cold?” she blurted. “I mean, of course, I’d be happy to help.” Gosh. She sounded silly.

“My name is Tevin,” he said.

“Mine is Melinda.”

“Pretty name.”

He handed her a puppet depicting a faerie princess and another a fair maiden and introduced her to the crowd as Santa’s Helper Melinda. She then joined him in an improvised skit where the faerie princess bestowed magic powers upon a warrior who slayed a dragon and won the hand of the fair maiden.

The children clapped.

“That was fun,” she said as they walked away from the Christmas village to a secluded picnic table.

“It was.” He pulled a flask out of his sporran. “I’m finished for the night. Would you care for some whisky?”

“Um. Sure.”

He poured a small measure of the amber liquid into the red mug and handed it over. She sipped the drink and smiled. How could she let him know of her interest in him without feeling a fool?

Tevin took the mug from her hand and drank from the spot her lips had touched. “I like the taste of your lips. May I?”

The intent glowing in his eyes near to burned her. Her stomach shimmied. Still, she nodded.

His arm encircled her waist; drew her close. The touch of his lips against hers was soft. Gentle. Stole her breath. Became demanding. She dropped the empty red mug into the snow and wrapped her arms around his neck, surrendering to the magic of his Christmas kiss.

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just-wait-200-by-300Dawn’s book is now available! Hope you have enjoyed her story!! 🙂 Thanks to Dawn for sharing with us!

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~Dawn Marie Hamilton


New Release: Just Wait For Me (Highland Gardens Book 3) available from Amazon
When Love Conquers Time four-author collection – Available from Amazon for a limited time
Crimson Storm series:  Sea Panther – Night Owl Reviews Top Pick

 

Short Story: The Devil’s Messenger–A True Story during WWII

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The Devil’s Messenger

Copyrighted by Terry Spear

Sixteen-year-old airman Staff Sergeant Walter Wilde studied the brown paper-wrapped parcel from his mother as he sat stiff-legged on his bunk bed in Snetterton Heath, England while B-25s roared overhead. The barracks were nothing more than Quonset huts—buildings made of corrugated sheet metal with no insulation or covering on the inside.  A small coal stove in the middle of the building crackled away as it provided the only heat.

“Hey, Wilde,” another staff sergeant said, as he punched him in the shoulder. “You’ve been eyeballing that package from home for over an hour already. Let us have a look-see.”

Walter touched the string criss-crossed over the package dated, October 4, 1943, from his hometown of Seattle, Washington. The big man stepped over to the bunk and peered down at the mail. “Come on, Wilde. Everyone else has shown off their packages from home. Maybe it’s some homemade cookies you can share with the rest of your good buddies here.”

“Yeah, besides,” another crewman said, “if you don’t hurry, we may be called up for another mission before you get the chance.” He handed Walter a knife.

“Shoot, by the time he ever opens the package,” the first said, “the war will have ended.”

Taking a deep breath, Walter sliced the knife through the string, hoping his mother wouldn’t have sent something embarrassing.  Not once had she sent him anything the whole time he’d been in combat.  He ripped the package open.  Inside, he found an Ouija board.  He shook his head, relieved it wasn’t something really awful. “Nothing good to eat.”

One of the crewmen grabbed up the Ouija board and smiled. “Come on, let’s play a game.”

Another held up the cards he was playing at a game of poker. “Play a man’s game.  That’s kid’s stuff.”

Another shook his head. “That isn’t kid’s stuff –it’s not something you should mess with. Get rid of the thing, Wilde.  It’s the devil’s messenger.”  His voice was shadowed with concern.

“Don’t listen to him. He’s just superstitious!” The airman laid the board on a table, then pulled up a chair. Walter sat on the edge of his bed across from him to play the game.

After a moment, the board seemed to move on its own. Walter’s eyes widened as he stared at the board. “You did that,” he accused, looking up at Joe.  Walter wasn’t superstitious normally, but the crewman’s words had his skin crawling.

“No,” the airman responded as he held his hands up in the air. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a Scout!” one of the poker players retorted as he threw a pillow at him. The pillow slid across the table, knocking the Ouija board to the floor. Walter looked down at the board and could have sworn he saw it move again.

“Briefing mission, now!” the first sergeant bellowed as he stepped into the barracks.

Walter set the board back on the table as one of the men playing poker griped, “Gee, Sarge, I was winning.”

Walter glanced back at the board as the superstitious crewman slapped his shoulder.  “Get rid of it, Wilde.  It’s bad luck.”

***

Following the briefing, Walter hurried into the barracks and grabbed his brown-leather flight jacket, then glanced over at the Ouija board.  Was it truly evil?  Would it harm the mission?  Walter slipped the board into its wooden box and closed the lid.

“Hey, Walter!” an airman shouted into the barracks. “Mess sarge’s got a Spam sandwich for you to go!”

“Sure thing.” Walter tossed the box onto the bunk and strode to the mess hall. After grabbing his meal, Walter and the rest of the crew headed for the armament shack.

Soon after, he and the other crewmen hauled their loaded guns onto their Flying Fortress. But before they took off, he grabbed the Ouija board, intending to dump it in the ocean on their mission. Just in case the man knew what he was talking about when he said the board wasn’t anything to mess around with. Then they waited in their assigned positions in breathless anticipation as the engines roared to life.

It was Walter’s seventh mission, despite still only being sixteen.  He’d lied about his age to get in, anxious the war would end before he’d have a chance to fight the good fight along with all the other war heroes he’d watched on the big movie screen back home.

While on the way to Germany, heavy anti-aircraft fire flew into the cloudless sky, popping and cracking in black puffs of smoke as it missed the B-17. Walter manned his guns as left waist gunner and soon hit a Focke-Wulf FW-190, highly regarded as one of Germany’s best fighter planes—certainly a match for the spitfire. He reached down to grab more ammunition, then saw the box containing the Ouija board shaking with the vibration of the plane as it rested on his parachute covering the hole where the last gunner had died. He pulled the chute aside and slipped the box through the hole where it plummeted into the sea.

As he turned to ready his guns once more, splinters of metal from high explosive shells ripped through the plane. Tearing through Walter’s oxygen and communication lines, the still-hot shrapnel cut through his flight jacket and lodged in his left arm. The seven-inch piece of jagged metal severed muscle, splintered bone and sliced blood vessels that caused the blood to pour out into a steady stream as Walter fought for air.

Seeing he was losing consciousness, the right waist gunner leaned down to him and offered his oxygen before Walter passed out.

Had the Ouija board truly been the cause of his misfortune?

Walter struggled to keep his wits about him as the cockpit seemed to brighten, while the airman radioed his condition to the pilot. No one else had been injured on the mission.

“Have Wilde crawl up to the cockpit,” the pilot radioed back.

With dwindling strength, Walter crept up to the cockpit while the engines roared and the aircraft vibrated. When he could breathe the oxygen freely in the cockpit, he lay still. His arm ached from the wound and the shock to his system created the urge to relieve himself.

“Gotta go,” he warned, as the plane flew back to Snetterton Heath.

As the antiaircraft fire ceased and the lead plane radioed the all-clear signal, the navigator pulled off his helmet, then looked at Walter. “Can’t you hold it? We’ll be home soon.”

“Can’t wait.” Walter squirmed on his side in agony.

The navigator handed his helmet to Walter. “All right, use my helmet, but don’t say I never did anything for you.”

Walter struggled to relieve himself, and as he finished, ME 109s tailed their aircraft, while the aircrew manned their guns. As the navigator jammed his helmet onto his head, he swore, “Damn!” as the urine trickled down his face.

Walter chuckled under his breath.

After returning to base, two of the crew hurried to carry Walter out of the aircraft.  For seven missions he’d served with the same crew, but for six weeks while he recuperated after a stay in the hospital for his wounds, every one of the crew would lose their lives on the next mission as their plane went down, with no survivors.

Walter’s injuries had prevented him from flying the mission that ended his crewmen’s lives. Had destroying the Ouija board, then saved his life?  Not normally suspicious, he still vowed never to touch another Ouija board the rest of his life.

And yet another mission lay ahead after several more…his thirteenth and again he would be warned by his crew that he was headed for bad luck.

It would prove to be his final mission in the war.

 

###

Have a super day!

Terry

“Giving new meaning to the term alpha male where fantasy is reality.”

Connect with Terry Spear:

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One Last Job–Free Vampire Senior Citizen Huntress Story

Okay, so first off, I wake this morning thinking I needed to do something this morning. Well, it’s trash day. That must be it. I have nothing on my calendar. So what else could it be? I’m running around, wracking my brain, coming up with nothing. But it just seemed like there was something else I was supposed to do. Something IMPORTANT. Other than taking out the garbage, working  on bears, working on word count, doing critiques, writing my blog. JUST SOMETHING.

I’m out with the puppies, cleaning up after them when I see the most awesome sunrise ever. So I dash into the house, puppies right on my heels, grab the camera, and dash out the front door because you know sunsets and sunrises don’t wait for anyone.

It was the perfect vampire sunrise!

And that triggered what I was forgetting!!!!!  My special something for Monday! A free short story: One Last Job. And boy, can I relate. Can you?

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One Last Job

by Terry Spear

 

Ida Mae Bremerton studied the cloth that bound her wrists as the faint glow of candlelight flickered off one of the walls. She shook her head at herself in the dark great room. All she could think of was her niece, Rachel Bremerton, whose uncle, her brother, didn’t believe in women hunting vampires. Give me a break! But then again, Rachel had fallen in love with a vampire! Still, he had been a hunter. Ida Mae was glad her branch of the family didn’t see anything wrong with women huntresses.

“I can’t believe I could get myself into this same predicament, twice this week. I must really be losing it!” She sighed deeply, not giving up, just…thinking. The vampires’ minions had tied her up while the vampires slept until this evening.

 

Glancing at the sliver of a crack in the heavy drapes that covered the floor-to-ceiling-length atrium door, she frowned to see the light fading fast. “They’ll be coming for me soon.” She wriggled and struggled until she was finally able to pull her hands free of the cloth. “Good thing their henchman can’t tie knots worth a fig!”

 

Freed, Ida Mae ran to the blackened glass door, her arthritis pinging in her left knee. She jerked the door open to see the sun setting in an orange ball of fire. She bolted down the path to her car and pulled the door open. After sliding into the driver’s seat and slamming her door shut, afraid the sound would alert every vampire in the house she was there, she poked her key into the ignition while the sweet scent of garlic filled the interior of the Trans Am. She glanced down at the passenger’s seat to see her necklace of garlic curled in a loop.

 

“That’s what I forgot to wear,” she mumbled under her breath. Not that she really thought it worked, as in repelled vampires, but it was her good luck charm. Not once had she been captured by a vampire’s blood bonds while wearing it.

 

After mashing down the gas peddle, she braced as the car lurched forward, then roared around the circular drive of the old Victorian mansion. She turned back toward the south side of the city, Dallas,…and home.

 

When she drove into her driveway, she was surprised to see her sons’ cars parked there already.

 

“Mom!” Thomas, the eldest exclaimed, hurrying out of the house to greet her. “We’ve been worried something awful!” He glanced down at the red marks on her wrists. He frowned at her as he put his arm around her shoulders and led her into the home. “Tell me you didn’t go after them on your own.”

 

They’d had this discussion before. Her sons wanted to use caution. She wanted to take the vampires out before they increased their numbers. That was the difference between the good ones—the ones who lived among them and behaved, and the rogues, who turned people against their will. “I guess I forgot to tell you the plan.” Not really. She had her own plan. In fact, she and her deceased husband would have done this together. She didn’t know why her sons were so restrained all the time. Don’t delay, get it done, was her motto.

 

“You’ve been doing an awful lot of that, Mom,” her younger son said. “Forgetting the plan, I mean.”

 

John was gifted with the bow, Thomas with the sword. She couldn’t have been prouder of her sons. Though she wished they would settle down and give her grandchildren.

 

“Yes, well, I’ve had a lot of things on my mind of late.”

 

They exchanged glances as she entered the kitchen and plugged in the coffee pot. Tom cleared his throat. “We’ve been talking about the matter, and you know after Dad died, you haven’t been quite yourself lately.”

 

“Nonsense,” Ida Mae said. But it was true. She’d missed him terribly. She kept thinking of all the vampires they’d taken down over the years, how they’d do it until they were ready to retire, which was next year.

 

“It’s true. You’ve been forgetting an awful lot lately.” John stared at the coffee pot for a moment, then unplugged it. He shook the pot, then hearing nothing inside said, “It’s dry as the desert, Mom.”

 

“Oh.” Ida Mae grabbed the pot from him and poked it under the faucet. “You’re distracting me.” She was a multi-tasker extraordinaire, but sometimes she forgot one of the steps in the multi-tasking department.

 

“You know, Dad said that the two of you were thinking of retiring from the business.”

 

“Next year. Yes, well, he died before we had a chance. The business is all I’ve ever known. What would you have me do?”

 

“You loved to dance. Why not try the senior citizen’s dance that’s scheduled tomorrow night?”

 

“I can’t retire from my work. You boys need me.”

 

“Of course. But couldn’t you at least take a little time off from your work, until your mind is a little more on the task at hand? It is rather a deadly business after all and—” Tom looked hopeful she’d agree.

 

“The senior citizen’s dance.” Ida Mae nodded. She poured the hot water into her cup, then stared at the clear water.

 

Tom smiled at her, reached into the cupboard and pulled down the jar of instant coffee. “Yes, tomorrow night. Avery and Louise will meet you there. The break from work will be good for you.”

 

Okay, so it was once a week. She could manage a little social life too, but she wasn’t putting the vampire business on hold. She would just work around it.

***

Two weeks later, Tom and John hurried to her home again, and Ida Mae couldn’t understand what the concern was this time. When she greeted them at the door, Tom blurted out, “We’ve been concerned about you! We were ready to call the police. We haven’t been able to get in touch with you night or day!”

 

“Oh, Tom, I’ve met the most marvelous man.” Ida Mae took a deep breath and let it out. She had. He was wonderful! Not the same as her deceased husband, but he was different and just as much fun.

 

“But father,” John said.

 

Tom poked him in an attempt to shut him up, then said, “So you’ve met someone?”

 

“He’s been just marvelous.”

 

John frowned at her as he watched her take a seat on the sofa. “You said that already.”

 

“Yes, he’s taken me out to the orchestra, supper, and movies, you know—the ones I really like—historical, true-life adventures. I’ve been having a wonderful time.”

 

John frowned. “And you met him…”

 

“At the senior citizen’s dance. You were so right. I’ve just had such a terrific time. I’ve even decided to retire from the business for good.”

 

“But…” John said.

 

“That’s good,” Tom interrupted. “You need time to enjoy yourself, Mom. You’ve worked so hard all of these years. It’s time you enjoyed yourself.”

 

“Yes, you’re certainly right about that,” Ida Mae said as she swept a loose platinum-blonde curl off her cheek.

 

“He hasn’t been too forward with you?” John asked.

 

Tom twisted his mouth in annoyance as he shook his head at his brother.

 

“No, he’s been the perfect gentleman. After two weeks, he’s only given me a slight peck on the cheek. He hangs on my every word. I feel alive again since, well, since your father died.”

 

John’s frown deepened. “Don’t you think this is a little sudden like?”

 

“No,” Ida Mae said. “I always knew the time would come, that I would have to quit the job. It’s time for you young folks to continue without me.”

 

“But we have this one job that will take more than just Tom and I to do,” John said.

 

Tom shook his head. “Mom doesn’t need to help us with this bunch.”

 

“Where?” Ida Mae sat taller in her seat. She could quit right after that.

 

“At the old Victorian House on Main Street.”

 

“Ah, yes, that one,” Ida Mae said.

 

“She doesn’t need to help us,” Tom replied as his voice deepened with concern.

 

“She’s been there,” John said. “She knows where their lair is – – she can help us with just this one last job!”

 

And she agreed. The finale to a career of taking down the monsters in the city. She owed it to humankind. To the memory of Thomas. And to all of those who had trained her when she was much younger. She could do this. One last job.

 

***

 

Early the next morning, Ida Mae sped up the drive of the old mansion with her sons following her in John’s Suburban. After parking the cars, they grabbed their gear. Tom glanced over at his mother dressed in her trim pale blue jeans with a shirt decorated in sequined stars and moons. “You know, you didn’t really have to come, despite what John said.”

 

“It’s just one last job, Tom. I wouldn’t think of letting you do this one on your own.” She grabbed her garlic necklace, then pulled it over her head.

 

“Got everything?” John asked Tom.

 

Tom nodded, then took a deep breath. “Come on, then. Let’s get this over with.”

 

After the three stepped into the foyer, Ida Mae hurried to pull the curtains aside from one of the windows. John rolled his eyes and whispered, “We don’t have time for…”

 

“Now, John,” Ida Mae replied, “you know I always let the cheery light in while we work. I can’t stand to work in the dark gloom.”

 

She hurried over to two more windows and jerked the heavy velvet cloth aside, then rubbed her hands together to wipe off the dust. “Okay,” she said, “it’s down this way.” She pointed to an open doorway leading to the basement. Most vampires slept in beds in bedrooms, like normal people, but with heavy canopies around their beds. These vampires lived like some bizarre Gothic version of the vampires of old.

 

“Got the flashlights?” Tom asked John.

 

John fumbled around in one of the canvas bags, then pulled one out for each of them.

 

“That’s okay, dear,” his mother said. “I’d like to keep my hands free, if you don’t mind.”

 

Tom led the three down the stairs and as the steps creaked with their weight, the muscles in his neck tightened. The cool dank musty smell permeated the dark room which was pierced only by the beam of the two flashlights. Ida Mae looked for any sign of a window in the basement while her sons examined the crates as they looked for the coffins they assumed would be there.

 

“Here,” Ida Mae whispered as she found a large paint-blackened window.

 

“We need to find the coffins, Mom,” John whispered, pushing a crate aside.

 

“Oh!” Ida Mae shouted as she climbed onto a chair to reach the window, but the rotting wicker had suddenly given way under her weight.

 

Ida Mae fell to the floor. Tom hurried over to help his mother stand, while the creaking of rusted hinges prickled the air. Everyone stood still.

 

“Good evening,” a voice in the dark said, and as Tom and John shined their lights on the face still half-covered in the shadows of the crates, Ida Mae exclaimed, “Kenneth!”

 

Her sons turned to look at their mother and John said, “Don’t tell me you know this man.”

 

“Why yes, he does a great Jitterbug.”

 

“I take it these are your sons, renown in these parts for their trade, Ida Mae,” Kenneth said as he watched Tom fumble around in his bag for a wooden stake.

 

John kept his eye on the elderly man as he said, “What’s wrong, Tom?”

 

“I don’t seem to have any stakes in here. Not a one.”

 

“Oh,” Ida Mae said in a muffled way, as she clasped her hand to her mouth.

 

“Don’t tell me…”

 

“I was cleaning the bag. Maybe I forgot to put them back in.”

 

Kenneth reached down for a bag resting near one of the crates as John backed up toward his mother to protect her from the menace before them. Kenneth pulled a perfectly-carved wooden stake from the bag. John pulled out a cross.

Kenneth laughed. “That’ll keep them at bay, but you’ll need something more to put the poor souls to rest.”

 

“You’re not one of them?” Tom asked.

 

“Hardly. I’m rather surprised to see Ida Mae here, though.”

 

She smiled back at the gentleman. “We never discussed our occupations with each other.”

 

“No,” he said. “Whenever I mention the type of work I do, the lady takes a powder. I’ve found it’s best not to mention it at all.”

 

The air suddenly filled with a foul-smelling substance and the experienced hunters knew that their prey would soon be the hunters if they didn’t act quickly. “Have you any more stakes?” Tom asked as he rushed over to Kenneth’s side.

 

“Grab as many as you need.” Kenneth readied a bow and a wooden stake.

 

“It’s not yet dark out,” Ida Mae said under her breath as the men prepared to face the unseen threat that awakened nearby. She reached for a crate and finding it was stationary, she climbed on top. The window lock was just beyond her finger tips. She turned to see Kenneth release the stake as he let go of the string of his bow and a blood-curdling cry rang out, then echoed off of the walls. Ida Mae jumped off the crate and grabbed one of the flashlights laying on the floor nearby. After climbing on top of the crate again, she shoved at the lock with the edge of the flashlight, but the rusted metal wouldn’t budge at all.

 

Kenneth knocked another stake as Tom wrestled one of the creatures to the floor while his brother readied a hammer to the stake. As Kenneth let the second stake fly, another creature screamed out in pain and dissolved into ashes.

 

“Ida Mae!” Kenneth shouted. “There are too many. Get out of here!”

 

Ida Mae watched as her boys finished the job they’d begun, then grappled with another.

 

“I can’t leave!” she exclaimed. “If this is to be my last job, then so be it!” Then with as much effort as she could muster, she swung the flashlight against the window pane. A slight crack appeared in the window as two more creatures screamed in agony. She struck the window again. The crack spread across the pane like a fissure creeping across the frozen ice. She felt a hand on her leg, threatening to pull her from her make-shift stool, Ida Mae struck the glass again. The sun spilled into the room all at once.

 

The room was filled with shrieks and then only piles of dust remained. “I don’t like working in the dark,” Ida Mae said as John helped her down from the crate. “It’s much more cheerful to work in the light.”

 

Kenneth rushed over to Ida Mae and gave her a warm embrace. “You’re my kind of gal, Ida Mae.”

 

“This was your last job,” Tom said as he gathered up his equipment.

 

“I don’t know,” Ida Mae said as she smiled back at Kenneth. “I believe I’ve had rather a change of plans.”

***

Huntress for Hire

She has her sights set on the worst vampire of them all…

Also Available:

Huntress for Hire

By Terry Spear

 

He’s a hunter turned vampire, she’s a huntress of vampires—he’s needs her cooperation to free his family; she’s trained to kill his kind. Rebel vampire huntress Rachael Bremerton wants revenge against Piaras, one of the most ruthless vampires in Dallas, for the murder of her parents. But when she’s lured by another vampire, Adonis, into the darkness—the same darkness she’s feared since she was a child—she’s torn between her huntress sensibilities and some strange desire to be with the creature she’s meant to despise and destroy. Adonis, a hunter turned vampire, has been ordered by Piaras to bring Rachel to him untouched. In return, Piaras will release Adonis’s family unharmed. But when Adonis first sees Rachael, his hunter desire to have a huntress mate kicks in, or is it the dark heart of the vampire that makes him crave her so? Turning Rachel over to Piaras becomes less of an option. But can he find a way to free his family, claim Rachael for his own, and keep her family from discovering he is a hunter turned vampire—a creature they will all feel obligated to hunt down and kill?

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Huntress-for-Hire-ebook/dp/B004TMPMC6

B & N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/huntress-for-hire-terry-spear/1030574315?ean=2940012313928

Kobo: http://www.kobobooks.com/ebook/Huntress-for-Hire/book-uB-NVziowUqyaP70eSYsOg

iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/huntress-for-hire/id1037936586?mt=11

 

 

Terry

“Giving new meaning to the term alpha male where fantasy is reality.”

Connect with Terry Spear:

Website: http://www.terryspear.com

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/421434.Terry_Spear

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/TerrySpearParanormalRomantics

Twitter: https://twitter.com/TerrySpear

Wilde & Woolly Bears http://www.celticbears.com

The Devil’s Messenger–Part 1, A True WWII Story

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The Devil’s Messenger

by Terry Spear

Sixteen-year-old, airman Staff Sergeant Walter Wilde studied the brown paper-wrapped parcel from his mother as he sat stiff-legged on his bunk bed in Snetterton Heath, England while B-25s roared overhead. The barracks were nothing more than Quonset huts–buildings made of corrugated sheet metal with no insulation or covering on the inside. A small coal stove in the middle of the building crackled away as it provided the only heat.

“Hey, Wilde,” another staff sergeant said, as he punched him in the shoulder. “You’ve been eyeballing that package from home for over an hour already. Let us have a look-see.”

Walter touched the string criss-crossed binding, the package dated, October 4, 1943, from his hometown of Seattle, Washington. The big man stepped over to the bunk and peered down at the mail. “Come on, Wilde. Everyone else has shown off their packages from home. Maybe it’s some homemade cookies you can share with the rest of your good buddies here.”

“Yeah, besides,” another crewman said, “if you don’t hurry, we may be called up for another mission before you get the chance.” He handed Walter a knife.

“By the time he ever opens the package,” the first said, “the war will have ended.”

Taking a deep breath, Walter sliced the knife through the string, hoping his mother wouldn’t have sent something embarrassing. Not once had she sent him anything the whole time he’d been in combat. He ripped the package open. Inside, he found an Ouija board. He shook his head, relieved it wasn’t something really awful. “Nothing good to eat.”

One of the crewman grabbed up the Ouija board and smiled. “Come on, let’s play a game.”

Another held up the cards he was playing at a game of poker. “Play a man’s game. That’s kid’s stuff.”

Another shook his head. “This isn’t kid’s stuff –it’s not something you should mess with. Get rid of the thing, Wilde. It’s the devil’s messenger.” His voice was shadowed with concern.

“Don’t listen to him. He’s just superstitious!” The airman laid the board on a table, then pulled up a chair. Walter sat on the edge of his bed across from him to play the game.

After a moment, the board seemed to move on its own. “You did that,” he accused. Walter wasn’t superstitious normally, but the crewman’s words had his skin crawling.

“No,” the airman responded as he held his hands up in the air. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a Scout!” one of the poker players retorted as he threw a pillow at him. The pillow slid across the table, knocking the Ouija board to the floor. Walter looked down at the board and could have sworn he saw it move again.

***
This is based on a true story.

My dad had numerous near-death experiences from the time he was three-year’s old. So by the time he was sixteen, signing up to fight the war illegally, he was a pro at living through whatever danger life threw at him. We swore a Guardian Angel watched over him until his death at 74 years of age.

I don’t believe the Ouija board is the devil’s messenger, and yet…who really knows.
What do you think about Ouija boards? Have you played one? Anything spooky ever happen?
Part 2 tomorrow…

Terry

“Giving new meaning to the term alpha male where fantasy is reality.”

Connect with Terry Spear:

Website: http://www.terryspear.com

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/421434.Terry_Spear

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/TerrySpearParanormalRomantics

Twitter: https://twitter.com/TerrySpear

Wilde & Woolly Bears http://www.celticbears.com