Carrot Ranch #FlashFiction Challenge October 28: Tools for Homework

This post was written in response to Charli Mills Flash Fiction Challenge over at Carrot Ranch

 

**********

Homework

‘Can I go out, mum?’

‘Not till you finish your Spanish homework.’

‘Can’t do it. It’s a six-word flash fiction post on the class blog, about homework. In Spanish!’

‘Six words. Sounds simple to me.’

‘How’s your Spanish?’

‘Rusty. I’ll need Google translator. Let me use your Tablet.’

‘No way. All my private conversations keep popping up.’

‘It’s supposed to be a tool for homework, not socializing!’

‘I can do both.’

‘Homework’s due. Tablet’s gone. Detention’s sure.’ 

‘You can’t do that!’

‘What about this one: Her only tool, a ballpoint pen’

‘You’re joking!’

‘Tablet’s repossessed. Use your head instead.’

**********

I’m all for students using new digital technologies, but often they’re misused. Some students are great at chatting and playing games, but haven’t a clue how to search for information, sift through it, analyze it, or use it to understand or further their knowledge.

When I’m not writing, I’m an English teacher. When my students tell me they can’t do their homework, because they don’t know the meaning of a word, I remind them that they’re the only generation in the history of mankind who has access to all the information humanity has accumulated on the tips of their fingers. The sad part is that some of them don’t understand how that can be true. In some cases giving young people a mobile or a Tablet is like giving someone who can’t read a book. He could have fun using the pages to make paper planes.

*********

This week’s prompt and rules: In 99 words (no more, no less) include a tool in a story. How can it enhance the character, tension or meaning? It can also be a story about a tool or a character’s obsession for tools. Go where the prompt leads.

Would you like to take part or read some of the other entries? Here they are.

Today is All Hallows. Find out What Happened at Eyre Hall on That Day #HalloweenBooks

Yesterday was All Hallows Eve, which has come to be known as Halloween. I wrote about how the festivity was celebrated in Victorian England, and what happened on that day at Eyre Hall.

Today’s post is about what happened the following day, November 1st, All Hallows or All Souls’ Day. It is no spoiler that Mr. Rochester is on his death-bed, and is destined to pass away during the course of the novel. However, there is a hint of a big spoiler in the extract. You will be glimpsing an unexpected and dramatic turn in Jane’s life.

Here is Chapter XXIV, which narrates the moment Mr. Rochester’s death is discovered and made known to the residents at Eyre Hall.

Deceased

“Mrs. Rochester! The master is dead! We must stop the clocks and drape all the mirrors in the house, or his spirit will be trapped. He will not be able to leave Eyre Hall, so he will haunt us forever! The windows must be opened and the curtains drawn to let the good spirits in to look after him and keep the malignant out. We must bring ice from the kitchen to put under the bed, or malignant life will crawl out of his mouth and ears.”

Simon had reached the bottom of the staircase, as I stepped out of the library into the hall with Michael. The drawing-room door opened and Adele screamed, “Simon! For goodness sake be quiet, you will wake all the dead in the graveyard!”

John was standing behind Adele looking bewildered, “Mother, what has happened?”

His face white and his expression quite horrified. I rushed to his side, “John, he is at peace at last. There is nothing we can do, except pray.”

“Father!” He shouted, as he pushed past me and rushed up the staircase.

“Wait!” I screamed and turned to Michael, “Michael, go with him! He can’t be alone now!” Michael obeyed at once.

Bishop Templar turned to me and spoke gravely, “Mrs. Rochester, may I suggest we follow John and say some prayers by his bedside?”

“Of course, my Lord, let us go upstairs together.” I took his arm and beckoned to Adele, “Adele, darling, will you come up with us?”

“Not yet, Jane. I can’t bear to think of his lifeless body! I can’t go up now.”

She seemed so distressed that I had no choice but to agree, “Well, wait here. Mr. Greenwood, would you be so kind as to accompany Adele in such a painful moment for her and console her as best you can?”

“Of course, Mrs. Rochester. Come, Adele, let us wait in the drawing-room.”

“Mr. Mason, Annette, will you be so kind as to wait a few minutes while I go upstairs with Bishop Templar?”

“Mrs. Rochester, I would like to go up with you, if you don’t mind.” Annette was looking at me earnestly. I told her Edward was her father. She had just met him, and he was dead, quite a dreadful succession of events for an evening. 

“Of course you can. Are you sure you won’t be too distressed?”

“Quite sure.”

“Then come with us. Mr. Mason, would you kindly wait with Adele and Mr. Greenwood?”

“Of course, madam. Accept my most sincere condolences, and if I can be of any use, please let me know.”

“Thank you, Mr. Mason.”

Before heading up the stairs I turned to Simon, “Please see to the clocks. Go down to the kitchen to tell the rest of the household what has happened, and bring some drapery to cover the mirrors, and of course, the ice.”

“Yes, madam.”

“I will tell Michael to fetch the undertakers at Millcote and Dr. Carter.”

“Yes, madam.”

“I understand you worked for an undertaker in London before working at Eyre Hall, is that so?”

He nodded proudly, “Yes, madam.”

“Could you dress Mr. Rochester when…?” Tears came to my eyes, as I said his name. My feet softened and floated, and my hand slipped from the Bishop’s arm. The floor swayed and I lost my balance. I felt rough, sturdy fingers clasp my waist, as I fell backwards and looked into Mr. Mason’s furrowed brow.

“Mrs. Rochester! Are you unwell?”

“Thank you, Mr. Mason. I am feeling a little dizzy.”

“Please, allow me to accompany you upstairs.” I nodded, and he held out his arm for me to cling to. “Thank you, Mr. Mason.”

When we arrived at the top of the stairs, the gallery seemed darker and narrower than usual and the floor was rolling, as if I were walking on waves. Tears were running freely down my cheeks, and I was still having difficulty breathing.

Mr. Mason took my hand in his and squeezed it hard, “Unfortunately, Mrs. Rochester, this is God’s plan for all of us.” I cringed at his touch, which fortunately brought me back to reality.

Inside Edward’s chamber, our son was kneeling down on the floor by his father’s side, holding his hand and kissing it. Annette was kneeling down on the opposite side of the bed, doing exactly the same. Bishop Templar stood behind John with his hands on his shoulders, attempting to comfort him, while Mr. Mason left my side and stood vigilantly behind Annette.

The Bishop was speaking, but my heart was thumping so loudly I could not hear what he was saying. The room was hot and the air was thick and putrid. I looked at my husband and gasped. Edward’s eyes were frighteningly open, as if he had seen a ghost, and his mouth was wide open, too, as if he had gasped for air before dying. His face was as pale as death itself, and his chest crushed and lifeless. He had gone. 

Once more I felt my legs bend into the floor. The hexagonal forms on the carpet were sliding into squares as my stomach churned. Michael rushed to my side and I managed to say, “I’m going to be sick,” just before he carried me to the toilet table. When I finished, he took the ewer and poured some water on my hands and I washed my face, then he led me to a chair at the foot of the bed.

I heard the distant voice of the Bishop saying some prayers to bid him farewell and facilitate his transit to his new abode in the Kingdom of Heaven, but I was not sure if that would be his destination. He had not confessed his sins. He had not repented for his misdeeds. He had not made his peace with our creator before dying, and he might not be allowed to leave Eyre Hall yet.

I stood up and turned to Michael beckoning him to follow me. We walked out of the chamber and turned into the shorter gallery and the stairs leading to my chamber, where we could not be seen. His eyes shone in the unlit passage. I reached for his hands, and he pulled me closer whispering, “Are you all right, Mrs. Rochester?”

“Yes, I shall be all right.”

“You look unwell.”

“Michael, please go to Millcote and bring the undertaker as soon as possible. There are many preparations that need to be attended.”

“It shall take more than four hours. Will you not need me here?”

“Simon will attend to matters here, in the meantime. He knows what to do.”

His concerned eyes bore into mine, “But you will be alone.”

“Only for a few hours.”

He moved closer, “Before you go, Mrs. Rochester, promise me something.”

“What is it?”

“Promise me you will not take any of Mr. Rochester’s drops.”

He was right. I had thought of succumbing to the easy comfort of the miraculous drug. I put my arms around him, “Hold me, Michael.”

He spoke into my hair, “I cannot leave, if you do not promise. I saw you looking at Mr. Rochester’s medicine cabinet.”

“You are right, the temptation is great.”

“It is very harmful. Think of John, he needs you, so does Helen… and so do I.”

I pressed my face into his chest, praying I would be strong enough to get through the wake and the funeral without breaking down, or relapsing into the comfort of laudanum once again. It was a pleasant and swift evasion, but I shuddered at the thought of its dire consequences, which I had already experienced. Michael was stroking my hair, waiting for my reply, “Promise me.” He insisted.

I broke away and smiled, “I promise. Now go, and please be careful, Michael. It is very late and there is a full moon. Last month a pack of foxes attacked a farmer.”

He told me he would be back as soon as possible, and I returned to the death chamber. They were all looking at Edward and listening to Bishop Templar’s prayers, except Mr. Mason, whose dark ominous eyes were fastened on me, as I entered the room. We listened in solemn silence to the familiar words of Christian consolation, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me…”

Minutes later Simon arrived with drapery for the long mirror. He told me he had covered all the other mirrors in the house and had stopped the clocks. I told him to bring the ice and wash, shave, and dress Edward in his best clothes. We all left when he returned to prepare the corpse.

Downstairs in the drawing-room, Adele was still distraught and being consoled by Mr. Greenwood. I excused myself and went down to the servants’ quarters to discuss arrangements with Mrs. Leah.

****

Mr. Rochester’s death represents the end of an era. He was more linked to the rigid 18th century modes of thinking than to the more progressive 19th century social, scientific, industrial, and intellectual advances, which would change Great Britain forever. New times are awaiting Jane and all the members of her extended family. These changes will start immediately, and although it is a change she is ready to embrace, it will be traumatic. The full extent will be felt in books two, Twelfth Night at Eyre Hall and book three, Midsummer at Eyre Hall.

I hope you enjoyed the extract 🙂

#SoCS Oct 10/30 The Stranger: A Short Story for #Halloween

This short story for Halloween was written in response to Linda G. Hill’s Stream of consciousness Saturday prompt

This weeks’ prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “strange/stranger/strangest.”  Use one, use ’em all, or just let them inspire you. Have fun!

halloween-outfits

****

The stranger: A Disquieting Short Story for Halloween.

Last night I was alone. I’m always alone, until the stranger comes. I was waiting by the unlit fireplace feeling the chill in my soul. My coat was drenched. Water slid down my hair and dripped onto the floor. The front door swung open and footsteps approached. I hid behind the heavy curtains and waited. What was this stranger doing in my house? He swiped his hands across his face, and then grasped the mantelpiece.

‘Where are you?’ He asked. 

I dared not speak.

‘I can feel you,’ he whispered. 

He turned to the window. I shuddered. He pulled back the heavy fabric and stood just inches away from me.

‘Why are you doing this?’ 

Thank God he couldn’t see me either, but I made sure he heard me. I blew as hard as I could. The wind brushed his face and shook the paintings on the wall behind him. They fell instantly. 

‘Can’t we get on?’

I pushed him with all my might. He hit the mantelpiece.

‘Couldn’t you forgive me?’

I kicked the table. It flew across the room.

‘I’m sorry.’

I pulled the lamp off the ceiling. It crashed by his side.

‘I didn’t see you. If I had seen you, I’d have stopped.’

I wanted to tell him how I felt. Alone. Nobody can see me or hear me, and I’m cold and wet, all the time. I’m in hell since he summoned me!

‘Your husband felt guilty, too. He sold the house and I bought it.’

I threw a glass jar against the mirror, above the fireplace.The splinters showered to his feet. All turns to silver glass.

‘I’m not leaving. You’re angry, but it wasn’t my fault. You were upset because he was leaving you.”

I flung a heavy book into his stomach. He doubled up in pain. I almost felt sorry for him, but he continued, breathing heavily.

‘So you went out in the rain, walked along the lonely country road, and I ran you over.’ 

I needed to silence his feverish mind, so I threw the kitchen knife. The blade brushed his ear and sunk into the bookshelf all the way down to the wooden handle.

‘Perhaps you’re right. I deserve to die. Then you’ll forgive me at last.’

I watched him pull the knife out of the wall and thrust it into his heart.

I smiled. 

I was free to leave his psychotic mind forever, but I needed a new master.

I wonder which type of stranger will adopt me now?

****

I’ve had all day to think about this story before writing it down (as I looked after my grandchild and prepared Jack o’ Lanterns, etc.).

wpid-edited_img-20151031-wa0025.jpg 

Nevertheless, I must admit. Although most of it did ‘flow’ straight off, I later went back and corrected much more than I normally would for a Stream-of-Consciousness piece. But being Halloween, and being a literary piece today, I allowed myself this small departure from the rules. I hope you don’t mind, Linda, and other participants.

If you’d like to read some of the other responses check out this link.

Find Out What Happened on ‘All Hallows’ at ‘Eyre Hall’ #HalloweenBooks

All Hallows at Eyre Hall, owes its title to the fact that the main events in the novel occur on and around All Hallows. The following two excerpts narrate the events leading up to All Hallows, at Eyre Hall.

When Richard Mason returns to the place where Thornfield Hall had been and Eyre Hall has been erected, he unveils Rochester’s first betrayal to Jane. The existence of his first wife, Bertha Mason’s child born at Thornfield Hall twenty-two years earlier, while Jane was employed there, as Mr. Rochester’s ward’s governess.

Once Jane has discovered Mason’s words were true, that a child was born to Bertha, while she was still married to Edward Rochester and courting her, she decides her husband must be responsible for the child, although he denies being the father. Jane argues that Edward and Bertha were legally married when the child was born.

Here is part of Jane and Edward’s argument as a result of his daughter’s arrival at the Rochester estate. Jane is worried about how the scandal will affect their son, John Rochester, while a  bedridden Edward Rochester appears unaffected. Mr. Rochester is the first speaker.

****

“He (John) will have to live with gossip and scandal, all the Rochesters have.”
“You don’t care when the scandal explodes, because it will no longer affect you. Think of your son, Edward. Think of me. I have endured enough gossip and pain on your behalf. Your first wife, her death, your London life and friends, your solitary visits to Ferndean and the Ingrams, now this other daughter, and God knows what else. I have a feeling there is more you must yet confess to before you are taken by our Lord.”
“You exaggerate, madam.”
“You are selfish, sir.”
“I am tired of this conversation. I need my rest. Leave.”
“As you wish, but she will dine here on All Hallows, and you will come down to dinner to meet her.”
“I shall not.”
“Everyone believes you are her kind benefactor and uncle.”
“Leave!”
“Unless of course you tell me the man who is responsible for her existence, you will be held responsible for your actions or carelessness with your first wife’s wellbeing.”
“Get out, I said!”
“I will carry your burden once more, but you will carry yours, too, while you are still among us. Good morning, Edward.”
“Out!”

****

Bertha’s daughter, Annette, has returned to Eyre Hall with her uncle, Richard Mason. Her visit will bring great distress to all members of the family, and change the course of their future irrevocably. This visit will take place on All Hallows.

However, The next excerpt from All Hallows at Eyre Hall is Chapter XVII, Merriment at the Rochester Arms, which describes a Halloween Party at the Rochester Arms, a nearby inn, which takes place the evening before All Hallows, on All Hallows Eve. John Rochester narrates the party he attends with Adele, Mr. Mason, and Annette Mason, Bertha’s daughter.

This chapter, which is narrated by John Rochester, describes a typical All Hallows Eve Party in Victorian England, and it also narrates vital aspects of the novel. It occurs midpoint in the novel, and almost all the main characters are either present or referred to. 

Snap-Apple_Night_globalphilosophy

****

Mr. Mason had invited me to join him and Annette for dinner at the Rochester Arms in Hay, and I asked Adele if she would like to accompany me. Adele seldom leaves the house, now that my father is bedridden, and guests are infrequent, so I was sure the dinner would be an amusing interlude for her. Mr. Raven frequently organizes entertaining banquets on merry occasions, like this evening’s All Hallows Eve dinner, as his father, old Mr. Raven used to.

Adele has always been like a devoted older sister. I love her dearly, and I am overjoyed for her contentment. I wish her to be happy, marry, and perhaps even have a family, although my mother will be very lonely at Eyre Hall once she has left. Adele has told me all about Mr. Greenwood, her new suitor from London, who will be arriving the following evening. She is planning to travel with him to Italy to an encounter with her long lost mother.

Life at Eyre Hall is no doubt dull for merry Adele. My mother is very distracted of late, worried no doubt about my father’s health and immersed in her occupations running the Estate, as well as her absorbing charity work. I often wonder what will become of her, once father was no longer with us. Her life has been so devoted to him, especially in these last few years. I am worried that she will become an eccentric recluse, although I will make sure that never happens, because I will always look after her.

Adele is apprehensive, although excited, about meeting her mother at last, but even happier at the prospect of leaving Eyre Hall for a time and becoming Mr. Greenwood’s travel companion. I am glad that I shall be finishing my studies next June, so I will return home and help my mother with the running of the Estate. She wants me to embark on a political career, but I am not sure if that is what I want to do.

I would like to travel to the United States and be acquainted with the new land and its courageous people first hand. I would also like to visit our prosperous colonies in the West Indies, although my father always told me it was a devilish place, I am sure he is exaggerating. I am also keen to visit Europe, although again, my father has warned me against fickle European women. I knew he had a disastrous experience with his first Caribbean wife, who was Mr. Mason’s sister and Annette’s aunt. Adele’s French mother had also betrayed him, and he had had a succession of capricious and disloyal women until he was fortunate enough to meet my mother and find peace and stability at last.

I long for London society, where I would meet avant-garde artists and poets, like William Morris, Alfred Tennyson or Gabriel Rossetti, although mother would prefer me to frequent social reformers and politicians, like Bishop Templar and Lord Shaftsbury. However, I am not called to being a philanthropist, like my mother, who willingly offers her time and money to needy orphans. I’m afraid I’m a traditional Rochester, like my father. I want to enjoy the privileges I have inherited. I fear I have not been called to repair the world’s injustices, as my mother would wish.

Joseph took us to the inn in our best carriage and waited there with us while we enjoyed the most magical night of the year, the night in which we witness the weakening of the barrier between this world and the other, where the dead and supernatural beings abide. I hoped to be able to get to know a supernatural being I had just met, the stunning and enigmatic woman who had suddenly burst into my life. Since the first day I had seen her strewed on the causeway below my horse, I had felt captivated by her watery eyes. I had never seen such a remarkable looking lady in England. I imagined she took after her aunt, my father’s first wife, and I understood how he must have been spellbound by her striking looks.

I had dreamt about her black almond shaped eyes shining like smoky quartz, and I longed to caress her flawless olive skin and kiss her dense creamy lips. I had never met a Jamaican woman, and I wondered if they were as compliant as I had been told, even though they were Creoles with English blood. I might follow my father’s footsteps, but I would not commit his same mistakes. Even so, I was looking forward to looking into her face once more, just to see if she stirred the same feelings a second time.

The evening was as dazzling as I had expected. We were given a table in the corner, away from the boisterous villagers, with generous helpings of roast duck and plenty of red wine from France. I had hoped to dance with Annette, and so, have the perfect excuse to hold her hand and even squeeze her waist, but in spite of her uncle’s insistence, she refused, due to her sprained ankle. Fortunately, after dinner, Mr. Mason convinced Adele to dance with him and listen to the ghost stories being told, so we were allowed to converse at our secluded table.

I realized that Annette was not the gay, undemanding type of woman I had imagined from her youth and beauty, on the contrary, she was well-read and modest, much like many of the English girls I had met. Of course she was nothing like my fiancée, Elizabeth Harwood. Elizabeth was an English rose, whose transparent skin, coral cheeks, and lips were more exquisite than any of Gainsborough’s celebrated portraits. Elizabeth is beautiful, demure, and sweet, nothing like her ambitious and ruthless father, one of the most feared judges at the Inns of Court, where he would like me to be apprenticed, when I finished at Christ Church.

I love Elizabeth, because my mother adores her, and because her father, Judge Haywood, is determined that I should be his son-in-law. Elizabeth is distant and shy, and although she insists that her greatest wish is to be by my side every day of her life, she does not exhibit any passion when she is near me. I suspect she thinks I am a good catch. I’m an only son, who will inherit a large and prosperous Estate, and she is also aware that our marriage would be very beneficial to me. 

I said I love Elizabeth, and I do, but I am not in love with her, and now, I am absolutely sure I never have been, and I never will be. I have known it since I met her, but I was sure of it two days ago. I have no doubt that there will never be any passion in our marriage, although we will probably be contented and prosperous. I am sure now that I have never been in love before, because I had never experienced such overwhelming feelings towards a woman, until a few days ago when I met Miss Annette Mason.

Annette has a wild, feral beauty I had never encountered. I was on my way back to Eyre Hall, near Hay, when I beheld a magnificent apparition in the middle of the grey wilderness. She was lying on the causeway, wrapped in a crimson cape while a thick mane of unruly black hair was set free, as her crimson bonnet bounced onto the rocky ground. I unsaddled my horse and rushed to her side, and I realized she was quite real and dreadfully hurt. She sat on the ground crying, as a trickle of blood slid down her bruised forehead, complaining of a sprained ankle, painful arm, and aching head.

My first impression had been extraordinary, but as I carried her away from the causeway onto a stile, I was stunned by her beautiful face and perfect contour. I had no idea who such an exotic and beautiful creature could be. Fortunately, I discovered that although we were related, there was no blood relationship, so my feelings were not indecent.

Yesterday, on my way back from my visit to Bishop Templar, I decided to stop by the Rochester Arms, in the hope of another chance meeting with Annette. fortunately, she was dining with her uncle, who beckoned me to sit with them. I needed little persuasion to join them and find out more about the mysterious dark beauty. So far, I have discovered that her name is Annette Mason, and she has come all the way from Jamaica to pay her last respects to my father, who has been her generous benefactor since she was a child. Her parents died when she was an infant, and she was brought up in a convent school, where she is now a music teacher. She was staying with her uncle at the Rochester Arms, waiting for an invitation to Eyre Hall.

At a surprisingly late hour, while we were still eating, Michael delivered a message from my mother, which Mr. Mason, read and replied to immediately. I offered Michael a glass of ale, which he declined with the excuse my mother had insisted he should return with the answer to her message at once. I appreciated Michael, on duty all day, so obsessed with my mother’s wellbeing, like a sentinel. It reassured me that he was always so efficiently and faithfully by her side, especially now that my father was so ill.

The news Michael brought could not be better. We would all be dining together once more at Eyre Hall the day after tomorrow, All Hallows. Annette and her uncle would be staying as guests for some days. I was so besotted by her that the news was music to my ears. I was determined that she should be my mistress, as soon as possible. I had to have her in my arms, and I imagined it would not be a difficult feat while she was staying at my house. Tonight I had to let her know how I felt and find out if she felt the same. Mr. Mason had insisted I return today to celebrate All Hallow’s Eve with his niece, and I had naturally accepted the invitation, once more.

Mr. Raven had prepared a great feast. Everyone was eating, drinking, dancing and singing while a group of musicians played delightful songs with the aid of the German flute, an English guitar, a whistle, and a hammered dulcimer. There were at least a dozen spit-roast hogs and plenty of ale and rum for everyone. 

After eating the meat, we ordered a Halloween cake. Adele suggested we cut a piece for mother and take it back to her. Each piece of cake had a button with a message for the coming year. Adele found a blue button, which meant she would be making a journey. Annette received a yellow button, meaning she would be coming into money. I discovered a white button, signifying I was to get married in the coming year. Mr. Mason got the worst one, I’m afraid. He got the black button, which predestined him to remain a solitary bachelor.

Mason naturally dismissed it with a huff as a heathen superstition, but the rest of us were very pleased with our buttons. My mother’s uneaten piece obviously hid the red button, meaning she would find her true love in the coming year. I wondered nostalgically if my demanding, short-tempered father had been the love of her life, and whether she would remarry after his death. I adored my father, but my mother was too young, beautiful and marvellous to live an isolated existence at Eyre Hall for the rest of her days.

I asked Annette to accompany me for a walk around the inn to observe the other divination practices taking place, which she had never heard of in Spanish Town. I reminded her that fortune-telling was practiced on this magical night to peep into the year ahead. Most young people were interested in marriage divination. So as we wandered around, we saw groups of young boys apple bobbing while girls ate and peeled apples in front of a mirror by candlelight, in the hope of getting a glimpse of their future husband.

Other groups were telling stories about ghosts and witches, who visited the earth on this night to bring messages to the living. Annette told me many of the native people in Jamaica were very superstitious and carried out black magic and witchcraft by casting spells on naive people, usually involving chants and animal sacrifice. She did not look favourably on these practices and was surprised that English people should believe in such things. I told her it was like a childish game for us.

Annette told me about how she missed the beauty of her country, the purple red skies at sunset and sunrise, and the fury of the wind in the autumn. She remembered the closeness of the moon with its dazzling moonshine and the millions of stars that covered the skies like a glittering dome. She explained how the plants are brightly coloured and smell sweeter than honey, and how the sun shines brightly every day, melting away the cold and sadness.
She asked me if I had ever visited her island, and I promised to do so, as soon as I could. She described her colonial mansion with ample verandahs all around the house overlooking the ocean. When I told her it sounded like paradise to me, she said that was what my father had said. I did not want to displease her, so I smiled, although I was surprised by her words. My father had always spoken very negatively about her country, calling it “the hellish West Indies”, but I was determined to travel there sooner than later. Annette had already convinced me of its beauty.

I told her about my mother’s plans for my future, and she told me I was lucky to have a mother who loved me and cared about my expectations. She congratulated me on my engagement, but I hastened to let her know how I felt about her. She looked surprised, even shocked, saying that we were related and should not even think about a romantic attachment. Although she added that she would like to be my friend, because she liked my company. That was enough for the moment. I apologized, not wishing to contradict her. I knew she liked me, and I would have plenty of time to seduce her while she was at Eyre Hall.

When Adele and I left the inn, on our way home, she told me she was very annoyed with me for leaving her alone with Mr. Mason for such a long time. She thought he was a most tedious companion. I apologized and promised to make it up to her by being especially amiable to Mr. Greenwood.

When we arrived, Simon opened the door and asked us if we wanted anything from the kitchen. We told him we had eaten enough food for a week and went straight up to bed. As we passed the library, Michael appeared in the hall and told us that my mother had fallen asleep. He offered to carry her up to her bedroom, mentioning that she had had an upsetting argument with Dr. Carter regarding my father’s health, so Adele offered to spend the night in her bedroom, lest she should have a nightmare.

I had noticed my mother behaving somewhat strangely since I had returned. She looked absent and lost in her own worries. My head was spinning from the noise, the rum, and the exhilarating evening I had spent with Annette. But the sight of Michael carrying my mother upstairs, with her arms and legs hanging limply around her pale day dress, and her auburn hair dangling loosely off her shoulders almost swiping the stairs, surprised me for its beauty. They were like two characters in a fairy tale acting out the final scene. Michael held her firmly and climbed the stairs nimbly, his eyes bursting with devotion, while Adele scolded them both for being up so late. I suspected, even in my dazed stupor, that Michael was in love with my mother. Although the idea did not displease me, I pushed it away from my thoughts as absurd. It was Annette’s visage that would haunt me all night long.

****

Tomorrow I’ll be including an excerpt of what happens the following day at Eyre Hall, on All Hallows.

There’s more about  how Halloween has been celebrated over the centuries here

 There’s more about Halloween festivities at Eyre Hall, including some spooky stories the servants told,  here

By the way, if you would like to read the rest of All Hallows at Eyre Hall (US link), and UK link it will be on offer for a special reduced Price of 0.99 cents or 0.99 pence, for a limited time, until 2nd November.

#Author Spotlight Gloria Antypowich & #BookReview of her Novel ‘Full Circle’

This week’s Author Spotlight features  Gloria Antypowich and her novel Full Circle.

gloriaaward

My Review

One of the reasons I read is to travel, and another is to encounter events beyond my daily routine. In Full Circle, I was alternately shocked, surprised, upset, and cheerful. I also travelled to Canada and found out what life on a ranch is like! So it was a satisfying read. I especially enjoyed the dialogues and the descriptive scenes which transported me to another continent.

The four main characters are very well-developed, which made me care about what would happen to them, and plenty of things happen! I read about many life changing and dramatic events in their lives, such as loss of parents and children, neglect, fear of commitment, divorce, betrayal, marriage, pregnancy, falling in and out of love, depression, as well as disturbing events such as child murder.

It is a romance, so it is not a spoiler to say that there is an optimistic ending. However, it is not an ordinary or simple romance, the story gradually unwinds and becomes more complex as the plot grows and the characters develop.
At the start of the novel Shauna Lee Holt is a successful accountant with her own business in a Canadian town, who promiscuously enjoys the company of men. We will learn that there is more to Shauna Lee than lust when Brad appears in her life, like a catalyst, and turns her world upside down, as he discovers (with the reader) the traumatic secrets of her past.

Brad is generous and supportive and helps her discover the healing power of love, instead of (or as well as) lust, and helps her face the truth and discover who she is and what she wants to make of her life.

Although Full Circle is part of a series, this can be read as a stand-alone novel. I have not read book one, The Second Time Around, but now I’m curious to find out more of the back story of the lives of Colt and Frank Thompson, the happy couple who seem to have everything, but are also struck by dramatic events in Full Circle.

There are two more novels in the series, The Hand of Fate and Second Chance, which I look forward to reading.

51UkW1djW8L._AA160_

I read and reviewed this enjoyable novel last summer and asked Gloria to answer some questions to get to know more about her work and her writing routine.

1- What would you say to readers to convince them to buy Full Circle?

If you are looking for something more than a traditional romance, you will enjoy Full Circle. Your first impression of Shauna Lee Holt could easily be disdain because, while she is a successful business woman, in her personal life she is promiscuous, sleeping with different men on a regular basis. When Brad Thompson arrives on the scene she hits on him immediately, but he is different from the other men she knows. He is attracted to her, but he is not willing to play her game. He makes it clear to her that he will not have sex with her until they have gotten to know each other and established the beginning of a truly monogamous relationship. He’s determined not to be another one in a string of guys in her bed, but she certainly does test his resolve.

Behind the façade she has created, Shauna Lee is a tormented person who feels unworthy of love and she doesn’t know how to be with a man like Brad. As he gets glimpses of her tragic past he begins to realise that she may never be able to give him what he wants. When they begin to make headway, shadows from her past come forward, like ghosts slipping through the cracks that Brad has pried opened in her armor. Will Shauna Lee let Brad stand by her side and help her like he wants too, or will fear overrule and cause her to slam all her emotional portals shut again?

This story is filled with drama. It revolves around betrayals, hatred, infanticide, regret, revenge, strong friendships and unconditional love. Bring your box of Kleenex when you sit down to read. There will be times when you may laugh, but I’m certain there will be more times when you will feel like crying.

2.What inspired you to write the Belanger Creek Ranch Books?

The Belanger Creek Ranch Series has been a long journey for me. Over 30 years ago I was fortunate to be able to attend RWA conferences in the USA for a few years in succession. Then one year I decided to go to a writer’s workshop in Regina Saskatchewan. That would have been a long two day drive for me, and my husband didn’t want me to go by myself, so he went with me. I had romanticised about the Cypress Hills. They are a high point of land that straddles the SE corner of the province of Alberta and the adjoining SW corner of the province of Saskatchewan: an anomaly in the otherwise flat land of the prairies. Exploring them was on my agenda for that trip. On our way back home to B.C., we detoured off Highway 1 and visited Loch Levan, then drove through the Center Block of the Interprovincial Cypress Hills Park, and across the Gap Road to historic Fort Walsh in the West Block. Among other things, I saw the biggest grasshoppers I have ever seen in my life on the Gap Road! I made notes and took pictures—we talked to a couple of ranchers and that was research for my first book. I wrote the book, had an agent who presented it to Harlequin, who in turn gave me a polite not-now letter, so I went on to other things. I published that original book as “Hearts at Risk” in 2011, and after a few people said they wanted to know more about the characters I decided to write a second book, “You Can Run,” in 2012.

Then my husband decided to write and publish his hunting memoir and his personal memoir, so I put my writing aside and dedicated my time to editing and revising his manuscripts. As well, there were 350 pictures in his personal memoir and 150 in his hunting memoir. I had to prepare those pictures for the publisher by converting them to black and white, editing them with Photoshop Elements where necessary and resizing them. Then I had to number them according to where they would be placed in the individual manuscripts and create place holders in 3 separate files for each book. It was a major project!

In 2014 I settled into my own writing again. I still loved and believed in the characters and story of my first two books (even though they were total flops) so I did an extensive rewrite of “Hearts At Risk,” and it became The Second Time Around, Book One of the Belanger Creek Ranch Series. Then I tweaked the manuscript for “You Can Run” and it became Full Circle, Book Two of the Belanger Creek Ranch Series.

I like a series of books if they relate to each other, but can be read on their own, and by the time I started writing again I knew I wanted to do a book that included a surrogacy. That book went through 3 title changes—at first I was going to call it “The Bastard and The Barren”. My husband has no input in my books (in fact I don’t think he’s even read books three and four), but one day he when he came into my office and when he saw the file name on my computer he was disgusted!! Any way as the book evolved—(or possibly I was the one who evolved) I decided the title was going to be “The Gift” Then when I did the very final edit—I knew there was so much more to that book than just the gift of surrogacy, and after I changed the last paragraph, I decided to call it The Hand of Fate. Two new characters had been introduced into the “Belanger Creek Ranch family” and the idea for A Second Chance, Book Four was spawned.

I choose to call the series The Belanger Creek Ranch Series, because thirty years ago when we drove through that country I had made a note about a small creek named Belanger Creek. I have no idea what the area is like now, but there was not a ranch there then.

glorias larger author photo

3. What’s your writing routine?

Insane!! I’m a total “pantster.” I’ll have an idea and I’ll do thorough research as background material. Then I’ll just jump right in and start writing—for hours and days and weeks and months.

Since my husband also writes, that is OK when he is settled in front of his computer, but when he isn’t, I think not having “a wife” for weeks on end gets frustrating. He doesn’t say much…although sometimes actions speak louder than words! My kids rag on me for living an unbalanced life—no exercise and sitting at the computer non-stop. Our oldest daughter and her family live upstairs (we live on the ground floor of the same house) and if she looks out of her bathroom window at midnight and sees the glow of the light from my office, she will go into their spare bedroom just above where I am working and stomp on the floor to let me know that she doesn’t approve! Our children and grandchildren are proud of my accomplishments—I have to correct myself here-they are proud of both of our accomplishments—but they just don’t get what it’s like to be a writer!

4-What are you working on now?

I am not writing right now—I am marketing, marketing, marketing!

But I have many ideas simmering on the back burner. I have done research for a possible rodeo series—I know a stock contractor, a bull fighter, a chuckwagon owner, a chuckwagon outrider and a bull rider, as well as a tie down roper. I do much of my research on line, but I like to get a feel for what characters would think and do from real life people if possible. Most of what I learn never makes it into a book, but it makes me feel that I can write with authenticity.

I also have a “series” that’s been on my mind for a few years—one book would be titled Too Little Too Late, another Meant to Be and the third would be The Ties That Bind. They are all about married couples whose relationships face challenges. Too Little Too Late and The Ties That Bind are not actually “happy ever after” books. Meant To Be has heartache but ends happily. They all deal with harsh realities of things that do happen in life. I have thought about them for so long, but am not certain that I want to go down that road yet.

I have also thought about doing a series about girls who arrived on The Bride Ships in the 1800’s—that’s more historical—but there is such fascinating, and yes, horrible stories to be gleaned from that time in the US and when the gold rush was in full swing in the Cariboo area of British Columbia, where I live.

Also I wrote another book years ago that was about a surrogacy contract that fell apart when the intended mother died. More than once I have thought about bringing it to life. I loved that book and still remember it clearly—it had a paranormal element to it.

So as you see, I have plenty of ideas to work on—and in honesty, undoubtedly less than 20 years to write—if I’m very fortunate. Oh mortality!! And the hand of fate! One never knows what will come into your life in a given time. So I choose to live one day at a time!

Lucy, Thank you so much for featuring me in your Author Spotlight!

It was a pleasure having you on my blog, Gloria.

****

If you’d like to contact Gloria, here are her social network links:

FaceBook: http://tinyurl.com/Gloria-Antypowich-Author-Page
Twitter: https://twitter.com/glantypowich
My webpage is http://gloriaantypowichauthor.com/home/
My Blog: http://gloriaantypowich.com/blog/
GoodReads: http://tinyurl.com/goodreads-Gloria-Antypowich
Linkedin: http://tinyurl.com/Linkedin-Gloria-Antypowich

Purchase link:

My books on Amazon: http://tinyurl.com/Gloria-Antypowich-Amazon

A Story For #Halloween by Noelle Granger @RheBrewster

Source: A Story For Halloween?

Crime writer and valued, virtual friend, Noelle Granger, has written a short and spooky Halloween story about a modern-day Sin Eater. I’m proud and honoured to inform you that she says I inspired her, because a 19th century Sin Eater appears in my own novels. It’s the least I could do. Noelle is a constant inspiration to me in everything she does.

Read on and be thoroughly spooked!

#3linethursday: The Clown’s Trunk

This post was written in response to this weeks’ Three Line Thursday prompt. Three lines, 30 words maximum.

Week-5-Boris
            Photo by Boris

 

The Clown’s Trunk

Lipstick smeared on bruised lips. Blackened tears.
‘Let’s play,’ He said, then pointed.
‘Would you unlock the trunk, my dear?’

@LucciaGray

Clowns are such sinister characters, and well, their trunks, they’re just the most sinister objects on earth!

I can’t remember exactly, but I’m sure I was afraid of clowns as a child, and I still find them spooky to say the least. Who doesn’t?

I’m really curious about this trunk, ‘though. What’s inside? Funny tricks or more scary props?

In yesterday’s post it was Eve haunting my subconscious, and today it’s Pandora’s Box stalking me.  Quite by chance (I suppose), I also received a message from an unknown admirer who compared me to Eve! Is there a message for me there?

Like life itself, we never know what’s in store, good or bad, and we can bank on having our share of both, sooner or later!

At the moment things are good. No serious health problems for anyone in the family. Work’s fine. Book one and two are doing well, and book three’s on the way (my expectations are modest).

I can’t complain, but I’m not ready to open the trunk and look inside…

Are you?

Check out today’s other poems, or join in yourself, here.

I’m the proud winner of this edition! Here’s my badge to prove it 🙂

Year Two Week Five Winner: Luccia Gray

I Won a print copy of Light Lines!

“This was terrifying. Well done to the author. I can see the creepy face and feel the panic. A perfect tale for the picture…and now I can’t sleep. ” Judge’s Thoughts.

Carrot Ranch #FlashFiction Challenge October 21: Final Resting Place

 This post was written in response to Charli Mills Flash Fiction Challenge over at Carrot Ranch

****

The Day of the Dead

“Eve, You’ve been chosen to read the Sacred Words this year on the Day of the Dead.”

“I don’t want to rest without you!”

“If we take turns and rest for a year, we’ll all live much longer.”

“There are fewer of us now. They’ve stopped returning.”

“Those who find their final resting place stay.”

“What if I find mine?” 

“Then you will remain within the Words.”

“I can’t leave you, Adam!”

“If you refuse, you’ll be outcast with the Wordless Tribes, who roam throughout their short lives searching for a place to rest.” 

“Come! Let’s join them now!”

****

I wanted to write something ‘spooky’ for Halloween week, but you know how the unconscious mind has a will of its own… In the end it came out rather biblical.

Who knew we humans weren’t interested in long-term commitments, perfection, or paradise? A bird in the hand? You only live once? Carpe Diem?

Cheeky Eve does it again rocking the boat!

october-21

October 21, 2015 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about a final resting place. You can take any perspective that appeals to you from the historic to the horrific.

Read some of the others or join in here!

The Sin-Eater in Twelfth Night at Eyre Hall #HalloweenBooks

Spine-chilling Characters in Real Life and Fiction: The Sin-Eater

Sin-eaters really existed from pre-Christian times to the end of the 19th century. They were summoned to the bedside of a dead person, with the objective of absorbing their sins by eating and drinking food placed on the corpse’s body, thereby enabling the deceased to continue his journey to afterlife in a sinless manner.

Many sin-eaters were beggars, and the custom was carried out in different parts of the British Isles, including Yorkshire and Wales, until mid-19th century. The last Sin-eater reportedly died in Shropshire, in 1906.

The Eyre Hall Trilogy is not a horror story, but there some sinister characters and events in the novels, which are set in Victorian England. Last year leading up to Halloween, I wrote a post about a spine-chilling Sin-Eater, Isac das Junot, who appears in All Hallows at Eyre Hall.

If you would like to read an extract of Junot’s visit to Eyre Hall in All Hallows at Eyre Hall, follow this link. If you’d like to read an extract of Junot’s visit to Eyre Hall in Twelfth Night at Eyre Hall, continue reading this post.

Chapter XIX – Junot Returns

Some things had changed since my last visit to Eyre Hall, but most had remained unaltered. Dawn had not yet broken, and I could see candlelight coming from her window. I presumed the widow was having breakfast in her room to avoid the hordes of fake mourners who would soon be flooding into the drawing room. 

I stood before the unlocked door and kicked it open. A gust of wind and snow swirled into the hall. A maid screamed and ran through a door and down to the servant’s quarters. Was my presence so disagreeable that they were so easily frightened? Could they see what I saw? Could they see the sins I had absorbed and feel the evil I carried?

The house was still. The guests had not yet arrived, but I could smell the corpse upstairs. I supposed he was in Mr. Rochester’s room. Another sinful meal awaited me.

I was about to walk up the stairs when I heard a stuttering voice behind me. I recognised the terrified, long–limbed servant I had seen last year.

“I’m afraid Mrs. Mason cannot see you.” 

I turned, parted my chapped lips and showed him my sharp grey teeth. “I have come to see Mr. Mason, you idiot.” My hollow voice reverberated in the empty hall. “So announce me to his widow, unless you wish yours to be the next funeral.”

He jumped back and babbled some unintelligible words. I managed to decipher the last three. “Please leave, sir.”

“Will you be responsible for Mr. Mason’s permanence in this house as one of the undead?” My voice rumbled across the hall.

******

This time, Jane not only allows Junot to carry out his macabre ceremony, but she also has a conversation with him. Why would Christian Jane allow him into her house? Part of her conversation with him can help us understand her reasons.

When Junot asks Jane, “Why do you not fear me?”

Jane replies:

“Because I know that good and evil are two sides of the same coin, just as happiness and sadness, and beauty and ugliness are all part of our nature. There is no good without evil. Each of us has both. All our lives the fight goes on between them, and one of them must conquer. You chose evil, so you make the rest of us your opposite: good. Why should I fear you?”

“You are unwise not to fear me,” I said as we walked into the same room I had entered the last time. The corpse was laid out, dressed, and blackened. The smell was the most nauseating I had ever encountered. Was he already decomposing? Had his soul escaped before my arrival?

****

The Sin-eater not only claims to save the dying from hell, but also from wandering the earth as ghosts, thereby performing a service for the living as well. Junot also claims to predict the future, and Jane seems to believe that he does indeed have such powers, but does he? Or is he a charlatan?

Surprisingly, Jane believes Junot’s rituals serve a purpose, because she is not willing to take the risk of having ghosts at her beloved Eyre Hall. She also believes in Junot’s powers of divination, which are wound into the plot in each novel.

Jane believes that evil exists as a real force of nature, yet she believes that the power of good is stronger and will therefore finally win the battle, which is why she does not fear him. She also believes in destiny, which is why she believes the future can be seen, because the path has already been laid out.

Junot will reappear again in Book 3 of The Eyre Hall Trilogyy, Midsummer at Eyre Hall, to absorb more sins and make a devil’s pact with one of the main characters.

All Hallows at Eyre Hall US and UK Twelfth Night at Eyre Hall US and UK are both on Kindle Countdown Deal ay 0.99 until 2nd of November.

 

#SoCS Oct 10/23 Beef and Rhubarb

This nonsense post was written in response to Linda G. Hill’s Stream of consciousness Saturday prompt

Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “beef.”  Use it any way you’d like. Enjoy!

socs-badge-2015

Beef and Rhubarb

I’m afraid I’m not at all at comfortable with this weeks’ prompt. I’m a vegetarian, most of the time, which means I don’t eat much meat, and the word ‘beef’ conjures no positive images at all in my mind!

Cow’s meat, steaks, slaughterhouses, death and blood come to my mind. This isn’t going to work. I’ll be a wreck in a few minutes if I don’t think of non-meaty things related to beef. Suddenly an idea crosses my mind; I can feel this is going to be a bit of a nonsense stream of consciousness…

I’ll try for non-meaty things. The first one that springs to mind are Beefeaters at the Tower of London, such lucky soldiers to have had the privilege of eating meat more often than most. They looked after all the royal prisoners. I wonder if they ate beef, too? The Tower of London has taken me to Saint Thomas More, and hapless Lady Jane Grey and Anne Boleyn. They say Queen Anne walks around at nights with her head tucked under her arm. I know this isn’t going to work when I vividly see Henry VIII’s bog toe bursting with gout due to too much meat and constantly feeding his body instead of his soul.

Oh dear, I’m back to meat, corned beef, roast beef, minced meat, and the poor cows grazing in the prairies, if they’re lucky enough, giving us their best milk to make yoghurt, butter and cheese… This isn’t going to work. I need to think about something else. Got it.There’s only one thing I dislike more than beef.

Rhubarb. Rhubarb. Rhubarb.

P.S. I apologise to those of you who don’t like nonsense, but that’s what beef does to me 🙂 🙂

Read some of the other posts here