Story-a-Day May–Day Three, People!

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This is for A Night in a Graveyard and Other Stories of Immortality. I’m sharing more today, but it is still just a start.

Lindy Tremaine dug graves. She operated the backhoe and drove the dump truck. She dug small graves for cremations and infants when necessary. Sometimes, Kap helped, but he liked to keep busy in the office, filling in forms and holding the hands of mourners. He was far better at letting people cry than operating heavy machinery.

Lake Belle had two cemeteries, and most people preferred the other, grander, well-trimmed cemetery across town, Bright Belle Memorial Park. They had a full staff available and a sleek coffee maker in their welcome office.  The Night Path Cemetery didn’t compare. They buried the homeless and the patients from the nearby asylum. They buried prisoners and the Jane and John Does. In truth they didn’t have many funerals, and Lindy spent most of her time pulling weeds and cutting grass. She worked the crematorium and fixed whatever needed fixing. The toilets needed new parts or a bit of jiggery-pokery at least once a week and the sprinkler system demanded constant tweaking. She kept busy and she kept her distance from the mourners as best she could.

Tears unsettled her as much as false cheer. She didn’t mind the questions a few visitors dared ask. A favorite question was if she’d ever seen a ghost. “Of course,” she’d say. “All the time. We have tea at midnight and make fun of the living.”

On this lovely spring late afternoon, Lindy sat on a concrete bench overlooking the front half of the cemetery. A funeral was scheduled for the next day and she’d finished setting up the tent over the grave. She was proud of her day’s work. Undoubtedly the family wouldn’t notice the perfection of the grave’s dimensions, but they had more important things on their minds.

Kap would wander by soon to inspect her work. She smirked at the thought. They both knew she did excellent work, better than even the specially trained gravediggers at Bright Belle with their newer, shiner equipment. He’d stand by the gravesite and pretend to know what he was looking for. He’d nod seriously and tell her, “A plus, Tremaine.” Possibly he’d check to make sure no dirt smudge the shine of his shoes. Then he’d ask her if she wanted to go get a beer.

Lindy wondered who was being buried. She hadn’t looked closely at the file. Her job didn’t require names. The lowering sun coated the cemetery like gold, her favorite light of the day.

What did it take to talk to ghosts? Did anyone ever manage it? What could the dead possibly say? If heaven existed, and she didn’t believe it did, surely ghosts spent too much time doing heavenly things to be bothered gossiping with the living. If heaven didn’t exist, what did ghost have to talk about? The insides of caskets or the ability to walk through walls?  This struck Lindy as poor material for a long conversation.

Her phone vibrated. Kap. “Yeah?”

“There’s a gentleman here in the office,” Kap said.

Lindy nodded, studying the shadows stretching out behind the tombstones. “And?”

“Says he’s a professor and he needs our help with some research.”

A cloud of starlings wavered overhead, greeting the end of the day. “And?”

“Says he and his students study the paranormal. They want to set up here for the night. Film what happens. You know the drill.”

She did. Every so often, someone came along asking to spend the night in the cemetery. Bright Belle always said no. Lindy appreciated being asked. It was better than the kids who snuck in on dares and beer, littering and damaging angels. She and Kap liked to say yes. It made them feel as if they were thumbing their noses at Bight Belle’s protocols and policies. “Fine,” she said, wondering if Kap would make this professor sign the waiver. There was no official waiver. Kap had made one of his own on the computer. Forms helped him justify his suit and slightly higher pay.

Kap hesitated.

“And?” she asked.

“He’d like one of us to stay with them, him and his students. Just to keep an eye on things and be, you know, an impartial witness.”

Lindy waited, but Kap said nothing else. “And you want me to be the one to stay?” she finally asked.

“Well…I’ve sort of got a date tonight.”

She sat upright. “You? You’ve got a date?”  Who? Her mind raced to think of someone, but she came up blank. But it was not the sort of thing he’d lie about. He’d think he was jinxing himself to lie.

“It’s no big deal really. I was going to tell you, but… yeah. And anyway, you’re way more outdoorsy than me, right? You know the grounds and all.”

“Yeah, sure.” She stood up. “I’m on my way to the office. Hey, you told the professor about the service we got tomorrow.” She headed up the hill to the main path. “The family isn’t going to want students all over the place.”

“Yeah, yeah. He understands. He promises they won’t even know they’re there. They’ll be like ghosts.”

“Ha. Very funny.” She hung up the phone and shoved in her back pocket. Maybe this group knew what it was doing. Maybe this time, she’d see a real ghost.

 

Thanks for reading! And keep writing if that’s what you do.

Day 2 of Story-a-Day May!

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I’m not posting entire stories, but here’s the beginning of what I worked on today. This is back story for a manuscript in progress–The Book of Astrophilia. It is my sci-fi fairy tale. And this bit tells about a few of the passengers (secondary characters) on a ship traveling the stars.

The sisters, Jezebel and Skye, smuggled food from the kitchens to the boy they kept hidden in their room. Fabule Earl didn’t eat much, and between them, the girls provided just enough food to keep him quiet. Although he would’ve stayed quiet anyway. He’d do anything for the twins, especially Skye, whose blank, black eyes never saw him but whose hand always held his when he had bad dreams.

The backstory isn’t actually very long. I just explain their motivations and why Fabule loves one sister more than the other and why they’ve hidden him away in their cabin. Of course, they aren’t the main characters of the novel, but I like knowing why everyone in my stories is doing whatever it is they’re doing. Who knows how much of that backstory will make it into the final draft.

Thanks for reading! Tomorrow I hope to work on another story.

Story-a-Day May Returns!!

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I have so many stories to finish, it is foolhardy to try Story-a-Day May again, but I can’t resist its siren call.

What about you? Are you writing?

I hope so.

And for this year’s writing madness, I have a plan. And my plans tend to end up like old school paper maps. I get them and they’re nice and crisp, folded perfectly, and a short while later they’re folded the wrong way and stuck in a nook somewhere in my car to be pulled out every once in a while as if I’d never seen it before in my life.

Anyway. Today is day one of Story-a-Day May! Congratulations to anyone writing out there, too.

For Day One, I’ve started a new story and it begins like so,

Miranda Magpie Jones did it for love. Which isn’t much a surprise to anyone who follows stories of humans making mistakes.

What is a surprise to some folks is what happened when she woke up on the dirt path that ran along the old graveyard. Of course, she didn’t wake up as you, dear reader, might think. Miranda Magpie Jones, 45, returning college student, always in a financial bind, and thoughtlessly in love with her professor had died earlier that evening in an unexpected, lurid fashion.

The working title is A Night in a Graveyard and Other Stories of Immortality. It’s inspired by a story my mom once told me.

But I’m also going to use this month to revisit other manuscripts in progress, write backstory or character profiles. And we’ll see where it all ends up.

I’m also getting ready for an art sale, and that takes precedent this year. This first week shouldn’t be too hard since I’m on vacation and can’t spend any money. What else to do but make things and tell stories?

When classes start back up…fingers crossed and wishes made!

Thanks for reading.

 

 

 

 

Not Forgotten

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I haven’t forgotten these characters. But I’m also trying to finish another draft of my next novel, work on a few commissioned art pieces, grade student papers, work on our house, spend time with my family, go to speed skate practice, and sleep.

I’ve cheated though. I’ve skipped ahead. When I finish my novel, I’m going to come back to this, map it out, and fill in all the gaps. My goal is to have something pieced together in a readable form by the time next year’s Story-a-Day comes around. We’ll see how that goes. At least, I don’t have to go to chemo anymore! Yay!

As always, thanks for reading.

Hannah and the old woman waited for Meredith to return. They sat together in the cramped space of the closet in the dark. Maybe not being able to see the old woman made Hannah bold.

“Do you have any children?” she asked. Hannah had come to the Asylum, after all, to find out about her grandmother. Possibly even meet her. Earlier the idea would have horrified her, but she was getting used to the old woman. Calling her a friend seemed unlikely, but she did feel a bond that was hard to explain.

“Nosy girl, you are,” the old woman replied. “Why would you care?”
Hannah could hear the frown in her voice. “There has to be some reason why we came across each other and have been sticking with each other,” she said. “There has to be some reason you’re still with me.”

The old woman didn’t reply. Hannah knew the old woman was there only because of the sound of her breathing and that there really was no where to move.

“Do you believe in horoscopes and fortune telling too?” the old woman asked.

“What?”

“You appear to ascribe happenstance to supernatural or mystical sources.”
In the dark of the closet of the Asylum, muffled sounds beyond the door, the supernatural felt immensely close. “Don’t you believe in the supernatural?”

“I believe in what I can do and what I can not do. The rest I leave to others.”

“But you could’ve taken off without me. But here we are together.”

“You’re welcome to leave any time,” the old woman said.

“I couldn’t just leave.” Hannah wrapped her arms around her knees and gripped her hands more tightly. “We’re a team.”

The old woman laughed and then coughed. “I’d love to hear the doctors discuss my suitability for a team. Have you never been taught how teams work, child?”

Hannah was glad the old woman couldn’t see her reddening face. “We have worked together.” It wasn’t that she believed in fate or serendipity, but she didn’t not believe in them either.

“We’ve managed not to die,” the old woman replied.

“Do you think dying is likely?”

“Dying is certain. It’s the timing that’s unknown.”

Hannah pushed images of the dead security guard and the dead patient away. Thinking about who they were wasn’t going to help her. “I don’t see what has to be certain about it.”

“Maybe you won’t die here. But you will die some day. You can’t deny that.”

“Well…no, but that’s kind of morbid to think about.” Hannah thought she saw a glint of the old woman’s eyes in the darkness. In her normal life she liked talking about death and dying, but now that it felt as if these things were close at hand, she wasn’t sure what she wanted to say.

“Meredith will be back soon. And everything it going to be fine.”

“Right. If she doesn’t give us away.”

“She’s on our side now.”

“Is she?”

“Doesn’t she have to be?”

Silence again hung between them. “They won’t let her walk away from this either. As a traitor, she should be the most frightened.”

Hannah wasn’t sure about her feelings for Meredith, but she’d placed her trust in the nurse and perhaps the nurse had put trust in her as well.

But she didn’t want to think about Meredith now. There wasn’t anything she could do for her. Meredith would either succeed, or they were all in deep trouble.

Right now in the dark and waiting, she hoped that maybe the darkness would encourage the old woman to talk. “What happened to you here?” Hannah asked.

“This is a closet. Not a confessional.”

This time Hannah didn’t reply. She resisted the urge to fill the silence. Her dad once told her you had to give people time to answer rather than rush in to hear your own voice.

The old woman breathed in deeply. Hannah imagined she could feel her exhale.

“Maybe I was young once,” the old woman said. “Do you believe that? Youth is a fairy tale, don’t you know? Can’t you tell?”

Hannah sucked in her bottom lip to keep herself from talking. She didn’t move. Anything might quiet the old woman, and a moment like this would likely not happen again.

“Once upon a time there was a girl they called Zeenia. Her parents adored her, of course. Adored her more than good sense allowed, and so no one prepared this child for the real world because why bother when everyone thinks you’re a princess? A princess must never sully herself with the real world. Never mind that she will grow old one day. No one ever thinks of this. Do you?”

“What?” Hannah asked, surprised the old woman seemed to expect a real answer. “I guess I never thought about it.” Cinderella old? Sleeping Beauty? Snow White with gray in her hair and crow’s feet at her eyes?

“They think about it here,” the old woman said. “Here in the Asylum they think about it. They think about everything and plan accordingly.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Nobody wants an aging princess with a mind she knows how to use.”

“Were you a princess?” Hannah hoped her voice sounded as if she believed what she was hearing. Where did princesses still exist? “Are you from another country?”

“I’m from another plane of existence.”

Hannah stayed silent. Her questions weren’t getting her anywhere. Maybe the old woman needed to be locked up in the Asylum. Maybe all the patients were truly sick and she had this all wrong.

The old woman snorted. “I wore beautiful dresses once upon a time, my dear, but I tired of their weight. I complained to my husband, my prince, and he showed me that jewels and brocade are so heavy when wet that they’ll drag you down to the bottom of the sea.”

Hannah tried to make sense of what the old woman said. Sitting in the dark for so long was affecting her senses. She lost track of time and wondered if she were dreaming.

“But I was saved, if that’s what this life is called. Saved.”

The door startled them both. The room beyond the pantry was a paler darkness and they could just make out Meredith’s shape. “Hurry,” she said. “Your lives depend on it.”

I have not given up.

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I have not given up on my story. Even though I missed the end of Story-a-Day May, I’m going to keep working on this. It was hard though, getting back into the plot. I haven’t written an outline or taken notes, so I get stuck. I know only a fraction more than you do about what is going to happen next. When I try to outline, the desire just to tell the story gets the better of me.

Also, I’ve got notes back from a reader on my second novel. I’ve got to go through those. Then the publisher looks at the what-I’d-like-to-think-is-final draft and makes more notes. Then the publisher works on the formatting and the cover. Then it will be published. Eventually. It is not a fast process.

I’m trying to get more of my art out in the world too. In spite of a few shows and festivals, I’m woefully naive about the art world. Certainly, I know more than I used to, but how to make a go of it still eludes me.

And I’ve got an idea for other stories. You know those ridiculous boxes that a person can stand in while money is blown around by a large fan and the person tries desperately to catch as many dollar bills as possible in the allotted amount of time? I feel like my brain is like that.

Anyway, here is the next installment of the story. Thanks for reading!

*

Tommy forgot the way he’d come from the Asylum. He took several turns and suspected the roads were purposefully taking him in the wrong direction. That was crazy, of course.

He gave up on finding the back entrance headed to the entrance everyone in town knew, the front gates. Hannah’s father had said nothing since they pulled away from his house. Tommy wasn’t sure if he should make small talk, but he’d been taught to let the adults take the lead in a conversation. Silence felt right for the situation anyway.

What met them at the Asylum gates surprised them both. A crowd of people stood at the gates staring out. Tommy stopped the truck, the headlights shining through iron bars and over the crowd. Many of them were in pajamas.

“My Hannah responsible for this?” her father asked staring through the windshield back at the patients.

“I don’t rightfully know, sir,” Tommy said. “But you know, Han. She does what she thinks is right.”

Mr. Wygant sighed. “It’s a lovely day, my boy, when what she thinks is right and what actually is right align.”

“But she’s smart.” Tommy didn’t take his eyes away from the crowd. They didn’t appear concerned or interested in the arrival of the truck. They didn’t even blink in the glare of the truck’s headlights.

“I just wish she were smart enough to stay out of trouble.” He didn’t stop watching the crowd either. In the crowd were boys and girls, adults and children, the healthy looking and a few with oxygen tanks and canes.

“Ain’t nobody that smart all the time, sir,” Tommy replied.

Hannah’s father let out a hint of a laugh. “You ready?” he asked.

“Ready for what?” Tommy gave Mr. Wygant a quick look. He figured he knew what the man meant, but he hoped otherwise.

“Well, I think we both know Hannah isn’t going to be waltzing through that gate on her own. We’re going to have to go in. We’re going to have to deal that crowd.”

“Maybe I could drive the truck through the gates, sir. Smash right through. They’d all take off runnin’ and we’d be in.”

Mr. Wygant frowned.

Tommy cleared his throat. “Sorry, sir. I wouldn’t. I’m just a little afraid of all those people. They don’t look right.”

“Imagine how we must look to them. No, my boy. You and me, we’re going to walk up to that gate and talk them like decent folks.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We’ll tell them what we’re going to do and let them move out of the way.” Mr. Wygant put his hand on his door handle.

“Sir,” Tommy said. “What do you think they’ll do when the gate’s open?”

“I suspect some of them will end back where they started, and a fair few will act free. But we don’t need to worry ourselves about that now. We’re here for Hannah.”

The teenager and the father sat in the cab another minute in silence watching the unmoving crowd. Finally, the boy spoke. “I’m ready when you are, sir.”

Mr. Wygant sat up straighter. “Remember,” he said. “I’m doing this for Hannah.” And with that he opened his door.

Day 25 of Story-a-Day May.

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Trying to understand my characters. Almost to the end of Story-a-Day May! Woo!

Thank you for reading.

*

Tommy’s inability to make a decision grew the closer into town he drove. Going home seemed a bad idea. His parents would call the police. They’d never liked Hannah, and this would confirm their suspicions that she was a wholly unsuitable girl.

He took turn after turn driving to where he hadn’t consciously decided to go, Hannah’s house. The sight of Hannah’s dad standing in the driveway took Tommy by surprise.

Tommy parked in the street in front of the house. He rolled down the window. “Mr. Wygant,” he called.

Hannah’s dad titled his head to the side. “Tommy?”

“Hannah home?” Tommy asked.

“Isn’t Hannah with you?”

Tommy frowned. “She ain’t with me, Mr. Wygant. That’s why I’m asking.”

Gerald Wygant shuffled over to the truck. “Why are you driving this truck thing?”

“I think Hannah’s in trouble?”

“That’s why you’re driving a truck?” Mr. Wygant touched the truck door.

Tommy always found Hannah’s dad frustrating, but he was brought up to be polite to anyone older no matter what. “Sir. If you get in the truck, I’ll take you where Hannah probably is.”

“I thought you drove that Chevy pick-up.”

“Yes, sir. I borrowed this. All right?”

Mr. Wygant nodded, and he walked around the front of the truck through the glare of the headlights to the passenger side door. He pulled himself into the truck. “You look like you’ve got blood on your face,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” Tommy replied. “I got myself into something of a scuffle.”

“Is Hannah all right?” He buckled his seatbelt.

“I hope so, sir. I really do. But that’s why I’ve come to you, sir. I thought a proper grown up was necessary.”

Mr. Wygant looked alarmed. “She’s not in jail?”

“No, no, no,” Tommy said, pulling the truck back into the road. “Hannah’s too smart to end up jail, sir.”

“What’s she done?” He fussed with the folds of his bathrobe. “I’m in my pajamas, you know.”

Tommy stumbled over what to say. “It don’t matter none about what you’re wearing.” He wasn’t sure that was true, but he hadn’t paid attention to what Hannah’s father was wearing.

They were nice pajamas, and the robe was monogramed. Her father didn’t look half bad. “Hannah…” He trailed off. He didn’t want to get Hannah into more trouble, but he saw no way around it. “Hannah went to the Asylum. I don’t think she’s come back out yet.”

Mr. Wygant’s head snapped up. “What’s she done? Say that again?”

“She’s gone into the Asylum, sir.”

“Why in blue blazes has she done that?”

Tommy saw no reason why the truth would be helpful. “Just curiosity. You know how she is, sir. She’s always wanting to know things.”

Mr. Wygant opened his mouth the say something, but ended up saying nothing. He stared out the windshield. “I’ve warned her. I’ve warned her a hundred times not to go the Asylum. Why does she never listen to me?”

Tommy considered Mr. Wygant, and he weighed his words carefully. “All due respect, sir, and I really ain’t meaning to offend you in any way. But have you ever told Hannah anything useful?”

Mr. Wygant’s eyes widened. “Tommy Adams. I’m her father.”

Tommy kept his eyes on the road. There was no traffic, and most of the town’s lights flashed yellow. He was making good time back to the Asylum and his stomach was in knots. “I know that, sir. I do. And you’re darn good dad. You put food on the table and you never raise a finger to your family. Why, I think you’re the nicest dad I know. But your daughter is smarter than the two of us combined, and when you don’t answer her questions, she figures out how to find out for herself. No disrespect meant, sir.”

“She’s gone to find out about my mother, hasn’t she?”

“I reckon she has, sir. It burns in her, wanting to know. I don’t claim to understand it, but she isn’t going to have no peace until she knows.”

Mr. Wygant nodded. “I tell you what, Tommy. If we find my Hannah safe and sound, I promise you that I’ll tell her everything she wants to know. All right?”

Tommy nodded. Silently he prayed that they weren’t too late.

Day 24. (Or Why Is This Month Lasting So Long?)

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Yesterday I couldn’t think of anything. I”m working on a major art project and getting ready for a trip and generally distracted.

I’m trying to have a career of making things (stories and art) and I still don’t know how to pull that off.

Anyway, I wrote something for day 24. Thank goodness this month is almost over! Thanks for reading.

*

Hannah’s father couldn’t sleep. He wandered through the house in dark unsure what to do. He wasn’t used to sleeplessness.

Television didn’t interest him at that hour. The book he’d been reading failed to hold his attention. He walked in circles around the living room. A school photo of his daughter caught his eye. She worried him every day.

Children always looked sweet and innocent in their sleep. He stared down the hallway. He’d like to see Hannah as his little girl again. Maybe if he peeked in on her, he’d remember how she used to be.

Stepping quietly, he made his way down the hall. Her bedroom door opened without a sound. He stood in the doorway and tried to see his daughter sleeping in her childhood bed. But it was too dark.

He stepped into the room. He squinted. It almost seemed as if the bed were empty, but that couldn’t be right. He stepped closer, wishing he could turn on a light. He’d be embarrassed though if she found him checking in on her.

It really did seem as if her bed were empty. He strained to listen. The room was quiet. Quiet as if no one else were in the room. He leaned forward and closed his eyes expecting to hear her breathing.

Nothing.

He walked over to the bed not ready to believe the bed was vacant. He sat on the edge of the bed and reached out. He felt the blanket and the sheet. He felt the flat emptiness of the bed. “Hannah?”

He waited. “Hannah?” he said louder this time.

He turned on the bedside lamp. His daughter was gone.

His mind raced to understand. She was a teen. He’d snuck too as a teen. But where would she go? She had no boyfriend. He frowned. He thought she didn’t have a boyfriend, but of course she could be keeping some rogue a secret. His stomach twisted. How often did she sneak out for a secret life? What did she get up to? He didn’t like his thoughts.

He hurried out of the room. He could tell his wife, but he thought the better of it. He grabbed his car keys. He find his child on his own. He knew where his search should start.