The Remnant: A Dystopian Paranormal Story


Keri Westi Book Covers  Chapter 93Chapter 93 In Darkness It Waits

Infecting the boy with only as much venom as needed to keep him unconscious for several more hours, the revenant left him cocooned inside a room far below what had once been a thriving community of shops and stores. An area it was intimately familiar with, having hunted there years ago before migrating to the other side of the Big Lake.

With his the young damphir now safely out of reach of his would-be rescuers, the creature began laying a different trail. One that would lead its enemies into a trap from which it had no intention of allowing them to escape.  (more . . .)

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The Remnant: A Dystopian Paranormal Story


Keri Westi Book Covers SarielChapter 92 Of Flesh And Blood

Theo stared at the tunnel’s entrance, willing the angel to reappear, unsure whether his demands to save Pedal in exchange for saving the dark angels life, would be met.

Until tonight, the Anakim were nothing more than myths told by old priests in hushed tones. Their reality little more than words on paper, the prophetic warnings of their appearance long forgotten. Now that he’d seen not just one, but two, he didn’t know whether to rejoice, or be afraid.

Psychic warnings tore through his mind seconds before he was thrown to his knees as the island shuddered under the explosive shift of the cavern’s collapse. (more…)

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Cookies | Hellhounds | Cloaks of Invisibility


Cookies , Hellhounds & Cloaks of InvisibilityBack to the wall, his favorite Spiderman T-shirt tucked into the top of cerulean blue spandex shorts, Felix peaked around the corner separating the dining room from the kitchen, his thick-lashed, still-soft-from-sleep eyes scanning the room for signs of possible discovery.

The mission? To obtain one, no two, better make it three, mouth-watering, stomach-growling, gotta-have-still-warm-from-the-oven, chocolate-chip cookies.

Cookies whose vanilla and semi-sweet-chocolate aroma had less than ten minutes ago slipped beneath his bedroom door and woken him from a dream filled with his favorite cartoon characters. With  his cloak of invisibility in hand, Felix had eased out the door of his bedroom, past the nursery – where mommy was busy with the wrinkle-faced, smells-like-milk, looks-like-a-monkey, crying-pooping-peeing-all-the-time alien life form – and down the stairs. (more)

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A Vacant Turn of Events


A Vacant Turn of EventsBy SSpjut

Jumping down from the trains dark interior, I peered through the steady downpour. Even as thorough as I’d been about masking my scent, I knew it wouldn’t take the Guardians long to know I was here. To my right I caught a glimpse of something dark slip beneath the shadows of the loading dock.

Good. I thought. The council had decided to get right to the point and not waste my time. (more)

 

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Reality Check For Authors


images (11) #24   Are All ‘Arks’ Created Equal

We all know the story of The Flood and how Noah built an ark, filled it with family and friends, then took a year-long cruise.

A story with a beginning, a middle and an end. Crisis, journey>climax, resolution.

Reality Check For Authors: The art of telling and weaving stories has been around for – well just about forever. And in all that time, the basics haven’t really changed. Just like the story of Noah and the Ark, every story has it own ‘arc’ of creation. Adventures told in threes acts – beginning, middle and end. Characters on a mission, over coming obstacles that bring them to a climax which then gain them a prize.

 

 

 

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The Remnant: A Dystopian Paranormal Story


Chapter 91 We Are Brothers.pptxChapter 91 We Are Brothers

Sariel watched from his perch far above the city, eyes the color of arsenic darkening to a deeper shade of gray at the sudden appearance of obsidian hair and matching wings outside the island tunnel’s entrance.

Leliel and his schoolboy heroism.

The angel began drawing on Moon’s power, taking the radiance of her light into himself, then rearranging each particle until it was a cold fusion whose flames pushed back the darkness broiling at the outer edges of his mind. (more)

 

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The Ice Cream Man Eats Children


SSpjut:

Author and friend, EEOrme on life, children and Ice Cream Men.

Originally posted on eeorme:

ice cream man
I’ve always liked the Ice Cream man. I like the songs he plays and the memories of childhood they evoke. I even like the little white mail van he drives with pictures of ice cream colorfully pasted on the sides. This is why I was a bit confused when, while walking the dog, I found my son hunkered down behind a garbage can. When I asked him why he was hiding he said,

“The Ice Cream Man eats children and he doesn’t wear pants.” At that moment the offending vendor was busy selling ice cream to other unwary kids.

“How do you know he doesn’t wear pants?” I started with the more easily explained question.

“I snuck up on him once. All he was wearing was a wife beater and a pair of blue boxers.”

“Oh dear!” At that moment a little blond girl walked over and asked Duncan why…

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When I Ruled The World


When I Ruled The WorldBy SSpjut

It was called Zelda’s. Third entrance on the left and the only one of its kind to offer true pleasure at a subterranean level. An underground French bakery with just enough avant-garde to make me feel as though I was never less than the center of the universe and the ruling attraction of eighty-eight hundred square feet of confectionery bliss. (more)

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The Remnant: A Dystopian Paranormal Story


 

 GustaveDoreParadiseLostSatanProfileChapter 90 Angels Among Us 

Don’t forget to show hospitality to strangers, for some who have done this have entertained angels without realizing it!  Christian Bible; Hebrews 13:2

Leliel stood next to the ship’s mast, darkness and shadow cloaking him from the crewmen standing guard for and aft. Projecting an impulse in their minds to look  elsewhere, the dark angel left his position and slipped down the stairs into the galley below, the stench of waste, sickness and desperation beckoning him to a trap door at the far end,  beneath which he found a second set of stairs, this one leading down into the cargo hold of Captain Jyun’s ship.

The moment he opened the hatch he was assailed by the smell of death. Its cloying fragrance a rancid film that coated both the inside of his nose and the roof of his mouth.  In a cage no larger than those once used by kennels to house dogs, the dampir Fender lay curled up on his side in a tight ball - the angel assumed in an effort to try to avoid coming into contact with the silver coated wire that surrounded him on all sides. Except for the rubber mat upon which he lay, there was no where for the boy to turn that he wouldn’t instantly suffer.   (more . . .)

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It’s Sunday | He Speaks in Tongues


Its Sunday & He Speaks in Tongues

By  SSpjut

Jonathan had been preparing for this day since he was six years old and stepped through the canvas parted opening of his first Big Tent meeting in a wheat field just outside Tulsa, Oklahoma.

Even now, if he closed his eyes and concentrated,  he could still hear the ripple of murmured voices, smell the sweat tang of ozone and rain-soaked earth, feel the crackle of anticipation in the movement of  freshly iron shirts, summer dresses, and long, cool, cotton gloves.  (read more)

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