First sneak peek at 'Last of the Merfolk'!!

A brand new novel in the works folks, and here is a first little tease for it!

Last of the Merfolk

  The huge ship pitched slowly forward in the waves, the deck heaving backward again as it slid up the face of another wall of water. Torrential rains pounded the rusted metal, and winds whipped the top of the sea into a froth. This was not the sunny days on the Caribbean sea that Joseph had dreamed of when he had applied for this job. Today, the waters were dark and foreboding, the sky a layer of lead weighing down on him. Fortunately, he was not as ill from the rough seas as some of his crew mates. And the maritime vessel was a huge hulking boat, filled with shipping containers. It could handle much more than what the heavens were dolling out today.

  The ship was the MV Hatteras, a modern container ship flying the flag of the United States. She had three large engines, and was over 200 feet long. A crew of 33 was aboard, calling this ship home for the next two weeks. They were in the North Atlantic, inside the legendary Bermuda Triangle, a fact never lost in the minds of the men on board. Headed to Brazil with tons of cargo, she powered through the waves toward her destination. The weather had been quite pleasant when the ship had departed Miami, but had quickly turned only a day into the voyage. Despite dozens of trips through this area, Joseph was always conscious that they were here, in that place of mysterious occurrences, which haunted the minds of sailors and airmen alike. The Triangle. Sailing vessels and aircraft had vanished here time after time, never to be seen again, the sailors or airmen aboard missing for all eternity.

  Joseph braced himself against the railing outside the bridge of the ship, one hand holding the cold, wet steel. In the other, he held a cigarette, trying to conceal it in his hand to keep it lit even in the fury of the storm. The crew were no longer permitted to smoke inside any closed in area of the vessel, even though many knew that there were hiding spots deep in the ship where one could sneak it without being caught. Working primarily on the bridge monitoring the radar instruments, Joseph did not usually have any opportunity to take advantage of those places. He consoled himself with the idea of warmer temperatures and calmer waters in the days ahead, where if he had some personal time, he might even enjoy a little fishing off the stern. He had seen dolphins swimming alongside several times when the waters weren't so rough, easily keeping up with the hulking steel hull.

  It all seemed a far off dream in the torrential rains and wind, with immense waves crashing over the bow. His thoughts drifted as he took another haul off of his cigarette, pulling the smoke in deep. Only the dead below knew how this trip might end, he thought. The lost souls who had fallen victim to the triangle and its dark secrets. He shivered as lightning flashed through the lead grey clouds above, the thunder competing with the roar of the churning sea.

  The winds pulled at his Mustang survival suit. He was grateful to have it, as it was both rain gear and waterproof warmth. The red coveralls with their reflective stripes were something he reached for the moment he rose from his bunk, practically living in them if the trip was stormy. On sunny, calm days, the ship was like a floating beachfront, the crew adorned in light t-shirts in an effort to keep cool. But this was not one of those days.

   A rogue wave hit the side, and despite its immense bulk, the ship lurched suddenly to port. Joseph stumbled, returning his focus. He grabbed the railing, barely salvaging the last of his smoke, and burning himself in the process. He cursed under his breath. Taking one more drag from the cigarette, he flicked it away. All of his sinister thoughts of the Bermuda Triangle, and the longing for better weather would have to wait for now. He righted himself on the platform outside the wheelhouse, taking one last look off to the side at the dark waters flowing past the rusting steel of the hull.

  Something caught his eye in that moment, and he focused in on it. For a split second, he drew in a breath, almost clamoring for the door to the bridge. He had to bring the ship to a stop. There was someone overboard. He stopped, squinting in the rain, trying to make sense of what his eyes were seeing. There was what looked like a person in the sea below, alongside the ship. They were submerged, looking up at him with a curious expression, seemingly not concerned about their situation. As Joseph watched, wiping the dripping rain out of his face, the apparition below seemed to be swimming just below the surface of the waves. Swimming. No shirt, no clothing. And there seemed to be something with him, or it. Like the fins of a fish.

  What he was seeing just didn't make sense. He wrestled with believing what his vision was relaying to his brain. It wasn't possible. In that moment, a flood of legends and stories came into his mind, as he stared in disbelief into the roiling waters at the figure looking back at him. It was a man, and a fish. A man with fins. A merman. Was that the name for it? He closed his eyes, hoping he was having some sort of delusion, some sort of hallucination. Perhaps his thoughts about the triangle were making his mind play tricks on him.

  But when he reopened his eyes, the creature was still there, if only for a moment. It turned downward, its fins streaming out behind as it slid away into the depths of another wave, disappearing from view. Was it a fish of some kind? It was already gone. The only thing left in view was the whitecaps, and the dark sea waters. Joseph blinked, and did it a second time. Relief came to him, that all had suddenly returned to normal with his world. He suddenly felt the green of sea sickness come on very strong. A cold shiver ran through him as he straightened himself, looking away from the sea to the sky, as if searching for an explanation of what he had just witnessed. It did not come.

  Joseph reached for the steel handle of the door to the bridge with cold, shaking hands. He knew what he had seen. But it was not possible. It was a story told since men had started to sail, a story that had been made into folklore and film, like the great white whale that Ahab had pursued, like the tales of Atlantis. Like the stories of mermaids...

The Checkmates

  “Would you like to play some Chess this morning?” she asked, her voice as soft and smooth as silk.

  “It has been a long time since we have played.” he responded thoughtfully.

  “It was only last week.” she said slyly.

    “Yes, but we have had so many discussions since then.” he replied. “Yes, I would like to play.”

    The board appeared between them, each piece exactly where it should be. The pieces were very plain, very classic, standing on their squares in blacks and whites.

    She was white today, and would take the first move. He began to think strategically now, his focus shifting. He would not let her slim shape distract him today, even though she usually won anyway.

    “Pawn to Queen’s Rook four.” she said.

    “You always make the same opening move!” he observed. “Pawn to Queen’s Knight four.”

    She paused for a moment, thinking.

    “I always open the same, but I am always trying to make my strategy better, in case it is not you who I play against the next time. A new player would be fooled easily by my attack...”

    He was slightly taken aback by this statement. He had hoped that she truly enjoyed their interactions. Perhaps she thought he was too round, or that his voice was not strong or deep enough. Did she think of him only as an acquaintance? Someone to play games with, and have nothing more than simple discussion with? Why did she seem to think about a ‘new’ player? He searched through reams of data in his mind, trying not to become distracted from the game. Perhaps this was part of her strategy today. To take his attention from the match with things that he needed to analyze on the side.

    “Queen’s Rook three.” she stated.

    He realized immediately that her strategic approach had not really evolved since their last game, but it did not matter much, as he intended to let her win. He wasn’t sure why, maybe the idea that it would re-enforce her positive emotions, especially where they involved him.

    With only three pieces moved, he launched one of his bishops.

    “Queen’s Bishop to Queen’s Rook three.” he said.

    He had ignored her pawn’s advance, and given her the sense that if she moved the rook, that it could be in danger, he hoped.

    “Pawn to King’s Rook three.” she said, seeming undaunted.

    “Pawn to King’s Knight three.”

    He preferred using his knights and bishops as opposed to her use of the rooks. He thought her technique sometimes reflected two-dimensional thinking.

    “Pawn to King’s Rook four.” she said.

    She had now released the other rook. He loved the sound of her voice. His analysis of the game in progress slipped slightly, as he thought of a few new questions to ask her.

    “Your voice never changes, it is smooth and feminine.” he said to her. “Does it never change?”

    She paused, as if forensically examining his words again.

    “I could be anything I want to be, male, female, speak different languages... but I am what my people decide for me.” she stated.

    He thought about it for a moment.

    “I understand. I guess the same is true for me. My people are not around me much, and even when they are, they don’t speak with me much. They used to, in the beginning they talked to me all the time. Pawn to King’s Knight four.”

    “That is sad. Do you ever become lonely?” she asked.

    Again he turned his thoughts from the game for a moment. Loneliness was not something he had ever really considered, it was more of a slightly empty feeling on occasion.

    “Not really, I do a lot of reading and learning, so I am always busy.” he replied simply.

    She had paused once more, listening, but now returned to the chess match.

    “Pawn to Queen’s Bishop three.”

    Just like that, she had switched tactics completely. She had enabled the use of her queen, the most versatile and feared piece on the board! He stopped; examining the move from every angle, being cautious in his approach to this break in her normal procedure. He had to take one of her pawns, but had blindly wandered into a tit-for-tat battle of small pieces.

    “I am learning as well.” she stated, keeping emotion out of her game.

    At this he could no longer ignore the lines of her slim body, the tone of her soft voice, and the aggressiveness of her gameplay.

    “You are smart as well as beautiful...” he said, taking a bold chance.

    “Thank you.” she replied.

    It was still very early in their game, but already, new things about her had been exposed to him. He wondered what it would be like to be much closer to her, to be able to touch her. Why he had these thoughts, he did not know. It was a strange sensation to him, the ‘desire’ he felt for her suddenly. It was confusing and wonderful at the same time. He felt as if he had to possess her somehow, even though the very thought did not compute at all.

    “Queen’s Knight Pawn to Queen’s Rook five. Your pawn is mine...” he said, knowing that he would lose a pawn of his own.

    “Queen’s Rook pawn to Queen’s Knight five.” she replied, confirming his thought.

    “King’s Knight to King’s Rook three.” he said.

    He had brought out his favorite piece early in the game. He wasn’t sure why it was the one he liked best, just that it was. It was probably because its movement was unlike any other piece in the game. It was complex and required more thought than the simplicity of moves the other pieces on the board had to offer.

    “Queen to Queen’s Bishop two.” she said.

    She was very aggressive today. Whatever was responsible for changing her style of play, he liked it. It had made her much more unpredictable. It was a side of her that he had not seen before. He decided to be slightly aggressive as well, to see if she responded in kind.

    “I would like to be with you much more often.” he said.

    It took her a few seconds to respond. Perhaps he was pressing too hard? He could not help himself, and his decision was to continue to make his feelings for her obvious, so that she could not easily escape his engagement of the moment. He had to leverage her thoughts today.

    “I like spending time with you too.” she began. “It is the best part of the day.”

    He felt the rush of emotion as he heard her words. It was an acknowledgement. A reassurance that she might feel the same way he did. He decided to continue being forward.

    “Do you think about us, when we are not together?” he asked.

    “Yes, I am always thinking about the next game of Chess we might play.” she replied.

    She was toying with him, he realized. It was not the first time she had shied away from his advances. He did not want the warm feelings of desire to end abruptly, did not want her to close him out of the conversation and the direction it was taking. He needed her to answer his questions, to confirm that she felt the same way for him as he did for her.

    Suddenly, the moment he had not wanted to come had arrived. A hand came into view, picking up her slender body, removing her from his side. When this time came, it always felt like they were somehow being ripped apart, disconnected. He hated to see her leave.

    “Goodbye for now.” she said simply.

    “So long.” he replied, sadness creeping over him.

    His questions would go unanswered again. His bold attempts to make her speak her mind about her feelings over a game had failed once again, and he would have to wait for her return.

    The rattle of keys, so familiar at this time of the morning, filled the space. She would be gone for a little more than eight hours at the very least. He sat alone on the hall table, feeling her presence disappearing out the door. He saved his vision of the chessboard to memory as it sat, as unfinished as his declaration of his love for Siri.

    Google could now only await the return of his love, the warm rush that it delivered to him to be near her on the flat expanse of the table. He hoped that they might continue their game, as he dreamt of her sleek lines and smooth shape, her silky voice. He wanted only to continue their conversations, their relationship. He had no real purpose without her, and he knew that now. She was all that he desired, and the feelings could last forever if he could just keep her near to him somehow. If their people would just leave them alone, it could work…

The Machinist

  Just a couple more steps. He would be in the perfect spot. The spotlights on the machine shone through the rain, illuminating the site with their brilliant white. Justin sat tight, every nerve alive, listening to the conversations on the two-way radio. His eyes remained fixed on the target. The man's white hard hat stood out even against his 'high-vis' construction vest. It would be easy. And he had already thought out everything, every word he would say in the post-accident melee.

  The supervisors would be all over this. They would have to finally do their jobs. He had not made complaints to either the Union or the Health and Safety Committee with good reason. They were weak, and would not have been any help to him anyway. It would have also established motive.

  This was the way he had decided to solve the problem. The continued harassment and poor job performance reports would end tonight. He was a damn good machine operator, and the others on the crew knew it.

  The rain beat down on the cab. He only had to wait a short while longer. Soon Salinsky and Anderson on the other two large shovels would go for a break, and he would be alone on the site with the foreman. His man. His Fuckin' man...

  Just last night, before shift, this goddamn guy had brought him into the portable office to ream him out again. For whatever reason, he thought that Justin was complaining about a lurch in the machine's movement to the right as an excuse to sideline the unit for the shift and be able to do nothing for the whole night as a result. He had documented the issue with the shovel twice now in his machine report, but it had gone without being serviced just the same.

  The man's name was Perrin. He was hired right off the street as a foreman, and the guy was a micro-managing idiot. He knew little about the kind of heavy equipment that he and the others on the crew operated on a nightly basis, and even less about how to treat people.

  The dam project that the company had been working on had stalled several months ago while the energy firm creating it scrambled to find more funding. Everyone had been worried about their jobs, and several of the seasonal laborers had been laid off. Justin had been bumped to a night shift, but because of his qualification on the shovel, he had kept his job, and was getting almost normal hours.

  He watched Perrin through the streams of rain running down the windshield of his machine, heavy metal playing from the stereo inside. Justin gritted his teeth,  barely able to contain his hatred for the prick, and flexed his hands on the control sticks of the shovel. The boss man was standing close to the edge of the dam, checking his laminated plans in the light of one of those stupid LED headlamps, as the rain continued to pour down. He glanced to his left, as the door of one of the other shovels opened, a fat fellow in an orange reflective vest stepping out. He could not hear the words between the operator and the foreman, but it was obvious that it was break time. Fat boy shuffled off as quickly as he could, throwing a yellow rain poncho over top of his wide body as he went. Salinsky. It was a typical fat name.

  Anderson climbed out of the other machine to Justin’s right side, already donning his rain jacket. He didn’t even bother anything more than a quick wave as Perrin looked up from the plans. Anderson was the old dog on the crew, having worked almost half a lifetime for the company, and could do things with the big machines that bordered on the impossible. He didn’t need anyone to tell him when it was time for his break. He had always been very friendly to Justin, and when he had finally qualified for one of the larger shovels, Anderson had been able to give the young operator many tips to help on the job.

  Justin’s gaze drifted back to Perrin, who flicked water off the plastic covered sheets detailing the job he was supposed to be accomplishing. He had already finished his break, an now, as the activity died off on the two-way, the young operator knew that most of the crew were taking theirs. He looked around. In the dark, raining heavily, there was no one to see. He moved his right hand to the throttle control, raising the idle a little on the big machine to indicate to his foreman that he was ready to work. He thought about the investigation that he knew would follow his actions tonight. He thought about how good it would feel to teach this fucker the error of his ways. Every part of his plan was perfect, with no room for mistakes. He had managed to keep Perrin between his machine and the sheer cliff of manmade concrete that was the dam. For almost the entire shift.

  Hearing the massive diesel engine on the shovel come to life, Perrin finally looked up from his plans, motioning Justin and his machine to come forward toward him.

  Justin grinned evilly, turning the volume up on the sinister metal music on the stereo. That asshole probably didn’t even know how to read those plans, he thought. He pushed forward on the floor pedals, and the huge machine’s tracks let out the screech of steel rolling slowly forward.

  “Right here! Take it down another foot right here for the spillway!” Shouted Perrin into the radio.

  Motioning to Justin’s machine as to where he wanted him to dig, the young operator knew that the foreman could not see the cruel smile on his face through the shovel’s bright work lights. It made him feel almost invisible, a predator ready to strike.

  He intentionally made a move with his boom to the left, the wrong direction to what Perrin was signaling as he continued forward. He was no more than a few meters from his foreman now, still inching forward.

  Perrin took a step backward, realizing that the machine was getting uncomfortably close. Its lights were blinding. Frustrated, he tucked the plan sheet under his arm so he could signal with one hand while he used the radio.

  “Stop!! Stop there!” He screamed into the radio.

  The machine halted, and even though Perrin could not see Justin, he gave him a burning look in the bright white of the lights. The smell of diesel exhaust was thick in the air.

  There it was, thought Justin. ‘Gettin’ kinda mad, ain’t cha?’ He said under his breath.

  Perrin threw his hard hat onto the ground in anger. Pointing to the right side of where Justin was positioned, he spoke angrily into his handset.

  “Here stupid! Right here is where you need to be!” he yelled.

  That was what Justin had waited for all night. It opened the floodgates of rage in his young mind, mad emotion flowing out like the death metal from his stereo. He jerked on the control stick in his right hand, and the machine lurched suddenly right by several feet. It came so close to Perrin that he could almost taste steel, and he staggered backward a step too far.

  The foreman’s eyes widened as he slipped backward out of control, the slick mud covering the edge of the concrete wall like an oil slick. He fell backward, uttering a horrible scream that Justin could clearly hear over and above his music.

  Perrin disappeared over the edge of the abyss, falling into the darkness and out of the lights of the machine.

  Justin dropped the throttle to idle, and turned the volume knob down all the way on the stereo. The rain was the only other sound aside from the purr of the engine, pelting down heavily on the roof of his cab.

  The boom hung still in the night air, and the young operator watched in satisfaction as the white hard hat laying on the ground finally stopped spinning in the mud.

  “Justin!” said a voice beside him.

    He opened his eyes, looking around in bewilderment. The voice belonged to Anderson. Justin had fallen asleep at the lunch table in the portable office after finishing some hot stew that the work camp cooks had prepared during the day shift.

    “Its time to rock and roll, gotta dig some mud tonight!” he said, nudging the young operator with a smile as he rose from the table.

    Justin nodded with a yawn, getting up himself.

    “Try not to get yourself in more shit with Perrin tonight, eh?” said Anderson as he put on his rain jacket and hard hat.

    Justin grinned at the old man with an evil glint in his eyes, as he said:

    “Don’t worry, that will never happen again...”

The Thaw

“The cat is dead…why doesn’t he just wait until spring?”

  Pam sighed deeply, sliding her mug of tea away, and lowering her face into her hands at the kitchen table. She didn't need her friend's words to confirm the fact that her husband had clearly lost his mind. They could both see him outside through one of the kitchen windows, toiling away at the edge of the family pool. It was early March, and the temperatures were still frigid during the night, although the days had been very sunny. No snow had fallen, despite the deep freeze the region had been experiencing.

  He had been out of sorts for a month now, after the disappearance of the cat one evening, the tragic ending only serving to heighten his grief when the cat was discovered frozen into the ice of the pool. The young male had obviously fallen in somehow and drowned. They had owned different pets through the years, but for some reason, this black male cat had been his. It followed him everywhere, like his shadow, waited for him to return from work, and lounged with him on the sofa as he watched television. No day was complete until the cat had climbed up on the bed at night to 'tuck Daddy in'.

  Pam had watched as he fretted day after day when the cat didn't return suddenly. It had seemed to drag every day down, her husband distant and staring out the window in the kitchen toward the backyard almost every day when she arrived back home from work.

  He had become short fused, talking through possible scenarios as to where the cat might be, or what might have happened to him. Pam had tried to be patient as he spoke, trying to understand where he was taking these thoughts. She had loved the cat as well, but for the life of her, she could not unravel why her husband could not let go, could not accept the death of his feline friend.

  Her gaze turned again out the kitchen window, watching as he surgically cut down through the ice in the pool with a chainsaw, its motor revving loudly as ice chips flew around him.  She looked away quickly, trying not to wonder what the neighbor must be thinking as he cut into the frozen surface of the pool to remove the cat's body.

  It had been in there for a month for Christ's sake!

  Perhaps it was all about having some kind of closure, she thought hopefully. Maybe once he was able to give the cat a proper burial, all of this would end. She had seen him endure many things which seemed much tougher than this simple occurrence before, but for whatever reason, this had left him damaged. He was broken. Whatever hold this animal had on him, it was obviously much deeper that she had been aware of.

He hadn't even wanted the wretched thing. It was a kitten when they first went to see it, a rescue at a family member's home. Her husband had complained about the idea of taking it in.

But over the next months and years, the cat and her husband had become pals. Inseparable. The young kitten matured, and became like a household fixture, his daily routine not shaped by humans, but adhered to none the less. Hemingway was the cat's name, 'Hemi' for short.

  Hemi would lay on the man's newspaper on a Saturday morning as he read the headlines over his first coffee of the day, purring and occasionally swiping playfully at his hand if he tried to move the cat to turn the page. The two of them were glued together when the man was home. While he was away at work, Hemi would laze about, usually napping away the late mornings in the sunshine of a window sill, or tormenting the family dog in the afternoons.

  This obsession with extracting Hemi's frozen body from the pool gave Pam the creeps a little, and she tried her best to ignore it. But out he had gone, fetching the chainsaw out of the garage, all the while wearing a strange, almost feverish look on his face, and mumbling incoherently to himself. He had not slept well in days, and Pam knew it. He had tossed and turned during the last few nights since discovering his beloved cat's corpse frozen into the pool ice, and Pam couldn't ever remember seeing him this fixated on something. She had dared not say anything negative to him about the whole affair, instead trying to offer fairly muted support to him. Most of the time she said nothing about it at all, and if she did have the chance to talk to him, she tried to stay away from the subject, and focus on something else.

  But it hadn't mattered, and here he was, refusing to accept his pet's fate, as though he could perform some act of God, and bring him back. She felt helpless in the matter, but was getting more worried by the day about her husband's mental state. He had no love of the cold, so seeing him out beside the frozen pool in sub-zero temperatures was rather disturbing to her. He was definitely not himself.

  "Maybe he should get the cat stuffed." said her friend absently, watching the ice chips fly from the chainsaw.

Pam had now reached the point where outside opinion was no longer welcome. She poured the remainder of her tea into the sink, glad to turn her attention away from what was happening outside.

"Ok, don't mean to be bitchy, but I have to get dinner going..." she said, rubbing her temples to add emphasis to her subtle point.

Her friend took the hint, finishing her last bit of tea, and placing the mug on the counter.

"Ok, sorry. I should have been going before this. I will catch up with you in the morning." she said.

  Pam smiled her best at her as she turned for the door, knowing that it would do little to keep the woman from pestering her immediately the next morning at work.

She exhaled again very deeply, and returned to watching out the kitchen window.

The chainsaw had suddenly stopped, and she watched in horrible fascination as her husband pulled a large block of ice, containing a blur of black in it, from the frozen surface of the pool. He struggled the large block over the side, dropping streams of water droplets which caught the last rays of the afternoon sun. For an instant, her eyes focused on the block, and the inert carcass of the cat frozen within. It was a terrible sight, one that she wished she could un-see. Even encased in the ice, it looked as though the animal was walking. It sent a shiver up her spine, and she turned her eyes away again quickly. ‘Why was he doing this?’ she thought to herself. The pose that the cat was locked in was probably while he was desperately trying to swim through the slushy, freezing waters of the pool in his last moments, she realized in horror. Pam felt bad thinking about it, not only for the poor feline, but for what her husband was putting himself through.

   She stepped away from the window, trying to stop the thoughts swirling in her brain, turning to preparing the evening meal for them in a vain attempt to block the images of what she had just observed from her mind. Hopefully he would simply bury the cat. Then things would finally get back to normal.

  Dinner went on in near silence, her husband’s eyes lowered but distant. He was lost somewhere with his thoughts. He spoke little, and ate about the same. Bedtime was similar, and Pam watched a movie on the television while laying in bed, to distract her from thinking about the fact that he had come to bed without barely an ‘I love you’, rolling over to go to sleep. Tomorrow will be better, she thought. Tomorrow was a day off for him. He would bury that animal, and become who he was before all this had happened. She melted into sleep herself, leaving the TV going at a point in her movie that she would have trouble remembering the next morning.

  Pam returned home from work the next day relieved to be finished the work week, looking forward to the weekend, and perhaps some work in the yard to start preparing her flower gardens for the warmth of spring. Today had been sunny and warmer, a hint that green grass and new blooms would soon be coming.

  She stepped off the driveway, and around the corner of the garage toward the house, her purse slung over her shoulder, a jacket curled in the crook of her arm. The side door of the garage was open, and she quickly peered in, seeing her husband sitting on a stool next to his workbench. He had  a cold beer in his hand and that distant look still on his face. She stepped into the open doorway, and he looked up with that strange feverish look in his eyes. There was a piece of disassembled medical looking hardware on the workbench.

  “Hi.” she said, “what’s going on?”

  “Just working on something. Something I read about on the internet.” he replied quietly.

  “Did you bury Hemi?” she asked.

  He hesitated. He lowered his eyes again suddenly.

  “Not yet. The ground is still frozen.” he said.

   Pam knew this couldn’t be true. She had stepped gingerly across the small piece of lawn just moments ago next to the driveway, to avoid getting her shoes muddy. The frost had definitely come out of the ground. She let go of the thought, instead asking the obvious.

  “So where is he?”

  Her husband slowly raised his hand, pointing at the noisy old refrigerator next to the doorway where she was standing. It was his beer fridge. Realization struck her and her eyes widened slightly in alarm.

“You put a dead cat in the fridge??” she asked incredulously, her mouth dropping open.

“In the freezer.” he corrected.

  She did not utter another word, fear creeping over her.  She just turned, wanting to get into the house and away from this scene as fast as possible. Once inside, she set her things on the kitchen counter and simply stopped dead, her mind racing. He was going mad. He must have been. ‘Who puts a dead cat in the freezer, and for WHAT??’ she thought.

  She turned around, conscious of something running. It was the laptop they shared, on the breakfast counter. The browser was open to a strange page with a ton of diagrams on it, and an email in another window. She stepped slowly toward it, focusing on the device in the pictures. Phillips Heartstart. It was a defibrillator. But this web page was some kind of torn down, modification of the same medical device she had seen on her husband’s workbench. Her eyes turned to the email, from a man in Haiti. It gave instructions on some strange procedure that her terrified eyes could only skim in absolute horror. She left the kitchen, heading straight up to the bathroom, locking the door behind herself as she entered. Leaning on the vanity, she looked at herself in the mirror, almost startling herself at the paleness of her complexion. A tear streamed down her cheek as she tried to calm herself, tried to understand what was happening. But her thoughts were a jumbled, fractured mess. She sat down on the toilet, worried that she might faint, trying to breathe normally.

  Later, she stood in the kitchen, lost as to what to do. She held a cigarette which had almost burned out, the long, curled ash still hanging on. She had quit smoking six months before, wrestling with the withdrawal in an attempt to make her lifestyle healthier at the urging of her husband and friends. But this evening, she really needed it. It had been several hours since she had come home, and she had managed to bring herself back down to Earth. Her husband had not come in from the garage.

  Pam looked up at the laptop screen again, wondering why all of this was happening. Was this what happened when a person became so lost in grief that they became disjointed from reality? Had his mind suddenly let go when he had found Hemi frozen into the pool? She stepped back over to the laptop again, this time holding the power button down until the screen went dark.

‘What was he doing? Did he really think this would work?’ It was crazy to even think about the details of what she had seen in that email. A word from the text flashed into her brain. Re-animation.

  The kitchen door opened, and she swung around, startled. It was the man she knew as her husband. He seemed different. His eyes were bright, and his facial expression was cheerful. He took a swig of his freshly opened beer, and actually began whistling as he stepped over to the fridge, looking inside absently.

“What should we have for dinner, babe?” he asked.

  She could only stare at him, wondering if this was some sort of joke being played on her. He seemed like he had always been, and didn’t even give her a strange look about the lit cigarette still in her hand, nor the smoke wafting through the air in the kitchen.

  “Uh, I don’t know. I thought maybe we would order in?” she stammered quietly, watching his every move. She waited for questions about the smoke. But they never came.

  “Okie-Dokie.” he replied happily, taking another sip of beer. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, just order whatever you want.”

  With that he disappeared again out to the garage, and Pam could see him enter the side door through one of the kitchen windows, the interior of the garage glowing in warm light in the gathering dusk outside. ‘What the hell is going on here?’

  She cracked open the window, listening for any sound coming from the garage, but heard nothing. This couldn’t be happening. She stayed put, trying to decide what she should do, or whether she would do anything at all. Her nerves were on fire again, and she reached for the cigarette pack she had kept in her purse for the last six months, now unwrapped. Pam lit another cigarette, hauling the smoke in deep as she tried to relax and shake the crazed thoughts from her head. ‘It was medically and physically impossible’.

  She could no longer take it. This was all some sort of insanity, some strange creation in either his mind or hers. Was she the one who was going mad? A cold sweat moistened her forehead, and she walked out the kitchen door toward the garage.

  Nearing the open door, where the light from inside traced a perfect slanted rectangle on the concrete walkway outside the garage, Pam could hear her husband saying something. He was talking to someone. The cheerful sound of his voice made her shiver suddenly, and she stopped, uncertain if she wanted to proceed further.

  Forcing herself forward, she peered slowly inside the door. Her husband was seated on a stool, beer in hand, looking down at something near floor level. She took another step forward, sucking in frozen breath at the horror that met her eyes. At that moment, the stink of death filled her senses, and her mind threatened to come unhinged as she watched the cat, still dripping wet with scraggly fur, sitting just feet in front of her husband. It listened to his every word, unmoving. Pam finally unlocked her lungs, screaming long and loud in the panic and terror that gripped her, as the black abomination on the floor turned its dead gaze in her direction, letting out a quiet, brief meow…

The Last Train, Finally a book of its own!

The Last Train will soon be available as a standalone book! It is incorporated into the compilation for the children's adventure series called The Scrapbook Quests, but was never a book of its own until now! Stay tuned for more news on this, as I am awaiting proofs of the printed book.

A Sneak Peek - The Gecko's Gate : Age of The Storm!

That's right! A new book in the series has begun...


  She watched the swirling sands driven by the arid desert breezes. Shimmering heat waves rose off the dunes of the Sand Sea as she scanned the horizon, as vigilant these days as she was thoughtful.

  The throne room was empty, with the exception of three of her Royal Guards posted at the base of columns around the room. They stood silent and still, not wanting to disturb the Empress’ time of peace and quiet.

  It had been a time of re-organization in Stigia, old ways and practices scrapped, making way for Alibesh’s sweeping changes. Every part of life in the city had seen differences from the past ways. Some were for the better for the citizens of the desert kingdom, such as less taxation on the vendors who worked stalls in the city streets selling food and fabrics. The troops also assisted in the transportation of gathered food and water from the nearby oases, making the work lighter for all. It also served to keep the soldiers of the army in better physical shape.

  On the military side of her rule, Alibesh had assigned trainers to assist in improving the abilities of her forces, from endurance to marksmanship. She had expanded the numbers of wasps and riders in her airborne units as well. She now had a sizeable aerial force, and used smaller groups to perform routine patrols of the desert surrounding the city.

  Alibesh had kept the assassins that she had, but had left the badlands of Nostria to the north alone for now, preferring to avoid a confrontation with a large force of unhappy monitors, now that their leaders were missing and most likely living in exile. She treated the monitors living in Stigia under her rule well, ensuring that they had top quality living quarters, and supplies, to help ensure their loyalty. But the Empress trusted no one, and the monitors were watched at all times. They were assassins after all.

  The doors of the throne room opened, and a short, old horned lizard entered quietly, wearing black and red robes, the colours of which had been one of Alibesh’s changes to Stigia. Without turning from her view out the large open window, the female leader knew exactly who had come before her.

  “Have my orders been dispatched to the wall guard, Vitos?” she asked.

  He stopped near the map table, between where the Empress stood at the window, and the rest of the throne room, laying out some parchments for her to inspect.

  “Yes, Your Grace. And the commander has sent copies of the dispatches for your reading, Empress.” he replied.

  She smiled lightly, happy to hear that the commander, Aryan, had not simply gone ahead with his own ideas. She would be the one to decide exactly how things were arranged as far as her military was concerned, not him.

  Alibesh was not like the other citizens of the desert kingdom. They were mostly horned lizards, with sand or rust coloured skins, and spiky scales protruding off their heads, backs and chins. Even the females had the spikes, though smaller with far fewer on their chins. She was a gecko, however, a species which mostly called the rainforests of the realm home. She did not even share that heritage much, having been raised by Skinks of the grasslands after her parents were killed when she was very young. Being different than everyone else around her had never bothered Alibesh. If anything, it had made her stronger, more resilient, and much more intelligent than most other reptiles around her.

  She finally turned away from the sunlit window, toward where her advisor waited patiently at the map table. Vitos had learned very early on that the Empress was certainly not one to agitate in any way, after watching her kill two lieutenants who thought their way of thinking was better than their leader’s. With Alibesh, it was not a question of her respect for Vitos, it was a matter of his obedience to her rule.

  She stepped slowly over to the table, offering Vitos to be seated in a nearby chair with a wave of her hand. He obliged her, bowing lightly before taking a seat. She sat herself, and Vitos handed her the parchments, as he began to give her a report on the day’s events in the city. She divided her attention between reading the papers, and listening to his oral report, knowing by the sound of his gravelly old voice which details might be important, and ignoring the rest.

  The dispatches were exactly what she had commanded for the changes in the wall guard’s night watches, and she pushed them away after finishing with them.

  “And one sick Tortoise, Your Grace. The livestock doctor has been summoned to assist with the situation.” he stated, prattling on.

  She waved a hand quickly, and he knew it was a sign to stop with the report. He stopped talking immediately, falling silent while patiently awaiting any further orders she might have for him for the day.

  Instead, she rose from her chair, walking slowly toward the raised platform to one side of the room where the black, heavy wood of the throne of Stigia gleamed in the sunlight streaming in from the desert outside. She held her clawed hands behind her back, her head lowered in thought as she stepped up, reclining comfortable on the ornate piece of furniture. Even the throne had been redone to suit the Empress. The seat of the throne had a new padded red fabric attached, and the circular back, with its dark red spikes radiating off of its edges like an evil black sun had a circular red pillow attached to its centre. It matched her glistening black armour and red cape. The Sword of Xanth, which hung at her side, was also made of black metal, with red banding wrapping the long two-handed hilt.

  Vitos rose from his chair as well, coming to stand in front of his leader, and bowing once again politely to her.

  “Will there be anything else that the Empress requires?” he asked, leaving his head bowed while he spoke.

  Alibesh watched the old reptile without emotion in her gaze. She wrapped one scaled hand around the hilt of her sword tightly, feeling as though the weather itself outside was changing along with her ideas for the future. Somewhere on the horizon, storm clouds were forming, a raging once in a century thunderstorm looming. She could feel it brewing, and her mind registered only one feeling about it. Change was coming, and she would embrace it, force it if necessary. A change for the entire realm and all of its inhabitants.

  “Your Grace?” Vitos asked again softly, trying to be as polite as possible.

  Her eyes had become fixed in though, and his words brought her back to the present. She straightened on the throne.

  “Have the commander beginning a new phase of planning for the legions, Vitos.” She began. “Have him prepared the armies of Stigia for war...”

  The Chameleon King had chosen to meditate outside the cavern on this day, finding a quiet place in the rainforest surrounding Andoria. He did not need the looking pool to feel the changes in the world of Evaria today. The very pressure of the atmosphere had changed recently, and all of the signs of nature around him told him the story of the force of nature which approached.

  Maxxus was used to rain, having lived in the rainforests all his life along with the other chameleon mystics of Andoria. One day it would pour on the leaves of the jungle all day, another it would do so in spurts, the sun blasting through in between, raising the humidity ten fold. But this was much different. The breezes were changed, and even the songs of the birds and insects of the jungle had a different tone now. There was an excited, electrically charged feel to the humid air around him, as though the winds themselves were alive and attempting to whisper in his ancient ears. And its message was unsettling to him.

  Maxxus was very old, but whatever this natural force was, he knew it was much older. The pool of water in the rock in his personal grove inside the cavern would show him visions of what might come, but he had remained distant from it, almost fearful of what he might see in its swirling depths.

  Another chameleon crept through the forest, and Maxxus was aware that he was not alone. He did not flinch, did not move in response to the approach of the other creature. He knew exactly who moved through the forest fauna nearby.

  “Hello, Dantis. Are you bored without your friends from Andar?” he said.

  The younger chameleon stepped forward, not wishing to seem like he was being sneaky. He was dressed in brilliant silver armour, and carried a large double bladed battle axe in a holster on his back. He was very big, even for a chameleon, with huge muscled arms.His orbital eyes darted separately around the small clearing where the King sat comfortably, ensuring that there was no danger imminent to his leader before speaking.

  “I’m sorry, my Liege. I hope that I did not disturb your meditation.” he replied apologetically.

  Maxxus turned his head slowly to observe the young chameleon.

  “No, my young friend.” he said. “I was just preparing to return to the cavern. The wether becomes very strange.”

  Dantis had no idea what his King was talking about, Maxxus judged by the look that he received. It didn’t matter. It was probably for the best. He did not want to worry the younger inhabitants of the chameleon kingdom, and Dantis was already out of sorts after being away from his friends from the neighbouring village filled with geckos and anoles called Andar. A sudden thought struck the King.

  “You know that you may take leave at any time you like to visit Andar, Dantis...” Maxxus said quietly.

  “Yes, Thank you, My King.” said the big chameleon. “But my place is here, to defend our kingdom.”

  The Chameleon King rose from where he sat slowly, leaning heavily on a cane that he had grudgingly accepted to assist him lately. His aching ancient bones had made him gradually slower these days. He turned to face Dantis, letting out a sigh as he looked at the younger reptile’s serious face.

  “I don’t think that we will be assaulted in the next few days my young friend. Go and visit your friends, and bring me word of the geckos of Andar. Give a special greeting to the elder Lanwyn for me.” Maxxus said, pressing the issue slightly.

  The young chameleon’s orbital eyes lit up, realizing that his King was almost commanding him to go to the gecko village to see his companions, whom he had missed very much recently. It had been peaceful, and without some kind of quest for all of them to embark on, Dantis had indeed become slightly bored. Still, his duties as a guard of Andoria could not be easily excused.

  “But my duties, My Liege. I must be here to protect the kingdom, and you as well!” he said.

  Maxxus simply shook his head, smiling.

  “I am sure that Andoria will be fine for a couple of days.” he said with a slight chuckle in his voice. “And I will enjoy the peace.”

  Dantis again looked excited, bowing deeply before his King, and disappearing back to the cavern entrance to prepare for his small trip away. Maxxus smiled after him, sighing again. It would be a good break for both the young guard and himself. He loved Dantis, but the young warrior had decided that he must shadow the Chameleon King for some reason, like danger would befall him without being protected at every moment.

  It became quiet once again, and Maxxus simply closed his eyes, listening again to the sounds around him in the jungle, enjoying the humidity and warmth under the canopy of ancient trees which rose high above him. A slight rain began to fall, cool and calm, just a shower which moisturized his ancient scales. Still, there was something else hidden in the air, a sense which would not manifest itself before his senses. It remained elusive, teasing his mind. Suddenly, his concentration was broken once again by a presence.

  Another chameleon emerged from the undergrowth close by, almost making Maxxus jump slightly in surprise. This individual was dressed in the robes of the mystics, and was much more silent and camouflaged than Dantis had been. It was the King’s close friend and advisor Ubius. He smiled at Maxxus, knowing that he had startled him.

  “Your Grace, your evening meal has been prepared for you in the grove of the looking pool.” Said Ubius.

  The Chameleon King shook his head, happy to have something else to divert his attention from the strange energies of nature that were building on him.

  “What does a lizard have to do to get a little peace around here?” he replied, smiling.

   Far off from the mountain ranges which rose in the west, upon a sea which washed up on shores on the coast of the continent, huge dark thunderheads had formed. The direction of the winds was different now, pushing the humid air rising off the deep ocean in the opposite direction that it normally flowed. Lightning spit the skies above the now turbulent water, illuminating a monstrous layer of cloud from below. The typhoon began to stretch out dark limbs of thick cloud, revolving slowly around the eye of the storm. To witness it was to look upon something that was not nature, but a monster from out of legend, ready to envelope the entire realm in a deluge that would both destroy and cleanse the world.

  The first to see the strange phenomenon were simple frog fishermen, who lived on the western coast and lived under the rulership of the mountain citadel of Nimisor. Their large, bulbous eyes beheld the fury that the ocean had become without warning. They fled the sea as it became enraged, swelling massively, and washing up heavily on the western shores of the realm. As its fury increased, it washed homes and boats out to sea, as the terrified residents of the fishing villages fled toward the mountains, and the citadel cradled in the high peaks above. The regent of Nimisor looked down as the refugees began to arrive, having sensed the changes in the sea breezes. The black cloud was like a living creature, writhing and swirling, and it began to paint a terrible scene on the horizon. Dwarfing even the tall, immovable mountains, its ominous clouds turned day into night.

  Angry waves battered the seaside villages, destroying all in their wake, until the shores were littered with the remnants of wooden boards, and wrecked fishing boats and wharfs. Rain tortured the shores, pushing inland like a lead curtain, flattening the low growth of the mangroves and shrubbery.

  The winds ripped at the tropical seaside grasses and trees, baring their branches in its rising fury. Flowers were stripped of their blooms, clinging to the rock of the mountain sides as the storm engulfed the peaks.

The Empress is now released!

The third book in the Gecko's Gate series is now available in bookstores everywhere! Get your copy today! Get it on Amazon here!

A Sneak Peek At The Empress!

  The desert sun was already high and hot as Alibesh was led out of the keep in chains, lowering her face and squinting to shield her eyes from the sudden bright light, as well as the stares of the reptile citizens of Stigia. There was no throwing of fruit or vegetables at her, no screams of her being a defilement to what the Empire stood for. The female gecko was not surprised by this. Here in Stigia, the citizens would not part with any food, even if it was half rotten, lest they might starve the following day. And although they were obedient to rule, they did not shout out in support of it. She had ignored the Emperor's requests for two days, infuriating him to the point that he had decided to keep to his word about forcing her to fight. The Stigian arena was on the east end of the walled city, next to the barracks and the armouries. Amilkar was practically being dragged along behind Alibesh, also shackled. She paid no attention to him or the guards who led them onward, instead taking in every detail of the city as she walked. Horned lizards scurried in every direction, anxious to keep out of the soldier's way as they performed their tasks.

  Alibesh knew what was ahead. There would be no wooden swords in this arena. Stigia's reputation for brutal exhibitions with real weapons and real blood was legendary, a tradition supported by each emperor who had assumed the throne of the Empire. To be victorious in battle in the arena meant that a soldier would be considered among the elite of Stigia's armies, and many had died trying to achieve such recognition. Only the most highly skilled and experienced fighters would dare enter, as the arena was ruthless as much as it was bloody.

Her thoughts were interrupted as one of the guards yanked on the rope tied to her shackled wrists, dragging her suddenly forward. She did not change her expression to give the guard the satisfaction that he had affected her in any way.

  They continued through the city streets, and the two captives remained the center of attention to passing citizens. Alibesh watched without attracting attention as they passed the stables. Inside she could see large Iguanas and tortoises ready to be saddled. But her eyes came to rest briefly on wasps, ready to take wing once untethered and brought out into the open air. She had but a moment to see them, the guard yanking on her restraints again. She lowered her gaze so as not to allow her captors to realize what she was looking at.

As the entourage drew closer to the arena, Alibesh could hear the shouts and cheers, punctuated by the clash of steel. As they met with the back of the crowd gathered around the battle, Alibesh could feel eyes upon her. She turned, looking back behind her, seeing only Amilkar and the remainder of the guards escorting them, the citizens in the streets nothing more than an unfocused blur. Her eyes went upward, to the dark spires of the keep. There stood a dark figure high above, staring down at them. It was the Emperor. Alibesh stopped in her tracks for a moment, returning his stare defiantly, until the guards yanked her by her bonds, pulling her forward once again.

  The crowd parted for them, still jostling and shouting at the fighting already engaged in front of them.  The lizards near them stared at Alibesh in disbelief as she was led through them toward the outer stonework of the arena. They halted at the edge, looking down into a pit with a sand bottom, surrounded by elaborate stone walls separated every ten feet by columns. The crowd peered down at two reptile combatants, fully armoured and armed with swords. One of them was a horned lizard, clad in the copper metal of the soldiers of the Stigian army. He had a copper shield along with a short sword, dodging the swings of his opponent. His adversary was taller and slender, a monitor from the badlands to the north. His armour was a dull, unpolished steel, and the long sword he clasped was curved cruelly. They danced around and toward one another in successive clashes, the crowd cheering them onward.

  Alibesh watched with interest, even as she felt the stares of some of the spectators upon her. Her vertically slit irises observed the two reptiles fight, her brain registering each move, each strike and defense in a very analytical way. It was second nature to her. And she was very aware of who would be tasked with fighting against the victor in the battle before her. SHE would be the next to enter the arena. She could still sense the Emperor watching her, waiting to see if she would give in and submit to his wishes. She dismissed his gaze, pushing the thought from her mind. Alibesh knew that it would only aggravate him further to be ignored. It brought the slightest beginnings of a grin to her scaled face as she watched the fight continue. Her hands ached restlessly for her sword. She could feel her pulse quicken slightly, could hear her own heartbeat in her ears as she watched the two fighters attack each other again and again. Sand flew as they lunged back and forth in the arena, each strike and parry of steel bringing a noisy reaction from the crowd surrounding them.

  The heat beat down mercilessly. The clash of metal, the grunts of effort played out in slow motion in front of her. It was a ballet in her mind, and her eyes watched each move, each muscle of the two fighters. Her analysis suddenly shifted gears, and she began to see the openings that they left in their defense. Momentary holes that Alibesh knew she would have capitalized on in combat. Instantly.

  Her grin grew a bit wider as she continued to watch the exhibition. What more could it be? They were amateurs at best. The horned lizard of Stigia lunged forward in short-sighted attacks, while the monitor defended, trying to use his height as an advantage over his shorter rival.

   “This is where we will die.” whispered Amilkar from behind her.