A 'Short and Shivery' story composed by myself

A WEEK IN THE WOODS

By Meagan Quirk

Dedicated to Uncle Patrick for his legendary scary camping stories, and to Lee and Jace, my wranglers on the Teen Overnight where this story was born.

It was the last week of summer, and the air was still hot, though the wind had grown cold.  Brothers Kenneth and Alex were anxious to fit one last campout into their school vacation. After some deliberation, they decided to take the week up at Wolf Creek, since it was one of the few locations they hadn’t yet conquered. It would be the perfect end to the summer, and they invited their cousins Ian and Forrest to come with them.

“Wolf Creek!?” said Ian, “Sure we’ll go. Hardly anyone hikes there, let alone camps. We’ll be dang famous.”

“There’s a reason that no one does there, guys,” said Meagan, older sister to Kenneth and Alex, “They’re not sure that they caught that rogue predator from a few years back.”

“Sure they did, you baby. Hasn’t been a hiker attacked in three years now!” Alex pulled Meagan’s ponytail.

“Still, too bad Truman can’t come with us,” said Forrest, “Isn’t hardly a campout without Truman.”

Truman had been the boy’s Scoutmaster since they were just Cub Scouts, and was moving away that very week.

The four boys packed their gear and drove Kenneth’s white Silverado out to the base of Grizzly Mountain, where they could start their hike up to Wolf Creek. They had heard that the bears were pretty bad that year from the Park Ranger, and to they packed an extra canister of bear spray.  As they turned to start up the trail, they heard the crunch of tires behind them.

“Truman!” they all yelled as his smiling face appeared from his truck.

“Couldn’t miss our last campout!” he said with a smile, swinging his pack onto his back.

They all laughed and slapped each other’s backs as they started up the mountain.

If only they had known…

An unforecasted storm rolled in about 4pm, turning the hike into a muddy, wet affair. They had counted on sleeping out under the stars, but with the downpour they decided to quickly erect a makeshift A-frame teepee. The rain couldn’t dampen their spirits, however, and the twilight was spent cooking hot dogs and s’mores. Sleepiness didn’t overcome the boys until midnight, when they retreated to their mostly dry sleeping bags and quickly fell asleep.

Somewhere around 3am, Forrest woke up with a powerful urge to pee. Grumbling, he crawled out of the teepee.

“Go pee in the trees, not on the teepee,” came Truman’s mumbling, muffled voice from his sleeping bag.

Growling curses under his breath, Forrest walked further into the trees. He didn’t come back.

Kenneth was the first to notice his cousin was missing the next morning. Truman remembered that Forrest had gone to answer the call of nature in the night, so they spread out, calling Forrest’s name. They never found Forrest, but they found pints of blood on the trees and ground about fifteen yards off.

Devastated and terrified, they decided to break camp and head for the police immediately. But the storm from the night before had raised Wolf Creek to a flooding torrent. The footbridge they had crossed it on just yesterday was swept totally away, and trying to ford it was suicide.

The best they could do was move camp as far away from the attack site as they could carry it in one day.

“It was the rogue. It had to be,” said Ian that evening as they built the fire as tall as they could manage, “They never knew for sure if they killed it. They didn’t even know for sure if it was a wolf, a bear, a cougar… hell it could have been a wolverine.”

“It was quiet. None of us heard a thing. And it was fast, because he never hollered. And there weren’t a load of tracks around, so it wasn’t a pack. Sounds like a cat. Cougar,” reasoned Alex.

“But the rangers said that bears were bad this year. Could have been a Grizzly,” said Kenneth.

“Rangers said that the rogue was most likely a wolf,” said Truman, “Rabies, or just not afraid anymore. Lone wolf. But we’ll never know, maybe. This rain is washing away any tracks.”

They agreed to take turns keeping watch that night. Kenneth first, then Alex, then Truman, then Ian, just before dawn.

Ian had heard that the darkest hour is just before dawn, but now he was sure of it. The rain picked up again, and the wind came with it. Were those bushes ahead moving in the wind? He shifted the ax and the bear spray, the only weapons they had, in his hands. He heard a twig in the  forest snap to his right, and his head instinctively looked in that direction.  The powerful blow came from behind, and before he could shout in alarm, powerful teeth were sunk into his throat. Just before he died, Ian saw with horror what the rogue was, but he never got to tell.

They found Ian’s body in the river the next day, caught up in some tangled branches and brush. His throat had been torn out, as if by the fangs of some wild animal.

The three remaining campers moved quickly, trying day by day to get across the river, each effort proving as futile as the last. For three days they didn’t sleep at night, and moved camp during the day. The fourth evening set, and rain again flooded the ground, forcing the campers to set up another A-frame. 72 hours without sleep, hiking thru rugged terrain on little food and pounding adrenaline proved too much for the men, who, despite their best efforts, fell into exhausted, dreamless sleep.

Alex jerked awake suddenly to a yell from beside him; and turned just in time to see Kenneth jerked out from under the teepee wall.

“NO!” Alex shouted, following Kenneth quickly out into the dark woods. Whatever had Kenneth traveled quickly, though Alex could hear a fierce struggle going on; Kenneth was putting up a good fight. Alex followed the sounds of the struggle, until it suddenly fell silent. A moment later he found Kenneth, just as they had found Ian.

“No!” He howled, hurtling into the woods, in the general direction he suspected the rogue had run. He tore thru the darkness, not knowing where he went. Soon he came to the swollen river, and stopped a moment. A few minutes later, Truman came thundering through the forest.

“Where is Kenneth?” He asked, desperately, soaking wet and looking disheveled. “I couldn’t see anything, and fell into the river as I ran after you! I nearly drown!”

Alex told him what happened, and the frightened pair decided to go back to the teepee, but stay awake, keep watch for the rest of the night, and come daylight, chance the river, no matter how swollen.

In the teepee they didn’t talk much, but Alex’s thoughts ran a hundred miles an hour.

“Do you think they’ll find all us eventually? Our throats all torn out?”  

“Probably,” said Truman as he turned to Alex, and ripped out his throat.

The Doll

Holy Crap, Lady Jack knows how to do it!

Halfway there and the damn boat sank

Halfway there and the damn boat sank. Knew that it would; guy who sold me the thing told me so, too. Still, when the moment comes and it actually sinks, don't begrudge me my frustration, and let me mourn just a minute.

I'm sure there's a better way to handle this; but this is the best I could come up with. Part of me died, part of me changed, part of me cried, but most of me is just Peter Pan. 



Nothing really gets to me. Not anymore.  Even Mary commented on it.
"Either I'm spectacularly fast at recovery, or I'm in denial." I said.
"I know!," agreed Mary, widening her eyes.
Oh well.

At least now I can get on to the fun blogs again istead of this pining business that's been so dang prevelant lately.

:)

Short and Shivery

When I was a little kid, I was fascinated with Halloween. The entire month of October was Halloween to me, the 31st being the crowning jewel of the festival. I could not get enough of planning for Halloween parties, reading Halloween stories... and to my delight, I discovered that not all of Halloween dies with the month's close. Scary stories were available at the Library year round! I've read a lot of  scary stuff, horror stuff, Halloween stuff, and these books are the best of their class (short story). 

I realize that saying this makes me an unrepentant nerd. 

At Paradise Ranch, part of my job is to tell scary stories on the overnight trip. I have a pretty good repetoire,  and 95% of it comes from these books. But I realized that I am going to run out sooner or later, or just get tired of telling the same story. So I had an epiphany. Why not just buy those books!? What joy filled my soul at that prospect. So I jotted off to half.com, and bought myself those darn things.

WOW!! Soon those books will be mine and I will take colored pencils and color in the illustrations just like I always wanted to.



And just to prove that there is a God and He loves me....

There's a whole new book, full of stories that I have not yet devoured. Life is good, my friends.  

Even More Rassmussen Plantation!!

Chapter Four

Cinnamon finished signing the papers about a half-hour later. She was not certain what to do afterwards, but she thanked Mr. Andrews and made small talk a while longer, and drank a few more glasses of lemonade, then showed him out.

            “I’m sorry if I scared you, miss,” Mr. Andrews said, as he descended her front steps.

            “Not at all,” Cinnamon laughed, looking at the deed and other papers in her hand, “I hardly believe in ghost stories anymore.”

Chapter Five

          Cinnamon felt like she was abandoning poor Abram when she told him she would be leaving. She asked him to leave a note for Eddie, since he still hadn’t shown up, and then hurried off to catch the eleven o’clock bus to New Orleans.

            She had only her knapsack on her back by way of possessions, and a duffle bag over her shoulder. Tybalt was stuffed into her knapsack, protesting and mewing at first, but now he seemed to have resigned himself to his fate, and lay in the bag as if sleeping. Somewhere on the highway the bus broke down, so Cinnamon spent an unhappy night on the cramped bus seat. The bus didn’t drive clear into Eau d’Noir, but it had a stop within walking distance. When they reached it the sky was still dark, a few stars sprinkled overhead and the far to the east the navy color of the sky was letting go to a lighter shade. Cinnamon took a quick look around at her unfamiliar surroundings, and pulled her worn, brown jacket close around her, then picked up her frayed duffle bag and slung it over her shoulder, starting down the road towards the mansion. The Louisiana air was thick and humid, and a lazy breeze swayed the Spanish moss on the trees and occasionally brought a welcome scent of magnolia over the swamp mud. She felt very lonely, and thought of her family as she walked, marveling that she should have ever found herself in such a situation. The land around her seemed to be watching her, the owls from their perches, and occasional flashing eyes from deeper in the trees. Cinnamon quickened her pace. She had never liked the dark.

            A snap behind her made her turn instinctively. Were those flashing eyes she saw, turning quickly off the road into the trees? She shuddered.

“Cougar maybe, even a wolf. Just keep walking. Walk quickly, walk calmly,” she told herself.

 The wind picked up a little bit, and blew her red hair out of it’s messy bun. She cast another nervous look over her shoulder. Were those footsteps? Did animals have footsteps like that?

“Calm down, Cinnamon. You are scaring yourself.”

She remembered quickly how easy it had always been to scare her; as a little girl she could not be left alone or she would start crying hysterically of fright, and her brothers and sisters had always made sport of making her jump and gasp.

Cinnamon felt that old, familiar feeling of fear clutch in her throat, and shiver down her arms, felt her heart beating almost violently, and her head began to spin. Tears began to form in her eyes, and she wiped at them impatiently.

“Stop it! Stop it! Get ahold of yourself. You are scaring yourself, this is nothing but your imagination- the wind, and your imagination.”

Or was it?

The hair on Cinnamon’s neck stood straight. The wind continued to blow, and in the swamp a twig snapped.

“Who’s there?” she shouted into the darkness.

Silence.

But from far off, she could hear the wind rushing faster thru the trees. She started to run down the road, hoping to reach a house or a village before…before what? Before the night could reach her, before…something, something, before the darkness conspired against her. She could barely see the road as she ran, but put one foot in front of the other, her mind reeling, her lungs burning. She began to cough and choke for air, but she kept running and running until her foot stumbled over a rock or a dip in the road and she fell forward.

She screamed and threw a protective arm over her head, but nothing attacked. After a moment she peeked out from under her arm and saw… daylight. The sun had broken over the horizon, and nothing had attacked her. She sat up in the dusty road and realized that she must have had a panic attack. She had heard of girls who had scared themselves to death before, and she wondered if she, too, would end up that way.

She brushed herself off and sullenly glared at the surrounding woods, then picked her things up and, feeling foolish, started back down the road. The walk wasn’t nearly so bad in the new dawn, and as she walked, she wondered if she might even learn to like it here. Having grown up in the bayous, she was used to the steady undercurrent of eeriness that the swamps afforded, but there was something enchanting here also. Something about the way the moss blew in the breeze, or the light thru the trees, that seemed to smile flirtatiously at her.

She lost track of the time as she walked, but later estimated it to be about an hour and a half trek. She took a turn in the road, and then, suddenly, there it was.

Eau D’Noir

The old iron gate proclaimed the name is twisting, twirling letters. The gate was so covered in vines that at first she could not make out what it said, but after she had torn away a few fistfuls of vines, she recognized the old French name. Black Water; her new home. She fumbled for the key Mr. Andrews had given her, and with it opened the padlock which secured the fence. The gate opened with a great deal of complaining and difficulty, and closed behind her in the same way.

 She couldn’t see far down the driveway for all the fog, but she could make out the huge, ancient oak trees that lined the road as she walked down it, towards the mansion. She saw only a huge, dark outline ahead of her before she could discern it was a house. The fog was lightening gradually and the sun was becoming stronger as she got her first proper look at her new home.

She had seen sketches of the place from Mr. Andrews, but drawings did not permit a proper print of what the mansion really was. It was enormous, and sprawling, and seemed keenly aware of the fact, and sat with the air of a rich, beautiful woman in her finest jewels. Cinnamon stopped a moment, and just looked at it. The house seemed alive, as if watching her, and asking just who exactly she was. A little frightened, even in the raising sunlight, she walked up onto the rickety old porch. Rocking chairs still sat on the dilapidated old deck, vines growing up around their legs and over their backs. Cinnamon bit back the urge to knock on the massive, wooden door.

“This is my home now.” She said to no one.

Speaking to no one reminded her of the unhappy cat in her bag, so she swung it around her and opened it up, giving unfortunate Tybalt a bit of fresh air. She let him out of his keeping place and onto the porch. He stretched his legs a moment, and then sat at her ankles, looking up at her.

“I suppose I should go in.” Cinnamon said uncertainly to her cat.

Tybalt just blinked.

She inserted her key into the old lock, turned it, and heard the deadbolt unlock. She bit her lower lip a little, and pushed the door open.

The house was entirely quiet. Cinnamon made sure that Tybalt was inside with her, but left the door open to provide a little bit of much needed light. The main room was covered in dust, a quarter inch thick. Vines could be seen creeping up some of the windows, and even within the house in a few places. The grand, sweeping staircase’s paint was beginning to peel, and the carpets were so coated in dust, Cinnamon could not tell what color they were meant to be. Suddenly a realization struck her.

The room was fully furnished. The mirrors, the carpets, the marble bust near the door… surely these things would have been taken along by a vacating master, or peddled off if times were hard enough to prompt an abandonment. She ran a finger through the thick dust coating a beautiful dresser that sat along the wall. When she saw the color beneath it, she gave a big puff of breath to dispel more dust, and then ran her palm along the top of the furniture to clear it completely. It was gold overlay, with hand-painted rosettes and lilacs running along the edges. Marvelous.

Very curious now, she laid aside her baggage, and walked for the next room, Tybalt following after her. It was a Library, fully stocked still with leather bound books, a marble painted globe near the fireplace, and a fine oak desk sitting near the darkened window, papers still strewn across it, as if it’s master had just stepped out for a moment was expected back at any time. The name signed to many of the papers was one she knew; Caspar Rassmussen- her great great grandfather, who had willed the mansion to her.

A sudden gust of wind opened the window nearest the desk and scattered the papers across the room. Cinnamon rushed to the window and closed the latch before too much damage could be done. As she closed the window, she saw a tangled garden below, just a glimpse, and of an orchard near it, fallen into sorry disarray. She locked the window and took another look about her. Slowly, she began to tour her new home, with her cat close behind her. Room after room, parlors, bedrooms, billiard rooms, drawing rooms, maids quarters, and then, at last, the dining hall.

She wasn’t sure at first is what she saw was real. The grand tables were still laden with food, with a feast fit for a grand party. Rotten platters of meat, spoiled fruit, and molded bread were lain out as if waiting to be eaten. Empty pitchers sat with the feast, the wine long evaporated, but stopped bottles of brandy and scotch still sat, covered with sixty years of dust on them. Spiderwebs covered the lot of it, like a film of dirty lace.

“Do you see this, Tybalt?” Cinnamon asked her companion, “What do you make of it all? It’s like they just walked out the front door one day, and left everything just as it was.”

The dull glint of dusted metal caught her eye, and she walked a few paces away and picked up something off the floor.

A silver mask, with stars engraven onto it, and two navy blue ribbons to secure it. Remembering Mr. Andrews’ story, she dropped it to the ground as if it were a severed head. It clinked as it hit the floor, and lay there still, it’s empty eyes watching her. She shuddered, and walked quickly out of the troubled room.

“Enough!” she shouted, running back into the main room, “Enough ghosts and stories! Eau D’Noir is mine now, not Caspar’s or Madeline’s or Alyce’s. MINE!”

She emphasized her last word by grabbing hold of the drapes and giving them a mighty tug, ripping them to the ground. 

More Rassmussen Plantation!

Alyce herself was one of the few who knew she was a monster. Her maid also knew it, but she was bullied into silence and submission. The only other person who knew it was Madeline. Madeline knew it better than anyone else, because Madeline was also a monster, if just a different kind.

Upstairs in her locked, hidden room, Madeline was crouching in a corner, listening to the faint music coming from the Ballroom. She liked the melody of this one- and the beat, what was it? A waltz? Yes, yes a waltz.

Madeline stood upright, and held her arms out to an imaginary partner. She was a frightful sight, in her long white nightgown and her wild, curly black hair, her big, black eyes.

“Why Jeremiah, I’d love to,” she giggled with a curtsy to the thin air, “I knew you’d come back for me.”

And as her nurse watched her through the keyhole, Madeline waltzed with the air, and laughed flirtatiously with it, while from downstairs the sweetly sad music echoed just strong enough to be heard in the hidden wing where Madeline was kept.

Downstairs the evening had just begun- the Rassmussen Patriarch and his daughter had not yet descended the Grand Staircase, but the guests had arrived, and ballroom was bursting with music and laughter. Billowing, lacy skirts whirled and shiny boots followed after them, ladies batted their lashes at gentlemen and gossip swirled around the room. The atmosphere in the room was hot- hot from a thousand emotions contained in it. The men competed jealously for their ladies, who all watched each other enviously.  Gentlemen old enough and rich enough to be part of the Mr. Rassmussen’s infamous and underhanded Monster Club chomped their cigars and swirled their brandy in anticipation, while Alyce’s favorite group of ladies, who had been organized into their own secret society, waited anxiously for her. Tonight was not just a night of revelry; it was also business. It was well known that many a Monster’s Ball had ended with a disappearance, even a murder, but no one ever dared to refuse an invitation from the Rassmussens.  The room was as colorful as Mardi Gras, as elegant as Paris, as thick as thieves, and as hot as Hell.

Suddenly the room fell silent, and all eyes turned to the Grand Staircase. Slowly descending the stairs was old Rassmussen himself, his breathtaking daughter on his arm. They descended into the room like gods in their own rite, until they reached the ballroom floor. The crowd parted to let them pass, and the music did not start again until they had seated themselves at their table and old Rassmussen motioned for the orchestra to play on.  In an instant there were a dozen men around Alyce, asking her for a waltz. Every woman hated and envied, and worshipped, Alyce. There was a certain irresistible charm about her, for both men and women, which no one could account for.

          Upstairs Madeline caught wind of Alyce’s voice.

          “Alyce!” she hissed, stopping her waltz midstep, “Alyce, Alyce, Alyce.”

          Her face shriveled into a snarl.

          “Bad.”

          She sank to her knees and walked her fingers across the dusty floor.

          “Pretty Alyce, pretty Alyce,” she said in a sing-song voice, “Naughty Alyce, plays with the boys, plays with the toys, dances all night, boys start a fight, Alyce the spider sits in her web, and soon the boys will all be…”

          She rolled onto her back, and put a hand on her belly.

 “Eaten,” she smiled.

“Mr. Tarleton,” Alyce smiled, extending her hand to the handsome dark, curly haired gentleman, “Did you know I missed you terribly while I was away?”

“Did you?” Mr. Tarleton asked, his blue eyes smiling as he kissed her proffered hand.

“Did you miss me at all?” she smiled, and fanned herself.

“Very much,” he replied, caressing the top of her soft hand with his thumb as he held it.

“Fibber!” she giggled, and withdrew her hand, “You didn’t even notice I was gone.”

“Now Miss Alyce, that’s not true at all! How could I not notice? I’d just as soon overlook the stars missing from the sky,” he objected.

Alyce leaned in, very close to his lips and whispered, “Then why haven’t you asked… to dance with me yet?”

Madeline went to her window, and tested the latch. She had secretly broken it some time ago, and had carefully hidden it from her nurse, waiting and waiting for tonight to come, as it did every year. Satisfied that it would open, she reached out onto the windowsill and pulled up a loose brick, and hid it in the folds of her nightdress. She then crept back to center of her room, sat on the floor, and began to howl like an animal. Her nurse quickly came in to quiet her before the guests heard her, locking the door behind her as she always did. She rushed over to Madeline, but as soon as she was within arm’s reach Madeline quickly struck out and hit her nurse with the brick hidden in her fist. Her nurse was knocked unconscious, but Madeline caught her before she hit the floor.

“Poor nurse, poor nurse,” she crooned, rocking her nurse’s head for a moment before setting it softly on the floor with a kiss.

Her wild, beautiful eyes then flashed to the window. She stood up quickly and walked to the window, then threw open the shutters.  She lifted herself up onto the windowsill, and sat there a moment, her feet dangling over the edge. She cackled, and kicked her feet, then reached out and grabbed onto the rain gutter, and climbed out the window.

Old Mr. Rassmussen sat in the corner, smoking his large cigar and talking to his Monster Club associates in a domineering voice, so he did not see Alyce disappear out the door with Mr. Tarleton. It was a strange talent Alyce had, with every eye on her, to disappear into thin air.

Mr. Tarleton should have been thrilled. Any man at the Monster’s Ball would have given his right arm to be alone with Miss Alyce. But Mr. Tarleton was rather unlike the other men in that respect. Oh, Miss Alyce was stunning, to be sure, and wealthy as King Midas, but there had always been something in her eyes, something that reminded him of a snake.

“Come on, come on Mr. Tarleton! We’ll be caught if we don’t hurry away quickly.” Alyce pulled at his hand and led him away down a dark hallway.

He went with her, unable to resist, but his reluctance, his propriety, and his intuition tugged him in the other direction.

“Where are we going, Miss Alyce?”

She tossed him a look over her shoulder, “Just here,” she said, and pushed open a door off the hallway.

The room was empty, and dark but for the moonlight that streamed through the window and softly reflected off the furniture.

“What are you up to?” he teased her gently.

She reached into her hair and pulled out the pin that held it up, then shook her head, letting her curly black hair tumble over her shoulders.

“Kiss me, Tarleton,” she said, tilting her perfect little face up towards his, and stepping into his arms.

He hesitated for just a moment, then gently but firmly pushed her away.

“No. No, Miss Alyce. I’m sorry.”

Alyce looked for a moment like she had not heard him right.

“No? Did I just hear you say no to me?” she looked amused, and slightly baffled.

“I won’t kiss you, Alyce. I don’t love you,” he said.

“Don’t you?” she tilted her head, “That is odd. You see, I thought for certain you did.”

She stepped closer to him again, reaching up and running her finger under his chin and against his jawline, then went up on her tiptoes and kissed the tender spot just between his jaw and neck.

“Stop it, Alyce,” he said, again pushing her away, “I…”

A sudden noise made them turn.

“What was that?” Alyce whispered, gripping Tarleton’s forearm tightly, “It sounded like an animal.”

“An animal? In the hall?” Tarleton asked.

“Let’s get out of here.” Alyce said, starting for the door.

“No,” Tarleton stopped her, “If it is an animal, it’s safer that you stay here a moment. I’ll go take a look.”

He opened the door, and stepped into the hall, shutting the door behind him. The room was quiet. The moonlight cast an eerie glow over the room, and Alyce turned and looked out the window for just a moment when she heard the ‘click’ of the door shutting. She whipped back around.

“Hello, big sister. Miss me?” Madeline’s voice greeted Alyce before she saw her.

“Madeline!” Alyce gasped, “How did you get out of your room?”

Alyce saw with horror that Madeline had a pistol in one hand. Madeline didn’t answer, but took a bottle of Scotch off a side table and dumped it onto the floor.

“Bad, bad, bad,” she chastised as she watched the liquor run over the ground and onto a rug.

“Madeline, you go back to your nurse this instant!” Alyce ordered, trying to sound brave.

Madeline looked up at her, amused.

“Scared of me?” she asked, “I can make animal noises.”

Madeline produced a match, which she dropped into the spilled alcohol, a fire jumping up. Her face then crumpled into a snarl, and she began to growl, and snapped at her sister like an angry dog. Alyce screamed and bolted for the door, throwing it open just as her sister reached her.

“Pretty Alyce, pretty Alyce!” shrieked Madeline, pulling Alyce backwards by her hair.

They struggled for a moment, then Alyce broke free and ran down the hall screaming for help. Tarleton was there in an instant, and they ran towards the Ballroom. Alyce’s father met them at the doors.

“What is God’s name is going on?” he demanded as they slammed the doors behind them.

“Demon!” cried Alyce, “It’s that demon!”

Suddenly smoke began sneaking under the door, and the smell of smoke filled the room. Panic broke out, and people ran every which way to get out of the burning mansion. Somewhere in the pandemonium Madeline reappeared, calmly raised her pistol and shot Alyce through the heart, right in front of the terrified mob.

“What happened then?” Cinnamon was fascinated.

Mr. Andrews sighed, “The fire was put out before too much of the mansion burned. Miss Alyce was buried in the family crypt. Madeline ran into the swamps and was never seen again. The Monster Club was disbanded by the start of the Civil War, when all the men went to fight. Old Mr. Rassmussen became a recluse after the loss of his daughters, and was rarely seen again. Eventually the plantation was abandoned when the slaves all ran away, and Mr. Rassmussen disappeared as well.”

“Spooky,” commented Cinnamon.

“Yes. Spooky,” agreed Mr. Andrews.

Shenanigans at Paradise

So one day we were snowed in (AGAIN) and we convinced the maintainance guys to fix the hot tub for us. Well, that was fun for a while, but when we got tired of just stitting there...

Not good at all, but it's been in my head forever and I need to get it out.

MISS ME

Do you miss me?

You said you would.

Tell me you miss me

And I’ll pull up my red riding hood

It’s hard to look back into the shadows

When you’ve grown accustomed to the light.

I saw this coming from my window

Maybe I just aimed a little too high

It was reckless for me

to assume that we

would both walk away from this

with no lingering attachments

but the memories we made.

Memories are faster to fade. 

You mean more to me than attraction or a future together. 

I read that and my heart, my eyes, changed colors.

You told me you miss me, just yesterday.

I always believe what you say.

And today is yesterday once more.

I’ll always be Miss Me, yours

Never Mrs.