Kevin Lazarus in Carthage Falls

From: The Dark Side of Carthage Falls, the Chronicles, by Kevin Lazarus

Finally, the humiliation was over and happily so. I was too old for a baby-sitter! I just couldn’t seem to get my mother to understand that. And to make matters worse, to my absolute horror, she would have Tammy–the girl next door–come over! Tammy, who wasn’t much older than me, who I liked a lot, was my baby-sitter! Worse than that, Tammy would complicate things even more by bringing her friend Susan with her. Ugh! Of course, the truth was that both of them were a lot older than I initially believed. But what can I say, love is blind. Right?

The luster finally wore off when Tammy brought her boyfriend with her. Okay, so he was taller than me–and her. And, he was kind of hunky–big wow! But I knew I was toast, when I saw them sitting together, hugging and kissing, while missing the best monster movie ever–Revenge of the Mummy!

While my love affair with Tammy was short lived, I still couldn’t be all that mad at her. She’d introduced me to Friday night monster movies–Fright Night Theater. The best scary movies I had ever seen. Of course, they were the only scary movies I’d ever seen. Truth is, if my mother had found out about the movies, it would’ve all been over for both of us. It was to be our big secret. The kind of thing you pinky swear about.

In the beginning, it was wonderful–our secret rendezvous. We had a system and put on quite a show for my mother. Tammy would come over and prepare me something to eat while mom got ready to go out on their date. My step dad would walk around looking at his watch complaining that they were “going to be late!” They were always late–really late, part of the reason they were always late coming home. Anyway, I would finish the last bite on my plate and bound down the hallway into my bedroom. Where I would hop into bed, and wait for my mom to come in and give me a kiss goodnight. After she would leave, I would wait, listening for the sound of the back door to shut; after which, I would sneak out of my bedroom, down the hall, to where I waited to hear the sound of the car pulling out of the driveway. When I was sure that they were gone, I would sprint into the TV room where I would wait for Tammy and hot salty popcorn.

It was Friday night and we both were equally anxious for our favorite show–Fright Night Theater. It was the coolest show in the world because all they would show were these scary monster movies. It always started out the same with this creepy looking guy, who would talk in a creepy sounding voice, wearing some kind scary black robe, introducing that night’s monster movie. A lot of times they were old movies like The Blob or The Mummy, or, better yet, Mummy’s Revenge!

Of course our nifty little arrangement didn’t start out as an amicable association. Tammy would bring her friend with her and they would do their level best to get rid of me for the night, so they could watch scary movies. Yet, like any incorrigible young boy, after they were convinced that I was down for the night, I would sneak out of my room and hide around the corner, watching the movie too. It took a showdown between me and the two of them for Tammy to finally give up.

It happened on one of those Friday nights. I flatly refused to go to bed, I just wouldn’t do it! First they chased me all around the house, where they finally cornered me in my mom’s bedroom. So I retreated to her bed, where I stood in the middle of it, jumping up and down, making it nearly impossible for them to get their hands on me.

Finally Tammy’s friend Susan, made a desperate attempt to grab me…I punched her in the nose. She stood up shocked, holding her nose while glaring at me. Tammy scolded me, but I was invincible, I could feel it! So I just kept jumping up and down on the mattress, smiling, fists cocked for another round. At that moment Tammy did the most amazing thing, she relented, caved like a house of cards. Susan was less than happy about it and I thought for sure that she would put up more of fight. Instead, the three of us retired to the TV room where we remained for the rest of the evening–thoroughly frightened.

And thus it began, the metamorphosis of a friendship. Not long after that, Susan stopped coming and that left just the two of us, settling down every Friday night for a good scare. That is, until mom finally decided that I really was too old for a baby sitter…and then there was me.

I kept our ritual alive, only now with the approval of mom. As soon as my parents left I would hit the fridge, grab a bottle of soda, stock up on popcorn and cookies, and retreat to the TV room for the next big spine tingling thrill; waiting for the movie’s cue, the host’s sinister, macabre laughter. Unfortunately, this would be one of those times, when I was all by myself, in the middle of the night–as the movies say, the witching hour–that I would experience another disturbing revelation from Carthage Falls.

It has been so many years now, that some of the details have faded in time, but I remember that night, like I remember all of the other weird, strange events that happened to me there. This night would rival every creepy thing this town had dished out so far!

Friday the 13th

There was something different about that night. I didn’t recognize it at first. I was too busy gathering my supplies, rushing to be in my seat, hoping not to miss a single second of Doctor Demise’s scary wit. Admittedly, the whole thing was kind of cheesy, wearing a black hood, while waving his hand over an old cauldron gurgling out reams of dry ice smoke. But I didn’t care. It was truly a lot of fun. Not to mention a thrill.

I watched as he waved his hand over the top of the pot, smoke wafting out of it, rolling across the top of his table, dropping off the edges, talking in his deep guttural tone about tonight’s feature. “How terribly frightening it is, if you’re alone,” he said, laughing hideously. “You shouldn’t be alone–NOT TONIGHT!” He laughed more wickedly. I had nearly been transported to his fantasy world until he emphasized the word “tonight.” For some reason that got me, though I don’t know why. I looked around at my surroundings. They were no different than any other Friday night. Of course, it didn’t help that it was Friday the 13th. Images of my friends teasing each other about what day it was and my mother teasing me about it, flashed through my thoughts.

I inspected the TV room a little more circumspectly. The flat Naugahyde couch sitting behind my chair was where it always was. The closet doors were open, but that didn’t bother me because the light was on and I could see everything in it. Trust me. I wasn’t stupid enough to sit in the dark, not by myself. Though, Tammy would insist on it, during the early days of Fright Night, but not now, not without someone else to sit in the room with me. It was just the TV, me and my treats, nothing different at all. So why was I feeling a little freaked out? Oh yeah, Friday the 13th, the movie and its creepy host…that could be it, I thought. It had to be it! It was the only thing that made sense.

I shrugged off the feeling, focusing on Doctor Demise, allowing myself to become completely absorbed into his world of monsters. His deep guttural cackling had my complete attention. I grabbed a handful of popcorn and shoveled it into my mouth as I turned the volume up as loud as I dared. A sense of contentment flowed over me as I hunkered back into my chair and grabbed a cookie.

Sometime during the movie, about where I’m not sure–there was an unusual sound. I don’t know how long it had been going on, but it occurred to me that it wasn’t part of the movie. It just didn’t belong. It took a bit before I came out of my boob tube stupor, to listen to it, turning my head in different directions trying to determine where it was coming from. I turned down the volume on the television and listened for a moment longer, hoping that I could pin it down. With boyish anxiety, I had my fingers crossed, hoping that it was from the show and that for whatever reason, I was hearing it all wrong. But almost the instant that I had turned the volume down–nothing! The sound was gone. I couldn’t hear anything that sounded remotely like what I thought I had heard. But to be sure, I walked into the hallway and turned on the hallway lights, then just stood there listening some more.

Images from my walks home, hearing the footsteps, flooded my thoughts; followed by more images of all the other things that had happened–with all of the strange sounds that I had heard before. More anxiety followed my sensations of growing fear. Yet as I listened, there was still nothing… What I was hearing I couldn’t be sure of, and I soon began to doubt whether I had heard anything at all.

I decided to leave the lights on, in spite of the possible complaints I might have to endure from my parents. I just didn’t care. Then I did a mental check of the house, thinking about whether or not every window was shut, and whether or not every door was locked. The windows were a no brainer. They had to be closed, otherwise there would be cold air pouring through the house. With that, I convinced myself that the upstairs part of our house was safe. Mom would’ve made sure that the doors were locked, I considered. Also, the lights were on now and I felt much safer with them on. I went back into the TV room and turned the volume back up.

But then I heard it again. This time I leapt to my feet, turned down the volume again and inched my way to the door and looked around the door frame corners in both directions. Like before, the noise appeared to stop the instant I turned the volume down. But I was sure that I was hearing something. Still standing there, wanting to get back to my show, I took a second peak in both directions, just to make sure.

This time I closed the door to the TV room and put my chair against it, sitting in it. I made sure the legs of the chair were jammed against the bottom of it, believing, with my added weight that it would be too difficult for anyone to push open. Before I sat down, I cranked the volume on the television even louder than before, hoping that it would drown out the unwelcome sound. I continued watching my movie and tuned out once more.

Close to the end of the movie, it occurred to me that it was back. It had gradually gotten louder and louder until it was loud enough that I could hear it over the television! Unbelievable! I tried to tune it out at first, because it was so gradual that I figured I could ignore it. But it was beyond ignoring now. I jumped to my feet and again turned the volume down on the television. In the stark absence of its volume, the uninvited noise was the only sound to be heard. It was still apparent! I could hear it! A scraping sound so hollow, I could nearly feel the vibrations, like an echo passing through the room. There was no mistake about it now, I thought, but where is it coming from?

Not wanting to open the door, I knelt in my seat and placed my ear against the door listening. The scraping noise came in waves, growing louder, then more subtle.  I determined quickly, that it wasn’t coming from the hallway. As I moved to the middle of the room, I listened again more carefully, experiencing an odd mixture of fear and frustration. Frustrated because my show was near the end and I couldn’t just relax and enjoy it. I had to take precious time to figure out where some stupid noise was coming from–thinking that it might just be someone trying to scare me. That’s when it occurred to me that the sound was coming from outside of the house.

I hurried to the window and looked out into the darkness. It was black, nearly impossible to see anything with the lights on. My reflection glared back at me from the window glass. I could still hear the strange scraping sound, and it sounded faintly familiar, as if someone was digging a hole in the ground. Realizing that the light was making it impossible to see outside, I hurried to the switch and flipped it off.

Except for the dull glow from the television, the room was now pretty dark. The curious noise still scraping away, I looked out the window again. It was still too dark! It was then that I remembered that the switch to the backyard flood lights was right there next to me. The instant I flipped it on, the noise stopped.

Outside, the floodlights lit up everything. I could see that the ground was covered with a new blanket of snow, and it suddenly occurred to me how silly I was for thinking that the unwelcome noise sounded like someone shoveling dirt. There wasn’t any dirt to shovel! There wouldn’t be any until next spring. I took a quick glance around the yard and seeing that there wasn’t anyone or anything around to be scared of; I shut off the lights and once  again went back to watching the last of my scary movie.

The Blob had engulfed the entire diner, trapping the owner and the kids inside of it. I could only imagine what would happen to Steve McQueen if that jelly like substance got on him or one of the people with him, dissolving him like it did the first guy…some old drunk farmer. Without realizing it, I had made my way from my chair to the couch and was curled up in the corner of the armrest, nearly hiding under my blanket, when I heard it again. Right as they figured out that the fire extinguishers were their secret weapons, the scraping sound started again. I sat up straight and listened carefully. I couldn’t figure out what was making that noise. Clearly it was coming from outside the house, in the backyard!

To my chagrin, I realized that the lights were still off. Probably the reason I was so scared. I had forgotten to turn them back on. I stood up, somewhat hesitant and I walked back over to the window. But this time I flipped on the flood lights before looking out the window, hoping to catch whoever it was making that crummy sound. Again…it stopped and again…nothing but snow… I found myself now wishing that my mother was home. I took one more look around at the backyard, and then shut off the light.

I sat back down, watching the movie, only this time my head was someplace else, in a stupor. The creepy noise had started back up almost the second I had returned to my seat and I didn’t even notice that I had missed the ending of the movie. It was as if my thoughts were now stuck on something else, other then the scraping noise. I couldn’t seem to shake the images of the snow covered ground from my mind. There was something about the backyard, though I couldn’t put my finger on it at first. What was it? I thought. I had seen something. In fact, I was sure of it. There was something different about the backyard–different from when I had turned on the flood lights the first time. And then it hit me! It was in the snow! There was something different about the snow and I thought I knew what it might be, or did I? I sprang from the couch and ran to the back window, flicking on the flood lights again. And like all the times before, the scraping noise, stopped!

Accompanied by the eerie music from Fright Night Theater playing in the background, my eyes instantly made contact with what I suspected, and I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. They hadn’t been there the first time I had looked, I was sure of it! There were footprints in the snow! Leading out into the middle of the yard! Each footstep the size of a very large foot!

I stared down at them, awe struck, at the fact that there was just one set of tracks leading out into the middle of the yard…where they stopped! There were no other footprints going in any other direction, leading away, as footprints normally would. They just stopped in the middle of the yard, in the snow, as if whoever had made them had disappeared right there! I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Dumb struck by the image, I stood there for the longest time staring at the undeniable evidence; evidence that took me one step further than the odd noise that sounded like someone digging in my backyard.

In a forgetful stupor, I flipped off the flood lights, but didn’t move. I stood there at the window in a daze, still staring down at the backyard. As the last glimmer from the light faded, I could just make out what appeared to be the outline of someone standing below…in the snow, where the footprints had ended…and what appeared to be the outline of a shovel in its hand. With lightning reflexes I flipped the floodlights back on and watched as the shadowy figure disappeared!

For a moment I couldn’t catch my breath. I stepped back from the window and with anxious fear, removed the chair from the door…and then pushed the couch in front of it. I turned up the volume and sat there staring at the TV and whatever was on next. To this day I can’t remember what show it was, I couldn’t stop thinking about what I had just seen with my own eyes. It wasn’t some creepy movie, it was creepy real! One thing was for sure, I wasn’t going to turn off the flood light. I didn’t care what my stepfather thought. That freakin’ light was going to stay on all night…if I had anything to say about it!

Got Kindle?

If so, you can download another (longer) creepy story by Kevin Lazarus for free for the next few days called, “The Monster’s Ball“.

It’s part of the “Dark Side of Carthage Falls” series of biographical stories Kevin wrote about the creepy things that happened to him as a child growing up with a mother who dabbled in the Hoodoo culture of the deep South.

Part Three, from The Dark Side of Carthage Falls, the Chronicles, by Kevin Lazarus

This along with the rest of my stories, novellas and books, are also currently free for Amazon Prime members, from their lending library. If you can, read my stories from the lending library. You get to read if for free and I still get paid for it. You’d be helping this writer out…a lot! Also, if you leave me a review. Send me an email at Kevin@reallycreepystories.com and I will notify you when my next book Bone Stalker is out (a free e-book). Thanks for your help and enjoy (unless of course, you read it at midnight…hmmm…it will definitely be a different kind of thrill…Mwa-ha-ha-ha!).

Kevin Lazarus

Part One: Night Stalker in Carthage Falls, by Kevin Lazarus

Part Two: Shadows of Indian Summer, by Kevin Lazarus

Also, currently all of my works are in the Amazon lending library FREE for Kindle Select readers. Enjoy!!!

K. Lazarus

——————————————–

Chapter 1

Jacob, Son of Thunder Born of Lightning

An unearthly rumbling, deep and visceral, followed by an explosive clap that sounded like someone snapping a massive tree in two, pierced Jacob’s tranquil dreams; a rolling thunderous noise so intense that it shook him into consciousness. Jacob literally flung himself over in his bed facing the ceiling–listening carefully. Quietly, with heavy sleepy eyes he surveyed his bedroom–still dark and silent. The distant sound of night crickets singing outside his window was somehow reassuring and peaceful. And he found himself wondering if he had heard anything at all? Perhaps it was nothing more than a bad dream, he thought.

And then–as if in reply–the answer came to him in bright blinding shards of white light. So bright, in fact, he had to cover his eyes with his hands. And then, a massive clap of thunder so intense it nearly shook the entire house.

Jacob sat up straight and then hurried to his bedroom window. He watched with particular fascination as each revelation of light revealed a magnificent storm. Like an invisible beast, ravenous and angry, tossing his grandfather’s farm into disarray.

An explosive gust of wind hammered away at a stack of old boards leaning against the barn. They rattled uncontrollably until they suddenly all toppled to the ground!

Another flash of lightning exploded in the night sky– shooting through the clouds–splitting into fiery veins. To Jacob it was as if they were a thousand fingers reaching in every direction.

The trees around his grandpa’s home bent and swayed in the wind nearly touching the ground. Another flash of lightning and then another! Leaves, exploding in every direction, overwhelmed the night sky with a clutter of green that was spectacularly lit by the erratic flashes of light.

Jacob had never seen anything this amazing before. He had spent most of his life living in the city with his father and mother. And while they had their storms, there was little comparison to this! Another angry outburst of thunder shook the house.

With the unexpected death of his father, Jacob and his mother moved to the other side of the country, almost a world away from everything Jacob understood. To live with his grandfather in a new and completely unfamiliar place–a farming community near a little township called Carthage Falls.

In truth, Jacob knew little about his Grandpa Ezra. So far apart from one another, the best they could do were brief conversations in long distant phone calls. Jacob’s memories and visions of his grandfather were mostly from short greetings followed by moments of small talk, and an old photo of him on his father’s desk.

So–here he was now–in his grandpa’s house. Fate, presenting him with a peculiar twist of life, being a stranger in a strange land; and yet the beginning of something new, and apparently, at this moment, ushering it in with spectacular force!

Jacob felt oddly drawn to the wind and the commotion happening outside–the lighting. He opened his bedroom door and looked down the hallway of his grandfather’s home. It was dark and quiet. He listened intently for any familiar sound. Only the wind rattling the shingles on the roof and the distant sound of thunder resonated amongst the walls. Slowly he ventured into the hallway and crept along quietly so that neither his mother nor his grandpa would hear him. Another flash of lightning and a low rumble of thunder caused him to pause. He was standing right outside his mother’s open bedroom door. He marveled at the fact that she was still sleeping.

As he continued down the hall there was another crashing sound of thunder that shook the house so completely, he wondered if it might collapse. This time he was sure it would wake them, so he stood silently in the dark waiting, listening for them to stir; expecting them at any moment. He was curious, how would they react? Would his mother be afraid? He imagined her wrapping her arms around him, being reassuring and comforting. What would his grandpa do?

He waited, listening. In the dark, it felt like forever. And yet, oddly, they never came. He cautiously continued along the hallway and then crept down the stairs, moving along until he was in the kitchen. The kitchen that was so dark, so unfamiliar and new to him. Yet, it was filled with things; things that made him feel safe; things that he immediately identified with his grandfather.

Jacob hurried to the back door and opened it as quietly as possible. Though, he wasn’t too worried. Neither his mother nor grandfather had heard the storm raging outside. And they hadn’t heard him.

A sudden gust of wind took hold of the door yanking the knob from his hand, forcing the door all the way open. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. It was a warm wind, earthy and fresh, rushing over his arms, tossing his hair in every direction. Once more in erratic bursts, the lighting lit the way, revealing the entire yard. And somehow, in the strange glow from the storm it looked different—-magical; a world which could only be seen between the twilight and the brilliant blinding eruptions of each thunderbolt.

Jacob closed his eyes and raised his arms as he walked out into the turbulent wind. A gathering of leaves rustled around him, bumping into him as if they were alive; lightning igniting bolts of blue light illuminating everything. It was strangely exhilarating. He opened his eyes and ran through the wind to the front of his grandpa’s house where he found himself standing on the brick walkway.

As if the lighting energized him with strength, he could feel a shiver climbing his spine and the hair bristling at the back of his neck. It was at that moment he sensed something. He couldn’t put his finger on it at first, but he felt like there was something or–someone standing behind him!

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I would like to introduce you to a new resource for authors–The Authors’ Ally–created specifically for authors, by authors, who are self publishing their own works. The goal of our organization is to offer specific promotional tools as well as technical services at a nominal price range. Why, because most writers want to write and  have limited funds to put themselves out there. And, considering the internet wasteland left behind by the ongoing publishing collapse it is nearly impossible to get noticed without a few of these resources.

In the coming months TAA will continue to add services for self promoting authors. We will also develop package deals designed to give you the best results for your money. We know how hard it is to blend two completely different worlds, writing and marketing. We also know that your greatest success is in doing what you do best. If you decide to join us at TAA, what you will never have to do ever again is pay boutique prices to get your name and your books out there.

Of course, while we can help with the self promotion, we can’t make up the difference for a poorly written story. That is your job! But, think about this, by using TAA to promote you, you can do what you do best–write! So, go write that next book and use The Authors’ Ally and we will bring new tools to promote you, (and we have some great ones coming) so that you will be a success!

Kevin Lazarus

Author at reallycreepystories.com

Below is an excerpt from our press release:

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With the dramatic changes taking place in the publishing world, leaving writers to promote their own e-books, The Authors Ally is offering an ever increasing supply of tools to help authors through the chaos of self promotion.

Salem, Utah, February 13, 2012 — “The publishing landscape has been nuked!” Says fantasy author Kevin Lazarus, while attending LTUE writing symposium being held at Utah Valley University. “It’s like someone dropped a bomb and wiped out the centuries old publishing world. Attending Reps from established publishing houses looked like a deer in the headlights, clearly in a state of denial that their industry has changed forever! It’s like when the printing press came into existence or we went from cassettes to DVDs, but worse. Truth is…no one seems to have a real handle on where all of this is going… That’s just how dramatic this sea change is.” Mr. Lazarus went on to explain that the industry is being flooded with a tidal wave of new works that are creating a world of white noise, making it nearly impossible for everyone, including long established authors, to self-promote their works.

In response to the growing marketing confusion, new breeds of self publishing houses have come into existence. One of these is The Authors Ally in Salem, Utah. They focus entirely on e-books and plan to offer a variety of services designed solely to ease authors’ headaches; with everything from uploading manuscripts to self promotion. “We hope to offer a service soon that will give authors the kind of feedback they desperately need as well as the demographics they require to find their audience,” says Jesse Fisher, founder and partner of The Author’s Ally. “Our goal is to get away from the boutique mentality of the past book culture and address the digital age demands for the new world of publishing. As we add services to our website, authors will be able to hand pick what they want for a nominal price point.”

For additional information on The Author’s Ally, visit www.TheAuthorsAlly.com.

Write me if you questions: kevin@reallycreepystories.com

I’m participating in the Bloody Hearts Blog Hop. Everyone who reads this blog receives a FREE e-copy of Celeste and the Eyes of the Demon, by Kevin Lazarus. FOLLOW THE LINK at the end of this blog!

(Excerpt CONTINUED From: Celeste and the Eyes of the Demon – by Kevin Lazarus)

NOTE from the author:  I’m sharing with you excerpts from my latest short story. Friday, we’ll have another guest blog about writing or the entertainment industry. Thanks and enjoy! K. Lazarus

Celeste carefully examined every inch of her appearance in the mirror. From her eyeliner to her dark costume made of black polyester, with webbed lace in all the right places. Black nylons, also decorated with webs, hugged the contour of her legs. She was determined to stand out above all the others–especially her friends. It was most certainly a contest and she was going to win!

Celeste mentally checked off everything. She’d had her shower, washed her costume and her hair was perfect. Lipstick–just right. A few extra goodies in her purse and she was ready. Everything was perfect. She was perfect. But she couldn’t stop staring in the mirror. She just couldn’t get over how fantastic she looked.

She’d been such a spindly little thing when she was younger. And of course, no one liked her back then. But look at me know, she mused. I’ve grown up…in all of the right places, and I’m the most popular girl in the entire school. She smiled wryly, almost a wicked grin. And look at who my boyfriend is!

Celeste removed a plastic container from her purse and opened it. Inside were a set of vampire fangs. Not the cheap kind! These were the best money could buy. She put them in her mouth and bit down. As she reopened her mouth, she couldn’t help but admire the long slender fangs, white and sharp. With a wide grin she almost giggled.

“THE CONTACTS!” she said. Celeste once more retrieved the curious little black container and unlocked it. With a slight grimace, she fingered through the amber jell until she had one of the contacts. Pulling it from the amber solution proved to be somewhat tricky as she worked to dig the contact out of the strange material. When she finally had it, the amber goo slithered back into the container. Her mouth wrinkled slightly as she held it up to her right eye. Tilting her head back while looking towards the ceiling she carefully placed the contact in her eye and blinked.

Celeste looked in the mirror to make sure it was in place. When she did, she was stunned at how incredible it looked. “Wow–” she said.

Now, clearly convinced that the contacts were the finishing touch she’d hoped they’d be, she opened the little black container and retrieved the other contact.

Celeste blinked a couple of times after placing the second contact and then, once more looked in the mirror. As she opened her eyes, she marveled at how amazing the blood red lenses looked–each little vein spiraling out from the center. “Oh–that’s so awesome!”

Fascinated, she moved a little closer to the mirror and stared deeper into the reflection of her eyes. To her surprise, the remaining amber solution still on her contacts gradually dissolved into her eyes. Instantly, a burning sensation shot through her pupils, searing the centers of her eyes.

Celeste stumbled back, collapsing into the corner of the bathroom. She pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes, rubbing them, whimpering and swearing. Gradually the pain subsided as she crawled back over to the counter and pulled herself up. Frightened, once more she leaned over the counter close to the mirror and opened her eyes wide as possible. In the reflection, Celeste was horrified to see that each eye had turned completely red–bright red. It appeared as if the contacts had become part of her eyes!

For a brief moment she considered removing them, but as she looked a little closer it occurred to her that she couldn’t see the edges of the contacts. Then she noticed the time and realized that her friends were going to be there any moment. The pain was gone, she thought. And they do look kind of hot. Celeste knew she was out of time and figured that she would deal with them after the dance. She quickly touched up her make-up, making sure she appeared as pale as possible while still looking hot. “Besides,” she said, talking to herself in the mirror. “I paid a lot of money for these things girl–you need to get your moneys worth out of ‘em.” With a final glance in the mirror, she used her finger to smooth her lipstick after which she pressed her lips tightly and hurried down the hall.

“Celeste, your friends are here!” Aiden yelled. He tilted his head slightly, eyeing Cam, starting with his shoes–and then his hair. Aiden folded his arms and squinted at him.

Cam nervously tugged at the collar of his tux, hoping Celeste’s little brother wasn’t going to be a problem. Cam’s face was covered with white make-up with red droplets painted in the corners of his mouth. He smiled nervously at Aiden, his vampire fangs clearly visible.

“She’s always late,” Aiden said flatly.

“Huh? Oh yeah–” Cam nodded.

Aiden gave him a questionable glance and another slight smirk, as if Cam were an idiot. “Yeah–okay–”

Celeste all of a sudden appeared in flurry, her long blond hair in stark contrast against her black dress. She grabbed a lengthy black coat draped over a chair in the living room and flung it around her like a cape. As she slipped her arms into the sleeves, she smiled at Cam, pleased that he was staring at her–his mouth open.

At the door she stopped near Aiden. The harshness was gone from her expression as she smiled. “Remember–don’t burn the place down, okay–?”

(CONTINUED)

Read the rest of the story FREE at Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/128033

Copyright 2012 Kevin Lazarus/DreamStream Productions Inc.

Kevin Lazarus NOW on SMASHWORDS!

Coming Soon!

Copyright 2012 by Kevin Lazarus

NOTE from the author:  I’m sharing with you excerpts from my latest short story. Friday, we’ll have another guest blog about writing or the entertainment industry. Thanks and enjoy! K. Lazarus

Another odd feature was a mysterious latch on the side of the container. To her surprise, she realized that it required a key to open it. She frantically searched through what remained of the box until she found the key taped to the inside of the cardboard. There was only a glimmer of realization that the key was fashioned with the same curious workmanship as the container.

Celeste carefully turned the key in the lock and opened it. The Amber solution inside wasn’t a solution at all, but more like jelly. With her long slender index finger she carefully pushed against it. Almost immediately it adhered to her finger, sticking and stretching as she pulled away. When it finally released, it snapped back into the container.

“Wow!” she exclaimed quietly, “these are the weirdest contact lenses I’ve ever seen.” She looked them over more carefully, with growing interest. “I am going to look so hot tonight!” she said.

Celeste glanced up at the clock. “Oh crap, I need to get ready!”

At that, she hurried out of the bathroom into the kitchen, where she grabbed the bowl her mother suggested; along with the bags of candy, hurrying to the front door. She tore open the end of one of the bags with her teeth, carelessly dumping everything into the bowl; candy bouncing everywhere–much of it falling on the floor. And then, not even stopping to pick up them up, she hurried back down the hall to her bedroom.

Halfway down the hall, she stopped at the laundry room. With a quick glance, to make sure she was alone; she unzipped the back of her vampire costume and slipped out of it, tossing it into the washing machine.

With laundry soap spilling everywhere, she dumped a handful of it in with her costume–then dialed the setting, hit the start button and turned to leave. As she did, she bumped into a dark figure and a hideous face–tongue hanging out of its mouth–eyes twisting and pointing in opposite directions. Celeste screamed until she realized that it was her little brother.

“Aiden, you sick little prick! You nearly scared me to death!” She put her hands up to his throat wanting to ring his neck, but resisted the temptation when she remembered she was standing there in her underwear. She quickly grabbed a towel from the laundry basket and wrapped it around herself.

“Take that stupid mask off! Have you been standing there the whole time?” She looked around again a little more carefully. She was sure he wasn’t alone. “NONE OF YOUR FRIENDS BETTER BE IN HERE!” she said. “I’LL TELL YOUR PARENTS IF YOU ARE!” She eyed her little brother warily. “If any of your friend’s are–!”

“Relax sis,” he said as he pulled off his mask. “There’s no one here yet–honest! Scared you though, didn’t I?”

“I swear Aiden–” Celeste turned her nose up at him as she pushed past him. “So–listen up you little letch, if you mess up my plans tonight–in anyway! I’ll get even with you for sure!”

“Why don’t you chill! You know, you use to be so much fun.” Aiden tipped his head back, mocking her, and then attempting to sound like her. “Now you act all sophisticated and prissy–bleh!” He followed her to her bedroom door.

She pulled the towel around her a little tighter. “Oh, please–” she snapped, suddenly turning to face him. “Listen, I’m not going to be here tonight–”

“Big surprise there,” he said.

“Just shut up and listen!” she said. “Mom and Dad aren’t going to be here either, so you’re going to have the place all to yourself–you and your friends.”

Aiden’s eyes lit up as she continued.

“I’ve already put the candy out. Just put the bowl outside when you and your weirdo friends go trick or treating. But remember, just because you have the place all to yourselves–that doesn’t mean you destroy the house or burn it to the ground, okay?

Aiden rolled his eyes.

“Oh please–remember the last time?” She said. Celeste smiled wryly, eyeing him.

“Yeah, yeah–I was like six!”

“You were twelve!” she said. “And mom and dad had to have the entire kitchen replaced!”

“It was an accident!”

“I rest my case–” she said, walking into her room. “Now leave me alone, I need to get ready!” With that, she slammed her door in his face.

Aiden stood there staring at it. His smile melted away to a frown. There was an apparent sadness in his eyes. Half under his breath he spoke quietly, “Why’d ya have to go and change?” he said. “Why’d ya have to grow up?” He thoughtfully watched her door a moment longer and then walked away silent.

Celeste stood there staring at her bedroom door. She’d heard every word he’d said. She frowned a little knowing that he wanted her to go out trick or treating with him. It was something that the two of them use to do all the time. But somewhere during the last couple of years, she started hanging out with new friends. She thought about the first time they’d gone together. He was a lot younger than her. The tail on his lion costume kept getting stepped on by the other kids, so she held it for him while they walked along. The corners of her mouth fell as her frown deepened. “I’m too old for that Aiden,” she said. “You should know that by now–”

But nothing she said changed a thing. She was still troubled by what he’d said. Celeste literally shook her head, trying to shake the thought out of her mind as she hurried into her bathroom to take a shower. “What am I suppose to do–stop growing?”

(CONTINUED)

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Copyright 2012 Kevin Lazarus/DreamStream Productions Inc.

Kevin Lazarus NOW on SMASHWORDS!

Coming Soon!

Copyright 2012 by Kevin Lazarus

NOTE from the author:  I’m sharing with you excerpts from my latest short story. Friday, we’ll have another guest blog about writing or the entertainment industry. Thanks and enjoy! K. Lazarus

The cheerleader’s mouth dropped open. And with every ounce of anger she could gather she started spitting and sputtering. “You–you little–”

At that point Davin said nothing else, she just turned her back to Celeste, picked up her books and walked away–trying not to appear hurt. She gave Celeste another spiteful glance and then hurried out of site.

“What are you going to do Celeste–you can’t let her get away with that!” declared one of the other cheerleaders.

Celeste said nothing. She just stood there staring down the hallway, thinking about Davin’s comment, about them “once” having ‘been friends.” It was true. They had been friends in elementary school. She remembered the two of them sitting together during lunch, sharing their food. She grimaced. That was then and this is now, she thought. Celeste knew she couldn’t allow the others to see her showing any emotion. She turned and started laughing. “Tonight at the dance–” she declared. “I’ll get even with her somehow!”

One of her cheerleader friends, a snippy little brunette said: “What? Do you have an idea?”

Celeste glanced down the hall once more, but Davin was no longer there. “Nothing yet, but we’ll think of something,” she said, the corners of her mouth turning up slightly, a wicked glimmer in her eyes.

From the mass of students still milling about, someone whistled at the cheerleaders.

“H-e-e-ey, Celeste,–nice costume!” Someone said. Cam Wilson emerged from the crowd dressed like a football player, eyeing Celeste from top to bottom, acting tough as he put his arms around her.

“Oh Cam,” she groused, “is that the best you can do–your football uniform?”

“What can I say,” he grinned, “my fans love me like this.”

“You mean, the other girls don’t you?” she frowned.

Cam didn’t answer her. He just smiled a knowing smile. “What, you jealous?”

“Oh please,” she snapped.

Several of her friends laughed until Celeste glared at them. But that didn’t stop the snickers.

Cam appeared frustrated by her reaction. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me that you’re going home to change before the dance tonight! I didn’t go to all this effort, putting together this outfit just so that I can go around with you–looking like that!”

Cam scrunched his mouth tightly. He leaned closer to her. “I don’t like the cape thing,” he said quietly. “I think I look stupid in it–”

“Okay–” she snapped, “so don’t wear the cape, but you have to wear the rest of it. I didn’t spend all that money for nothing!” With a sudden transformation that would make any guy’s head spin, she gave him a teasing smile–all sweet and innocent. She walked her fingers up the front of his jersey, hooking the front of his collar, pulling him closer. With a sultry tone she said: “And–if you plan to spend time with me–you know–”

She smiled a wicked grin at him, but her eyes weren’t smiling at all. They were intense, sharp and somewhat menacing. She let go of him and spun back around facing her friends. “I better get going,” she said. “I need to go home and take care of my snotty little brother and get ready for the dance.

Her friend Trish nodded. “We’ll pick you up like we planned.”

“Sick!” said Celeste with a smile. She turned her head slightly and shot Cam a dirty look. “Don’t you dare make them late!” she snarled.

Cam frowned and then attempted to smile, trying not to appear too disgusted.

***

As Celeste walked out the front doors of the high school, she ran into another girl, knocking her to the ground. Celeste didn’t even stop. She kept right on walking. In a rather snarky tone she snapped, “Watch where you’re going you little rag!”

***

Celeste squealed with delight when she first discovered the little brown box sitting on the table near the front door. She grabbed it along with the paper sitting under it and hurried down the hall to her bathroom. “Oh! Oh!” she gasped excitedly. “This is so sick!” she squealed. “I am going to look so intense tonight! Everyone at the dance won’t be able to take their eyes off of me!”

As she tore open the box, she took a quick glance at the paper that her mother had left under it. It was a note explaining that she and Daddy wouldn’t be home until late; have fun at the dance, and make sure before you go out that you help your brother set up the candy. The note went on to explain that there’s a large bowl in the corner kitchen cabinet.

Celeste didn’t take a second look at the note. She simply tossed it to the side and pulled out a small container from inside of what remained of the box–smiling a wicked little grin of delight. She also didn’t notice the rather curious workmanship of its construction; a black metal compact with odd ribbing winding around the outside of it. Strange symbols etched in between the ribbing and a little brass plaque at the top of a clear glass lid that simply said: “Demon Eyes.”

Inside, she could see what appeared to be a set of red colored contacts floating in an amber solution, tiny little veins flowing out from the center of each contact. Her eyes widened with delight. “They’re so cool!” she said. (CONTINUED)

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Copyright 2012 Kevin Lazarus/DreamStream Productions Inc.

Kevin Lazarus NOW on SMASHWORDS!

Coming Soon!

By Kevin Lazarus

David Farland

(From David Farland’s Daily Kick in the Pants) Selfish Art

There is a problem with the arts, one that I have not addressed, and it is this: If you have the fortune (or misfortune) of being a gifted artist, it can corrupt you.

If you are a gifted artist, people will tend to be moved by your art. They will praise you in private letters, offer you awards, present you with valuable gifts, fawn over you, seek to seduce you, and so on, and this can corrupt and destroy you.

It starts innocently enough with praise. Every author that I know of feeds on praise to some extent. We need praise. I was fascinated a few months back to learn that the single biggest factor to predicting longevity is the “approbation of our peers.” When others praise us consistently and admire our efforts, it reduces the harmful stress in our lives and not only allows us to perform at our peak, but also lengthens our years.

But praise is a fickle thing, and few artists have a career where they are praised and receive awards on a regular basis. I have known authors who received early praise to grouse when a competing author receives a rave review, wins an award, or hits high on the bestseller list. Such authors become ravaged by jealousy and despair, to the point where such authors have been known to fall into alcoholism, drug addiction, or suffer from suicidal tendencies.

Even worse, praise is so often insincere. It costs nothing to give, and so has little real value.

Other authors buy into the belief that their talent makes them inherently superior to others, so that they somehow exist in an elevated realm above the rest of humanity, and feel entitled to favor. I was recently speaking to an author who was hoping to get an endowment from a wealthy patron. I wondered, “Have you ever considered actually working for your money? It’s not very hard to make, if you work for it.” I actually suggested a couple of ways for her to make the money she wanted—all of which per promptly rejected.

When authors become puffed up in pride, they often become demeaning or dismissive of others, and I know of authors who love to ridicule and condemn their competitors in an effort to boost their own reputation. Such authors often treat the unwashed masses with contempt, having no patience with waiters, hoteliers, or similar “little people.” Very often, such authors blind themselves to the strengths and talents of others to the point that they look doubly foolish.

This sense of entitlement often is manifested in sexual aggression. I’ve known several male authors who could not be trusted to enter into an elevator with a pretty girl who was alone. Back during the 19th Century, authors of genius tended to die from social disease so often that it became cliché.

In short, talented artists may create wondrous things but become pathetic, miserable, self-destructive people. I’m reminded by this again and again when I read about people like Poe, Michelangelo, Paganini, Mozart, and most lately Tolstoy.

Here is a quote from a recent review of a biography of Sofia Tolstoy that demonstrates the problem (in very, very small part). Sofia says of her husband:

“For a genius one has to create a peaceful, cheerful, comfortable home. A genius must be fed, washed and dressed, must have his works copied out innumerable times, must be loved and spared all cause for jealousy, so he can be calm. Then one must feed and educate the innumerable children fathered by this genius, whom he cannot be bothered to care for himself, as he has to commune with the Epictetuses, Socrateses and Buddhas, and aspire to be like them himself.”

The biographer, Cathy Porter, then notes: “In 1910, just a month before the 82-year-old Tolstoy fled Yasnaya Polyana on the trip that would lead to his death in a railway station far from his home, Sofia — now in her late 60s — celebrates her “name day,” which is also the day that Tolstoy proposed to her. She asks herself: “What did he do to that eighteen-year-old Sonechka Behrs, who gave him her whole life, her love and her trust?” She sums up the 48 years of their life together: “He has tortured me with his coldness, his cruelty and his extreme egotism.””

May I suggest that if you find yourself the object of adoration by fans, you can remain humble by looking upon the strengths of others outside your discipline? You can treat others as equals, nurturing and loving them and learning from them the highest art from them—the art of living.

If you find yourself the object of praise one week and scorn the next, you can treasure your triumphs while learning from your failures. You need not go to bed for a week suffer from crying jags, or cook up a dose of heroin, or try to destroy the reputation of your competitors.

While your art may make great demands of you, you need not lay your life upon its altar.

–

A final note: Currently, I’m getting ready to take my Runelords series to Hollywood. I’ve written what I believe is the best screenplay for a fantasy in many, many years. Worked my tail off. But in order to get the movie made, I’ll need to convince Hollywood that it is worth doing. One way to do that is to simply look at how many people are interested. If you would like to see a great fantasy movie—in line with Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter, please go to my web page at www.runelordsmovie.com and then like it and—this is important—share it on Facebook. We need a couple of million fans right away.

If you do that, I can do the rest.

www.nightingalenovel.com.

READ: Nightingale, by David Farland

MORE about David Farland at: http://www.davidfarland.com/

by Kevin Lazarus

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