Tag Archives: Underneath The Juniper Tree

Happy Halloween!

In the Spanish and Mexican culture there is a vast amount of tradition. Chiefly among them, the folklore, which are stories based in part on truth, and have been passed down from one generation to the next. Notable examples are La Llorona or The Crying Women, the myth of La Lechuza or witch/harpy bird, and of course, the legend of Chepita Rodriguez, whom many say was the first women to be executed in Texas. Wrongly accused of theft and murder, the legend says she haunts San Patricio County in South Texas to this day-with a noose around her neck.

 

The following is a similar story, albeit one lesser known. In fact, beyond that of my family and my elder’s closest friends, it may not be known at all. Today, it will be. In the late 1930’s there was a young man named Andres. Andres was a little over 13 years old. Andres was, to say the least, a very angry child. Here is the account of Andres, as it was told to my father, by his father Bruno, and how this young boy’s life was forever changed.

 

I call it,

Obedezca

Obey.

 

Socorro and Alejandro were immigrant workers in South Texas and prided themselves on a hard day’s work. They did their part during the day, toiling in the heat of the summer, and each evening when the sun would start to fall, they went home, tired but happy. Whatever food they could afford was more than enough and Socorro would always provide a decent meal for herself, her husband, and their only child, Andres. Somehow Andres, when he was actually home, found room to complain. The food was too hot or too cold, too bland or too spicy it was always never good enough. When he was younger, Socorro made excuses for him and blamed it on simple child-hood pickiness. As the years went on however, she began to believe that he truly meant to discourage her. This attitude was true for everything she did in the house. Alejandro intervened and begged Andres to listen and to show respect, after all, she was his mother. Andres cursed his father each and every time. When Alejandro went to further discipline his son, Andres would be gone in moments, prowling the neighborhood, looking for algo que hacer, something to do.

“¡Tienes que obedecer, hijo! Tu eres el unico que tenemos!” “You must obey, son! You’re the only one we have!” his mother would cry out to him as he walked away. She loved him unconditionally.

He would yell back to her, “It’s not my fault your barren!” among other curses and obscenities. He was getting worse and worse and the more they tried to discipline him, the more he resisted.

The elderly neighbor, Mariana, a close friend of the family’s, would hear every curse thrown at them by Andres. When she would visit, Socorro would appeal to her and ask her advice. Many times Mariana would console her and explain that it must be a phase and to keep disciplining him. But she knew it was not enough.

One day, while Alejandro was away, Mariana tried to intervene.  Andres threw piedras, rocks, at her and cut her cheek with one of them as he cursed at her. Fed up with how he treated his parents, she yelled at him, “¡Nino miserable! Los demonios le mostrara si no aye nadie mas puede!” Miserable child! The demons themselves will show you, if no one else can! Forget about me, obey your parents!”

He spit at the ground in front of him; a sign of disgust towards her and kept on walking.

“I pray to God for your protection but Lord knows!” she yelled at Socorro before slamming the screen door of her home.

Later that evening, Socorro paced the living as Alejandro sat on the couch. It was after midnight and Andres had not come home yet. This was rare. He would be in his room by this time, everynight, regardless. Then they heard a noice outside.

“Andres?” his father yelled out.

¿Que te importa? Ya bete a dormir, pinche hombre viejo. Tu y tu mujer! Voy para el bano! Ya dejame!” he yelled.

“What’s it to you? Go to sleep already, you old man. You and your women. I’m going to the bathroom. Leave me be!”

In those days, an outhouse served as a bathroom for families.

Alejandro and Socorro looked at each other and their faces fell in sadness. “What do we do?” she began asking him. Not having any solutions, they stood in silence and bowed their heads.

Their voices were drowned out by Andres’ sudden screams coming from outside. His screams were so real and horrible, his parents froze for a moment, but soon Alejandro gathered himself and darted out of the door. He grabbed his machete. Socorro ran behind him. The screams became louder and ominous.

Andres! Que te pasa, hijo?” Andres! Andres!” Alejandro shouted with terror. They reached the outhouse as it moved from side to side slightly. Loud and intense pounding of the walls filled the night as Alejandro tried desperately to break down the locked door, hacking and attempting to slice through the splintered wood. They yelled to him again and again. Andres’s cries were otherworldly. “¡Ama! Ama! Apa! Son muchos!!!” He yelled. “Mother! Mother! Father! There’s many!” The hitting and scraping of the outhouse walls and door intensified with screams of “leave me! Oh, Lord! Leave me!” Andres let out one last cry that shook his mother’s heart and caused her to fall to the ground. Then complete silence. Alejandro, out of breath, gave one final chop to the door and yelled out to his son. There was no answer. Alejandro opened the door and knees buckling, fell to the ground, making the sign of the cross over and over…and over again.

Andres lay huddle in the corner of the outhouse, one bloodied hand almost clutching the wall, the other around his knees. He was brutally beaten. His clothers were torn, tattered, and long, deep cuts crossed his chest. His fingers were bleeding and scratches covered his face. Clumps of his hair were strewn on the ground, covered in blood. As Andres stared blankly at nothing in particular, he whispered a single word, over and over:

 

Perdóname.

Perdóname.

Perdóname.

Perdóname.

 

Overtime his wounds healed, though the scars remained. His mental state was what the doctors called, “perdido“…lost. Andres was sent to an asylum.

The only word he would ever speak was “forgive me” in Spanish:

“Perdóname.”

 Alejandro and Socorro never had other children. They were never the same.

 IMG_6195-550x366

True story.

*This story was published in Underneath The Juniper Tree’s blog 10/2011. Here is the latest and greatest Halloween /13 ISSUU!

Word.

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He’s Here

He's Here


The Lost Tales Of Pemberton

As promised, my little friend and über fan of Underneath The Juniper Tree and sole human inhabitant of The Forest That Screamstrademarked2011 ;} brings you a thought lost Christmas tale in the vain of Tales From The Crypt and Twilight Zone, both of which I am, myself, a super fan.

Not for the squeamish. I give you…

The Trees.

Mr. Cratz kneeled in front of his son and put his hand to his head. “Franklin, I’ll be back within the hour. Right now is the best time to get a tree…because there is magic in the air,” he said smiling. Cratz smiled and stood to his feet. “What I need for you to do is prepare the setting. You know grab the lining and clear the area near the hearth.”

Franklin nodded with a big smile and watched his father walk out of the front door of the little cabin they called home, deep in the center of the Durst Forest. It was a quaint little abode but they cherished every part of it. Franklin ran to a closet off to the side where they kept the Christmas decorations in storage and rummaged through the scattered boxes until he found the one marked, for the tree. He exhaled and picked it up and began taking out the contents of the box: assorted lights, ornaments, and the soft red cloth lining.

Meanwhile, Mr. Cratz trudged through the snow, axe in hand whistling a holiday tune. He pulled his thick wool jacket tighter around him and tucked his neck into it. He stopped after ten minutes or so and looked to the left and to the right. It dawned on him that for the last few years he had taken a tree from the same area. This year, he would go in the opposite direction-to the uncharted wood. Uncharted at least, for him. Beginning the traditional song, O Christmas Tree, he looked into the sky. The sun had long set and he turned his flashlight on and noticed a sign, old and worn. The words of the sign could no longer be read. He shrugged and walked past the sign and continued into the forest, into a circular clearing, looking at the trees up and down, as he passed.

“Franklin. Which would you pick?” he asked outloud. “Hmm, how bout this one, here? Tall, firm…” he stepped near the fir and sniffed the fresh needles. “I think we’ve found our tree,” he said. He ran his gloved fingers across the blade of the axe slowly and thrust it down hard against the tree. He heard a yelp when he struck the tree. He turned and ignored the sound, shaking his head. “Deer,” he muttered. He gripped the axe once again and struck the tree over and over again until it began to lean. He stood straight and put his hand to his hips and mocked an echo. “Timber, timber, ber, ber…” The tree fell and he proceeded to walk to the “top” of the tree and pull it away from the clearing, passed the sign, and back into the forest, towards the cabin.

The tree was tall but thin, making it easier for Mr. Cratz to pull it through the snow. He reached the cabin with Franklin looking out of the window. Franklin ran to the door and swung it open, with the biggest smile Mr. Cratz had ever seen on him. “I knew you’d love it! Now-let’s decorate her!”

They laughed and shared memories while putting all the decorations on the tree. Mr. Cratz even made Franklin’s favorite hot cocoa. A few hours later they went off to their bedrooms.

“Tomorrow, Franklin Cratz. Christmas Day. Goodnight.”

The morning came and Mr. Cratz awoke to the songs of birds outside his window. The sun had not come out yet. He lay in bed for a few moments and smiled. He would surprise Franklin with his first gift, a homemade slingshot. He got it out from under his bed and walked quietly to the living room, expecting to see Franklin there. Franklin wasn’t there. “Still asleep, huh? I don’t blame you, son,” he said walking to Franklin’s room. He opened the door. Franklin wasn’t there. He frowned and called out to him. “Franklin!” Maybe he wanted to see the first day’s snow, he thought, so he ran to the front door, not noticing the tree and everything on it-gone.

He swung the door open…but Franklin wasn’t there. Mr. Cratz’ eyes opened wide. “Franklin! Franklin!” he screamed. “Franklin!” He ran back inside and nearly slipped on something on the floor. He looked down and saw a nearly dried trail of what looked like blood leading to where he had placed the tree. Quickly he turned and looked outside, following the trail of blood. It was faint and nearly covered in snow but it was there. “Franklin! My boy!” he yelled stricken with panic. He ran outside, barefoot, following the trail. Then he saw something else. A different trail, a fresher one, alongside the one from the tree-leadin away from the house. He ran as hard as he could, following it, breathing hard, his heart heavy with grief over what he might find. The old trail and new trail led back to where he found the tree-the clearing. In the darkness he could see faint lights. He found his way to where the sign was and ran so hard he knocked it down into the snow. When he reached the clearing, he fell to his knees and screamed. A scream that would awaken the long since dead. “F-f-f-frank-franklin??” He stuttered as he began to crawl through the snow. The trail of blood led to his son, who was centered, decorated with beautiful ornaments, tinsel, garland, lights…and the soft red cloth lining, drenched in blood. He turned to the left and saw the tree he had chopped down, in the ground, it’s base covered in needles. He reached for the lining. He pulled it away and what he saw was the final blow to his already damaged psyche. He clutched his chest, and fell into the snow. The trees seemed closer to the center than before…as if they were slowly following and watching him. As his heart continued to sieze, he could hear, faintly, a garbled voice behind him, whistling to the tune of O, Christmas tree, o, Christmas tree…

Back at the Cratz cabin were Franklin’s feet, set close together. He had been uprooted, just as the young tree before him.

 

The moral of the story? Signs, signs everywhere are signs. Do this! Don’t do that! Can’t you read…the signs?

 


The Winter Issue!

We continue on with lil Pemberton, the miscreant and resident human in the Forest That Screams…

Pemberton searched high. He searched low.

But he could not find his November Issue, “Oh! Where did it go?”

He has never before been so sad,

save for the day he wandered into the forest, oh, it was bad.

But since then he has found his home

among the ghouls and Gruns…and misshapen gnomes.

Something new and fresh now covered the ground

’twas white and clean and fell with no sound.

The eerie screams from the forest they cried,

“This is the day the keeper of the Forest died!”

The snow began to take shape it did seem,

and now lil Pemberton was beginning to gleam

that the form before him was that of a man!

“So this was my predecessor, the leader of the clan?”

Before they could answer, the spectre, he spoke:

“My, what a pudgy and pale little bloak*!”

Pemberton stepped up to the man, looked at his face,

“This is now my little space!”

“Very well!” the blue tinted man sneered,

in his hands it looked like a book now appeared

Pemberton forgot all about the man’s  icey stare,

for now he had the Winter Issue…for all the Forest to share.

Click the brilliant cover.

Winter Issue: arte by Crystal Ord

Word.

*thank you, E.


Abuelo

Cruz and Tanís took the streets, Cruz with his radio in hand. Today was the day. Today was the day. Cruz had so much excitement inside he could no longer keep it in. He ran through the alley as fast as his legs would take him.

“Come on, Tanís! Hurry up!”

The clamor on Main Street got louder and louder. Cruz could hear the shouting and his smile widened.

Felizidades! Feliz dia de los muertos! shouted the people in the streets.

Holidays are fun. But for Cruz, this was his favorite. It was a day to remember those who had gone before him. His abuelo* past away only a few months ago. Abuelo would take him fishing, often, and would regale him with stories of the old days. He would recall to Cruz, whom he called with affection Cruzizito, the struggles he had growing up as a Mexican immigrant to the States-and Cruz loved him dearly. He respected him more than anything. His father had died when he was much younger, so Abuelo raised him up until his 12th birthday-the day Abuelo passed. Now he was alone with his little brother, Tanís .

But again, this was the day. He would surround himself with the people celebrating the day with their lost loved ones.

Cruz reached the street and the party was on. People dressed in the traditional festive clothing, men with suits and hats, some marichis and some catrins and the women, in their vestidas, very ornate and beautiful indeed. Others partook in the march to the cemetary in shorts and shirts but none could deny their commitment was genuine. They wore the make-up that was known worldwide-the calacas.

The louder the better! Con goso! They shouted. Cruz was ecstatic. “My feet hurt, Cruz,” Tanís  said softly.

“Shh, mira.” Cruz pointed to the many in the streets, and the smell of delicious food filled the air. “Mmm. Abuelo, you smell that? Tanís , remember that was Abuelo’s favorite.”

Tanís nodded sadly. The eight year old lowered his head. “I miss him, too Cruz.” Cruz looked down to him and put his arm ove rhis shoulders. “When we reach the marking, you can help me clean and put some fresh flowers on it, okay?”

Tanis nodded.

The boys made their way to the cemetary and sat near Abuelo’s marking stone, in silence. People started in and out and the sun began to sit. “Abuelo,” Cruz began, holding back his tears. “I have an ofrenda for you. I hope you like it.” He picked up the radio and pressed play. It was one of Abuelo’s favorite songs.

 

The song finished and Cruz and Tanís  stood up. Cruz wiped his tears and started down at the stone.

Nunca me voy a olvidarte.

That was Abuelo’s way. He wanted his stone to read that. To remind them that although he was gone, he would never forget. “Abuelo, we will never forget you.”

By this time it was dark and Cruz decided to head home. “Let’s go, Tanís . It’s getting late. Let’s go.” Tanís yawned and and nodded. “It was a really great gift you gave him, Cruz. I know he loved it,” Tanís  said with a smile.

Cruz returned the smile and moved his hand over Tanís’ hair, tossling it a little. As they reached the gates of the cemetary there was a man with a woman walking by. Cruz nodded respecfully to the young couple, dressed exquisitely. The man had on a slim tailored suit and had jet black hair slicked back. He had no make up as many of the others had. The young lady had on a black dress with jewels sparkling all around. In her hair was a beautiful, crimson rose.

“Ha venido a traer una ofrenda, ninos?” The man stopped and asked.

Cruz stopped and turned. “Si senor. You look…” Cruz stopped short. He was in awe of how well-dressed and charismatic the couple looked. Especially the man. The man was tall and lean but looked very strong.

The man smiled. “Que es tu nombre , hjio?”

‘I’m Cruz and this is my little brother Tanís.”

“Bueno, mira. I have a calavera for you, hijos.” He reached in his pocket and handed Cruz a rather old looking pocket watch. He gave to Tanís a pen, embellished with gold.

“Soy un escritor. Tonight is a time to celebrate and give. So I give you these. Pasen buen noche, hijos.”

Cruz nodded, as did Tanis. They smiled at each other and turned to walk away.

“Abuelo used to be a writer, Cruz,” Tanís said with a big smile. Cruz looked at the watch and his eyes lit up. He stopped suddenly and put his hand on Tanís’ chest. A glowing inscription appeared on the back of the watch:

Nunca te olvidare, Cruzizito.

The glowing faded and Cruz turned around quickly, just in time to see the man smiling back at him, nodding and waving good-bye as he vanished into the night air, his lady catrina going with him.

Dedicated to my Welo Bruno Longoria, who went home, almost 17 years ago. machine.

##

Usually the image should accompany the story but this image is too amazing not to add it. It embodies the end of the story….vanishing from sight.

Matter of fact, it really fits in with a story I wrote called Una Noche Con Los Muertos, but I won’t reveal it just yet. :}.

Dia De Los Muertos by the brilliant PhatpuppyArt.  

Twitter

Dia De Los Muertos by PhatpuppyArt

Thank you, Claudia.

*abuelo is grandfather.

Another calavera I have for YOU is this, the November Issue of Underneath The Juniper Tree! Read on share at will!

Be blessed. 


Pemberton Returns to the Forest That Screams

When we last saw the boy he was waving good-bye to his family in the ville,

the thought of them afraid of the dark, well it just made him ill!

His story continues with a little poem of sorts

never mind the ghastly GrumGrum beast’s snorts.

Tonight’s the night the ghouls and superhero’s feast!

On treats and goodies, some candy corn…at least.

They will come to the door, and don their disguises,

and better for their candy bag, if they should surprise us.

But one young man, oh, he has no joy.

He has no plan of action or ploy.

See  though it be Halloween this night,

And the spirits about will come out to fright,

Lil Pemberton is not smiling, no he is down, he is forlorn

his spirit is remiss, yes, oh yes, it is torn!

for tonight is the last night he can sit and be free

Underneath The Juniper Tree.

The October Issue is going away, along with the dead,

and Pemberton is filled with such dread.

“But wait, young boy,” eerie voices team,

“Remember when you first walked into the Forest That Screams?

There is no need to cry, or pout,

or whine or to shout…”

The voices drew closer and ever closer still

The kind that could be break even the strongest man’s will.

It then continued in it’s haunting, dark speech

and now Lil Pemberton was within it’s cold reach,

“there is most certainly a reason to fear…

The November Issue…is coming, my dear.”

Into_the_Light_by_daniellieske

 

Matter of fact, the Issue is here! Read on and bedefrighted. |m|

Read the Halloween Issue  as well, and also check this interview of Tex via Andrea Hurst & Associates!

 

 

 

10/31> And of course what Hallow’s Eve would be complete without Ichabod Crane. We all now what happened to the poor Mr. Crane* so let us enjoy…happier times.

*or do we?

WORD.


Rapping, Rapping At My Door.

I kept waking up last night, shivering. The shadows on the wall danced but…they weren’t happy. I heard something outside of the window and hesitated to look. I took a deep breath, got over it and looked. Nothing but the juniper tree hitting against it.

Shew.

I decided to grab a snack, something small not too heavy. It was 3:33 in the morning after all! I wrapped my robe and scarf tight-it was cold out and the air was creeping in.

I ate my snack and exhaled. “Everything’s good,” I convinced myself then headed back to sleep…and then…I heard a knock at the front door. I opened my eyes and stared at the roof. “Are you kidding me?”
“Who’s there?,” I whispered and swallowed hard.
Silence for a minute or two. Then the tree began tapping the window. Good grief.


Then the knock started again. The rapping made my heart jump!
I had to answer so I jumped up without thinking, casting off the fear like my robe just a few minutes earlier.
I darted for the door and asked loudly, “Who is it! It’s 4:00 in the morning!”
Silence.


Then the rapping continued…and stopped suddenly.

Why, oh why did I pick this cottage deep in the forest as a suitable place to live? I wondered.
I mustered the courage and told myself I was clearly delusional. Obviously from the lack of sleep. I thought of Poe for some reason and smiled. Enough of this, I thought to myself and started for the room-and the knock got louder. My eyes grew several inches in size and I turned, angry now, and opened the door.
“WHAT?” I yelled.
But there was no one there. I breathed in and out and looked to my feet. The October Issue of Underneath The Juniper Tree was resting on the ground. I stepped out and looked through the trees. But no one was out. The cold air brushed my air and I swear I heard an eerie laughter in it. I bent down to grab the issue just it began to rain. “Great,” I grumbled.
I didn’t see the figure with the pumpkin for a head behind me, in my own house…’til it was too late.

Read the October Issue, out now!


Friday Night Music, #7DS Site and The October Premier of #UTJT

I’ll keep this post short, sweet and with just a hint of ruckus. 

First, it’s #FollowFriday on The Twitter. Swing by, Tweet, Follow and Support your favorite #writers #artists and creators.

Then hit play on this wickedly epic cover of Journey’s ‘Separate Ways” by a band I discovered just last night, Across The Sun.

Separate Ways cover.

* * * *  * * *

Also, I have some epic news to share. Many of you know I am just one part of an anthology/collaboration of superbly talented Writers/Authors.

Here is the newest site dedicated to the group effort created with awesome by Stephen Penner, a.k.a. Wrath scribe.

Seven Deadly Sins coming 2012 “Can not wait for this to be available. With so many great writer’s involved… its going to be one “HELL” of a read!”–an anxious reader. |m|

Way to bring the ruckus Mr. Penner!

* * * * * * *

Also, reminder tomorrow is the first day/launch of the spookily awesome online magazing Underneath The Juniper Tree!

They are an inspiration.

Here’s a piece that hints at a little short I wrote for them. It was fun to write. Mwahaheehooha.

The Discoveries mute_nOface

Be there and be scared.

This post brought to you my me, the #7DS Crew, #UTJT, Across The Sun and E aka Elizabeth Rose.

Thwip!

Be blessed!


#Winning, A New Contest And An Upcoming Issue

Hello all you writerly folk and beloved readers.

I really need to blog more than twice a week, right? It’s like I shared on Twitter earlier, if you think of a blog post topic, write. it. down. :}.

I digress.

I’d yet to share this here.

Underneath The Juniper Tree, the online children’s lit magazine specializing in horror and scary things are constantly challenging writers and artists in creating newness. That is, new stories and art and they do it in a way that makes it so much fun. Seriously. I’ve had a great time in just a short time taking part in some of these brilliant “go for it’s”.

Matter of fact I am honored and syked to share with you all that a submission of mine won and will be featured in what is sure to be one of the best issues-the Halloween Issue. The prompt was, basically, end the story with this line:

“See you in St. Germaine!” She laughed as her eyes clouded over.

I thought about it for a second or two and the idea came to me. And…it won. That really is awesome. I’d also like to congratulate again, artist and new Friend, Elizabeth Rose Stantonor as I call her E, on her win for art! Thank you @UnderTheJuniper and JuniperTreeLit for choosing my words to be a part of the scary!

I’ve submitted other shorts and again, they’ve been really fun to write.

I’m syked about this as well:

A Thrilling Contest And Competition:

Literary Asylum, in cahoots with UTJT and Walden Pond Press are throwing a really cool contest and offering up some really pleasing prizes. You owe it to yourself to enter and do this. Check the link for all of the details and get in this.

I sat there for a few and asked myself, “Okay. What you got?” I answered with two paragraphs(part of the contest guidelines) and I really liked what I came up with. It was an exercise in writing, of course, but because of this prompt, I have since taken notes and started outlining/creating an entirely new book. I know, I believe, it will see the light…or night after the day. Word.

The upcoming Issue Of Underneath is sure to blow your mind…all over the wall. Check the September Issue and don’t forget to replace that night light bulb before the sun goes down.

Writers write. 

Thwip!


Short SHORT Stories for UTJT

More of my submissions to Underneath The Juniper Tree‘s Twitter #under140story palooza-rama-bonanza!!!

Their September issue kicks off TODAY!

  • I stared into the eyes of the beast. They were cold but burning red. I vowed to be the last thing those eyes would ever see.
  • Roses are red, violets are blue. If I put this blade through your heart…well what color would you turn?


  • Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall. And children, thanks be to his very big fall…we can all eat today! Scrambled or over easy?” 
     

Jack jumped back when Jill attacked...and the knife laid perfectly still.

  • Jack and Jill went up a hill…and saw who they wished to eagerly, kill. The end.
  • “Little red riding hood you sure are looking good. You’re everything a big bad wolf…could kill,” the evil beast whispered.
  • I ran and I ran until my heart nearly failed me. Then I reached my destination. Slowly I reached for the words, “The End.”
  • He lifted the quill and blood fell. “Have you ever tried to write in blood? It’s hard. It drips.” The Stories: Book Two ‘The Bridge’ #wiplines 
  • “A man who sacrifices his life for another-great reward follows him in the afterlife,” he said. Then he pulled his gun on me.
  • I awoke alone. In silence. The blood on my hands was still warm. 
I love to write. Word.
thwip!

Digging Around Underneath The Juniper Tree

He looked up at the sky and shouted to the clouds, “You said this wouldn’t happen again!” Then looked down at all the bones.

Marjorie Merle, Underneath The Juniper Tree

That is seriously one of the best things I’ve ever read. Truly.  For me as the reader it conjures an image of a man crying out to God. I can see it. That’s what great writing does.

See over the weekend on The Twitter, the epic hosts of the online blog and magazine Underneath The Juniper Tree invited all to write their very best short, and I mean short (140 characters) story. The darker and more twisted-the better. I put my knit writing cap on and it refused to be taken off! It was really fun and Marjorie and Tex showed the love. I thanked them for the chance of course and…I read so many great short stories!

Ahhh, Writers. Am I write?

So here I would like to share today a few of mine and maybe one or two of the others.

Note: they are all “dark” in nature. 

As I walked into the valley of the shadow of Death I feared not his evil. My sword & my shield fought with me. I am he who killed Death!  <new story I will “commence”.   Continue reading


Underneath The Juniper Tree

Okay folks. Have you seen the Nick cartoon Making Fiends? Well get that, some  Shel Silverstein…then mix in some serious spook…and broil it at a temperature that will melt your face for four hours-you get Underneath the Juniper Tree.

This is one of my summer finds and it’s seriously cool.

Their contests are fun and challenging and lemme tell ya-they make me want to further my writing-all over again. I’m writing a horror short called Obey about kids and scariness…so this is perfect.

Did I mention the art?  Continue reading


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