tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59251956475842887812024-03-14T01:20:21.213-04:00C. S. WarnerThriller AuthorCassandra Garnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10657891416511808538noreply@blogger.comBlogger9125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5925195647584288781.post-33638550460049129882020-12-12T11:49:00.001-05:002020-12-12T11:49:01.195-05:00Vera King: The Unnatural Howl Chapter 3<span id="docs-internal-guid-f4a75024-7fff-a08a-2d58-52b55300db09"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiMmBB9CwZ-H68VE8ELubv3yWt4TW9Q8GEZLmQCwvqDfbWhV1jdpJ82s6r38iyFa_nyRcYwPdBeEKt9l1YMPThHgbSY80KZITmVEX3P9ByfxDOP1IyxCixFZTr0BJnGTakDyY90lquYcI/s2048/Chapter+1+The+Residents+of+Hiddendale+%25284%2529.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiMmBB9CwZ-H68VE8ELubv3yWt4TW9Q8GEZLmQCwvqDfbWhV1jdpJ82s6r38iyFa_nyRcYwPdBeEKt9l1YMPThHgbSY80KZITmVEX3P9ByfxDOP1IyxCixFZTr0BJnGTakDyY90lquYcI/w640-h360/Chapter+1+The+Residents+of+Hiddendale+%25284%2529.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Chapter 3</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Jeffrey’s Cousin</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Green. Eck</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. His previous alias blown, the former Carl Haire examined the registration paper for his new green sedan. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Marco Underhill</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, he attempted to commit his new name to memory. He sulkily got in the vehicle, struck by the stale smell of old leather and raspberry. He had grown fond of his old black sedan. It was infuriating that it had been towed by police. How did they even know about him in the first place? Nose turned up at his new office, he pulled out his phone to check on the latest.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> At John Coleman’s house, his roommate Jeffrey Kenneth plugged an address into his phone and climbed into John’s car. His mission was to venture off on his own for the first time since awakening to visit his distant, both by blood and miles, cousin.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ping.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> His phone sounded as he was about to back out of the driveway. It was a text from Vera: ‘</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Drew is willing to go with you. Please don’t go alone.’</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Jeffrey sat debating whether or not to text and invite Drew to tag along. On the one hand, he wanted some alone time to think about where his new life was going, while on the other, he liked Drew and wouldn’t mind getting to know him better. Besides, he still wasn’t sure if someone was trying to kill him or not.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Marco started his engine.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “So,” Drew Gilleo began as he squeezed into the passenger seat, “who is it we are surprising?” Drew was a tall, skinny redhead with a passion for computers; not Jeffrey’s first choice for a bodyguard, if that was in fact what Vera had had in mind.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “My first cousin, five times removed.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Drew laughed, “That’s a mouthful.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “Yeah, it really does feel easier just to say fifth cousin. Apparently his great-great-great-grandmother was my cousin Valerie. I had met her a couple of times, but we weren’t really close with that side of the family.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Their ride was full of pleasant conversation; meaning nothing that steered back to Vera. Jeffrey got to drive, it wasn’t much different than in his time. “I want to get my pilot’s license again.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “I didn’t know you were a pilot,” Drew commented.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “Yeah, my family had a private plane that I would take out.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “You were rich?”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Jeffrey’s cancer diagnosis, choice to freeze himself, and then horrific awakening, had humbled him. Perhaps at one time he had been spoiled, but that person had faded away into a thankful, sometimes timid new personality.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “So, is your cousin rich, too?” Drew asked.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “I don’t think so. That wasn’t the side of my family with money. He’s supposed to be a restaurant manager; this will be a surprise for both of us.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> They pulled into the parking lot of a strip mall. Sandwiched between a pet groomer and a nail salon, </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Savannah’s Place</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> boasted an olive green awning overhanging black metal tables and chairs aligned in front of a glass wall.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Jeffrey parked and stepped out into the warm sun. He was suddenly homesick. He wanted nothing more than to get back into the car and return to John’s house. Why was he interested in meeting someone who might not even believe who he was? But Drew had already opened the glass door and was waiting for Jeffrey to follow him inside. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> They were apparently too early for the lunch rush. Only one other couple sat in a dimly lit booth chatting over half empty plates of burgers. A chalkboard sign on the host stand read: </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Please seat yourself</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. Jeffrey chose a table by the heavily tinted window and looked nervously around the dark space for a sign of anyone.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Voices echoed from behind a swinging door and then out came a woman of about twenty dressed in all black. “Good afternoon, I’m Ella, and welcome to </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Savannah’s</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. Please take a moment to decide,” she placed two leather bound menus on the table in front of them. “What would you like to drink?”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “Water,” they both said before Jeffery asked, “Is there a Liam here?”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “He’ll be here in about an hour.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> As she left, Jeffery gave a half-hearted smile to Drew, “I guess we wait.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> After their drinks arrived, Drew excused himself, “I’ve had to pee for half an hour.” Jeffery leaned back, resting his head on the cushioned vinyl backrest. The nervous energy seemed to float away into calm. Vera was right, having Drew made everything feel easier; he was a great new friend to have. Perhaps, Jeffrey thought, he might want to learn about computers next. How advanced had they actually gotten? “Hello.” Jeffrey sprang forward. Sitting across from him was a familiar stout man. “Hello?”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “I’m Andrew Dominic. I believe we met at that party with that unfortunate drug overdose.” All of Jeffrey’s fear flooded back and he gripped the table, unsure of whether to flee or fight. He flung his head around looking for Drew. Dominic was the man Vera was suspicious of; the reason she thought so many strange things were happening to him. “I just need a moment of your time. I want to apologize for my former partner, Spencer, pulling you from cryo and leaving you to die like that. I promise, I had no knowledge of that.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “Ok…” he looked around again for a sign of anyone, but even the other couple had finished their meal and left, leaving the two of them alone in the dark restaurant.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “My niece had convinced him that there was a treasure map hidden inside the body of one of those cryos. Ridiculous,” he chuckled.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “If you say so,” Jeffrey wasn’t sure why he was speaking, perhaps just nervous, but he regretted it at the flash of glee that crossed Dominic’s face.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve tracked you here. Mind you, it wasn’t easy,” he chuckled again, “but I wanted to offer an olive branch. I am opening a new wing of my medical center in order to run tests, a lab of my own, and I want you to come in -</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">officially</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">,” he stressed, “for a few tests to figure out how you woke up. I have all of Spencer’s notes and you are welcome to bring someone with you if you don’t feel confident in my motivations.” </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Jeffrey inhaled deeply, “I would need to think about it.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Dominic smiled widely, “Excellent. I’ll take that as a yes. To begin with, I have a small kit here. Do you mind if I take a blood sample? It will be just a tiny prick, you won’t even feel it.” He pulled a black box from his coat pocket and opened it exposing a colorful array of instruments and translucent plastic vials. “Just a finger will do.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Everything in Jeffrey’s body was telling him no, but they were in a public place, surely Dominic wouldn’t try anything here. After one last look around the empty restaurant, Jeffrey held out his hand. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What would Drew or Vera say? </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">he wondered, but it was too late, the miniscule jab was over and blood droplets filled the container.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “I’ll let you get back to your meal. Enjoy, and I’ll see you at my office soon. Don’t forget!” Dominic patted Jeffrey’s shoulder and was gone.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> They went their entire meal without Jeffrey mentioning his visitor and upcoming appointment. Everything was still turning over in his mind, and he didn’t want to be scolded for engaging with a possible psychopath.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Ella arrived back at the table, “Liam is here. Did you want me to send him over?”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “Yes, please.” Jeffrey had been rehearsing what he was going to say the previous night, but as the moment grew nearer, he was lost for words. A man with a beard and potbelly sauntered over, “Hey, I’m the manager,” he shook their hands. “Something I can help you with?” He was an intimidating sight standing over them with his arms crossed, obviously expecting a complaint and at the ready to deflect.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “Hi, I’m Jeffrey Kenneth,” he found his voice suddenly shaking, “I just wanted to introduce myself, I’m your cousin, five times removed, or something like that.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Liam’s face softened only slightly, “Oh, yeah? How’s that?”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “Well, it’s hard to explain. Your great-great-great-grandmother, Valerie, was my cousin.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “Never heard of her. If you’re looking for money, I don’t have any.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “No, no, no,” Jeffrey urged, taken aback, “it’s not like that. I just don’t know anyone and was looking to reconnect with my old life.” </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “Ok, well it’s nice to meet you. We can keep in touch, but I’ve got to get back to work.” He shook their hands again and left. Jeffery was shocked that Liam had zero questions about how he could be related to someone who had been dead for so long.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “I don’t think he believed you,” Drew said as they got back into John’s car.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “I wonder why. It was like he dismissed me as a hoax or something.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “Yeah.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> On the highway, Jeffrey thought it was time to bring up Dominic. After hearing what happened, without hesitation, Drew texted Vera. “She says she’s going to let that Detective Rodriguez guy know.”</span></p><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>
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Although I normally enjoy writing horror, lately my passion project has been writing a weekly episodic science fiction mystery, and this community will keep it going strong! <a href="https://www.patreon.com/cswarnerauthor">Click here to learn more.</a>Cassandra Garnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10657891416511808538noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5925195647584288781.post-5835988234488546322020-11-21T11:24:00.007-05:002020-11-21T11:24:00.380-05:00Vera King: The Unnatural Howl Chapter 2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY1hn8ckVwLwc31CNq5zBtFX0JEu6YWwbeV7Cf2CKnja4Bj7wkSviLic3aFP5vSaLWHyNqGAwnNpgmMg1aawvoNc7zwCrSFu8IPlJgN7sdL0xUQ_SfS-h_ESI_FV-_oMO_IoqASbQxnFY/s2048/Chapter+1+The+Residents+of+Hiddendale+%25283%2529.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY1hn8ckVwLwc31CNq5zBtFX0JEu6YWwbeV7Cf2CKnja4Bj7wkSviLic3aFP5vSaLWHyNqGAwnNpgmMg1aawvoNc7zwCrSFu8IPlJgN7sdL0xUQ_SfS-h_ESI_FV-_oMO_IoqASbQxnFY/w640-h360/Chapter+1+The+Residents+of+Hiddendale+%25283%2529.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><span id="docs-internal-guid-8ddc57e4-7fff-cf93-5f44-e29a7873313e"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Chapter 2</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The First Encounter</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> From behind the flannel curtain, Vera King looked out onto the thick fog blanketing the valley across the street. Treetops spiked through the eerie white mass as a few inhabitants of the foreign mountain town began passing by in their cars.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> The scene below was in stark contrast to her familiar seaside living. For a moment, Vera wondered if she had made the right decision. Hundreds of miles away, on a whim she left behind her private security company to pursue an idealistic treasure hunt. That wasn’t all she left behind.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Vera’s mind raced as she thought about the man by the name of Jeffrey Kenneth. He had only recently been recovered after awakening from a hundred year cryogenic slumber. Every moment since, trouble seemed to follow him. From inside of his torso, a doctor had retrieved an obsolete piece of technology that when decrypted revealed a list of coordinates. It was the second set from that list that had brought Vera and her two traveling companions to a large, derelict house in a town called Hiddendale.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Angelica Hill, one of Vera’s employees, had agreed to tag along because of a sense of duty to her boss... and a paycheck. At that moment, she was busying herself with unpacking as Vera continued to stare outside.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> A few minutes passed before the door to their room opened, bringing Vera’s attention back to Hiddendale. John entered looking excited, “Who’s ready to get boots on the ground?”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “Good conversation with the waitress?” Vera asked.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “Didn’t say much, but this place is gorgeous. I may sell my business and move here.” The two women gave mocking laughs.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> John Coleman, Vera’s ex and frequent client, had also abandoned his cargo shipping business (leaving it in the care of his first mate, Connor Oswald) in order to venture out in exploration of what lay at the next coordinate. He, however, had not anticipated the accompaniment of Angelica; it had been his desire to rekindle things with Vera. She tried at every turn to explain that what had been between them was in the past, but John was persistent.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Vera led the way out of their room and down the large wooden staircase of the B&B. They passed a young couple ascending to their room while idle chatter echoed from those still eating in the dining hall to the right. The sun had finally risen above the mountain tops, cascading warm orange light in through the etched front glass door. An overpowering scent of pine emanated from several candles in the parlor to their left as they exited out into the crisp morning air.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “Walk?” John asked, taking lead down the brick path to the parking lot. The two agreed; their destination was only just down the street.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> As they approached what the workers of the Hiddendale B&B called ‘Hunter Mansion’, they crossed the street through the cold, wet air left over from the still lifting fog. In daylight the structure was just as menacing as it had been in the dead of night. The perimeter of the property was lined with a towering eight foot tall, weather beaten cement wall. Bits were crumbling from all heights while moss and algae made claim to most of its surface.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> The front vine covered gate appeared rusted shut as each one took a turn trying to pull or push. They began following along, looking for another way in when off to the left they found a pedestrian entrance. A gate only about three feet tall was hidden under a curtain of vines; its padlock, too, rusted closed. The vines easily moved aside as one, two, three they hopped over.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Wet leaves squished beneath their feet as they passed under the looming trees to the front of the house. Broken shutters blocked most of the floor length windows of the three story structure. At one time, it may have been a beautiful house. At its state, the remaining red clay shingles were mostly green and black. Whatever color it was supposed to be painted had chipped away, but someone obviously still lived there. A graffiti tag was in the process of being washed, the bucket of water and scrub brush lay in wait.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Vera knelt down to peek in through a pair of broken shutters. A mostly dark room with some large furniture was all she could see. She tried a different window, this time on tiptoes; inside: movement. Quickly, she knocked on the pane. “Hello?” </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> A dark figure stood silhouetted in a doorway. In almost a growl, she heard, “Go away.” The person threw both hands to the side, shooing her to leave.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “We are here about Nurture Bio Corp. Can we talk?” She pointed toward the front door. From within she watched the shadow nod and slowly turn.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> To the others behind her, she smiled, “Progress.” What she didn’t let on was the spike of nerves twisting in her stomach. Secretly, Vera had hoped there would be nobody home, and nothing worth investigating. Now, it was up to her to lead the search onward, but to what, she didn’t know. Her feet suddenly felt made of lead as she climbed the steps to the front door. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Thunk! </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A heavy deadbolt had been twisted, followed by a</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> tink, tink</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> from a chain sliding free. The large, wood arched door slowly creaked open revealing a hunched old man. His shoulder length, graying, once black hair fell in oily ringlets from his head. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Vera stepped back from the mildewy smell diffusing from his moth eaten clothes. “Hi,” she introduced herself and companions while watching the man’s eyes dart from their feet to something unseen behind them and back again to their feet.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> The disheveled man nodded, “Same place, different place, mind you, don’t ask me.” He turned and beckoned them to follow him in.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “What was that?” John whispered, eyebrow raised. Nonsense aside, Vera stepped over the threshold. As her eyes adjusted, she almost ran into the man. He had stopped and was swatting at something, “You don’t live here. Judge not.” He led them in a little farther and stopped again, this time, his arm slightly raised, catatonic.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> They looked around the grand, dust covered foyer. A staircase began above their heads and spiraled down to their right. Cracked tiles ran under their feet while the only artwork was the peeling wallpaper.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “So,” John spoke up, “is this Nurture Bio Corp?” Angelica remained silent, taking in her surroundings, hands on her hips, ready to strike if need be.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> The man didn’t move. Vera walked around in front of him; his eyes were rolled in the back of his head, twitching frantically. “I think he’s having a seizure!” As she went to touch his shoulder, the man bounced back. “Spiders don’t get me. I drip with poison,” he shuffled forward as if nothing had happened.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “See, spiders don’t get him. He drips with poison,” John said with a sarcastic smile. Angelica stifled a chuckle, but then, “</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">ha ha...</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">” The distant laugh gave the three pause. As if it heard John, the house began to echo with the noise, slowly growing louder, “</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">HA HA</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">,” before fading again, “</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">ha ha…</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> An involuntary shiver took over Vera. They turned down a hallway running along the center of the house devoid of windows. If there had once been one at the end it had since been blocked by a large bookcase. Doors on either side hung ajar except for the very last one on the right. Above it, a red light cast an eerie glow. The man stopped in the middle of the hall mid stride, frozen once more.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “What do we do?” Vera asked.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “I don’t know, I’m not a doctor,” John answered exasperated.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “In here,” the man suddenly spoke and gestured to an open door. Through it was a small sitting room. The lamp in the corner flickered, and between broken shutters they could see pieces of the front yard from where they had just come. “Practice down in time,” he said, closing the door, leaving the three alone in the room.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Silence thickened between them as they surveyed the sparse, dust covered furniture. Angelica made several loops, peering out the windows as she passed. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Clink</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, the twisting knob caught their attention. In walked a man, similarly dressed to the older one, but much younger and seemingly more coherent. “Good morning,” he smiled under shaggy black hair. Vera noticed the familiar smell of a wet dog. “I hear that you are with Nurture Bio Corp,” he stretched out his hand.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> As Vera took it she said, “No, we were wondering if you were.” The man’s smile faded, letting loose the heavy bags under his eyes.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “Ah, well, my father’s mind isn’t what it used to be.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “Yeah,” John cut in, “we think he might have been having seizures. Is he ok?”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “Quite. He has that reaction to one of his medications. It turns him, shall we say, </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">zombie</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> for a moment. The damage was done long ago, I’m afraid.” The statements almost seemed conflicting to Vera, but she didn’t pry. “His father, my grandfather, used to work for Nurture Bio Corp. I could introduce you, but I’m afraid it won’t do any good. He hasn’t spoken and has barely moved in years. By the way, my name is Sven.” Vera, John, and Angelica introduced themselves, eager to move the conversation along and get out of the rotting house.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “Could we please speak with your grandfather anyway?” Vera asked. Sven nodded and guestered for them to follow him back into the windowless hallway.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Taking one last look at the red glow above the door behind them, Vera followed Sven up the spiral staircase to the second floor. This time, the hallway was lined with curtain drawn windows on one side and doors on the other. Opening one of the closed doors, Sven led the troop into a library. Floor to ceiling bookshelves filled with piles of books, rather than neatly aligned, covered the walls. The curtains there, too, were drawn. The only light came from the blue glow of a computer screen perched on a large mahogany desk facing away from the entrants. Sven walked around and pushed a chair from behind the desk. Vera took a step back into John. Mere leathery skin and bones made up the body presented in the chair. A vacant expression stared, unseeing, from bulging eyes at the ceiling. Vera was sure this person was dead and had been for a while; she slid her hand under her jacket, resting it on her gun, just in case.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “This is Trey. I know he looks a bit troubled,” Sven began, “but I assure you he is fine. Watch.” Sven turned the computer monitor toward them. On the screen, numbers rose in undetectable patterns. “Watch,” he said again, pulling their attention back to his grandfather. Almost imperceptibly, the man’s eyes shifted toward the screen. “See, it’s the only thing that interests him now.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “Trey?” Vera called, but the man ignored her. “Did you work for Nurture Bio Corp?” She tried in vain, but still no movement.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “So,” Sven began, “what is it you are here about exactly?”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Vera decided an alternate truth, yet closely aligned, would be better than the actual, “We know someone who participated in one of their studies.” She didn’t bother to look at the others, she knew they were holding their tongues in anticipation of whatever she decided to say, “And he hasn’t been able to get in touch with anyone about his results.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “Fascinating,” Sven said, smiling. She couldn’t read his face to tell if he bought the story or not. “Is this him?” He looked at John.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “No,” Vera answered.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “May I speak with him?”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “Not right now. We were hired by him,” she continued to lie, “to help track down his results. If you know someone who might be able to help, he would greatly appreciate it.” Angelica had begun to pace back and forth again, apparently uneasy, but occasionally eyeing the old man in the chair, watching for any sign of awareness.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “No,” Sven, still smiling, continued, “I’m sorry.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> John took the opportunity to chime in, “The place we are staying, the innkeeper said something about a howl that comes from the old Hunter house. Is this the Hunter house?” Sven’s smile faded, once again exposing his drooping eyes.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “No. Stupid superstitions. There is no noise. The whistle from the lumber mill goes off on its own at night sometimes, and now here we are dealing with delinquents and vandals. I’ve phoned the police, but they do nothing.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “That’s terrible,” said John.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “Please, tell me what is so important about this man’s results that you have made your pilgrimage to our old house here.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “It’s just peculiar circumstances. We believe a local doctor may be trying to kill our client over whatever research was conducted,” a grain of truth. “Do you by chance have any of your grandfather’s old research?” Vera asked.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “Perhaps, but first, won’t you stay for lunch?” From somewhere in the house, the laughing started up again.</span></p><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>
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Although I normally enjoy writing horror, lately my passion project has been writing a weekly episodic science fiction mystery, and this community will keep it going strong! <a href="https://www.patreon.com/cswarnerauthor">Click here to learn more.</a>Cassandra Garnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10657891416511808538noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5925195647584288781.post-46209377167253577872020-11-13T20:34:00.003-05:002020-11-14T07:28:05.857-05:00Vera King: The Unnatural Howl Chapter 1<span id="docs-internal-guid-b4336934-7fff-29c0-c5a7-26ab2569ad75"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx7cWjOvTt2K0r5Gd5_FTVFV7Am0OUHnu1cEETnhsqzICiATFbE2qeiEJLXJe0W7BIQDPJ1bwjwq_D17vYqBJLsknedmfasL0VrxcLJvIiqx4k8sXmNCYTFjl8Ytuf-hOyb5FTkgyFLxE/s2048/Chapter+1+The+Residents+of+Hiddendale.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx7cWjOvTt2K0r5Gd5_FTVFV7Am0OUHnu1cEETnhsqzICiATFbE2qeiEJLXJe0W7BIQDPJ1bwjwq_D17vYqBJLsknedmfasL0VrxcLJvIiqx4k8sXmNCYTFjl8Ytuf-hOyb5FTkgyFLxE/w640-h360/Chapter+1+The+Residents+of+Hiddendale.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://cswarnerauthor.blogspot.com/p/sign-up.html">Click here to subscribe before 12/15/20 to get ebook copies of the first two installments for free!</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Chapter 1</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Residents of Hiddendale</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>A distant noise roused Monica from a deep sleep. The dream of a never ending pile of dishes to be washed faded into a strange buzzing. She briefly lingered between sleep and wake, unsure which was real, the dishes needing tended to or the persistent buzz, but then her eyes fluttered open to the surrounding darkness. Just beyond where she lied, shadowy masses shifted into recognizable shapes. She turned to the noise. Yes, her phone was going off; someone was at the door.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>Navigating through the darkness, she found her robe and exited from her room out onto the landing. At the top of the stairs she turned on the light; blurred figures stood outside the etched glass front door. A thought crossed her mind that perhaps a few of her current bed and breakfast guests had gotten locked out, but the forms waiting outside were unfamiliar.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>After checking the three out-of-towners in and showing them to their room (the only one left), Monica wandered back downstairs to secure the lock and write herself a note reminding her to refill towels.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>The mannerisms of the new lodgers gave an air of professionalism, perhaps reporters. Although they claimed to not know anyone in town, nor awareness of the upcoming ten year tradition of the </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Unnatural Howl</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, there was still something official about them. They were obviously on a mission; there for business, not pleasure. Monica smiled to herself at the thought of being interviewed on tv.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>The dead silence of the night was broken. From the street Monica thought she heard laughing. She crept to the bay window in the parlor and looked out into the moonlight. It shone down bright upon two dark silhouettes. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Teenagers</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, she shook her head as they scaled the fence into the Hunter property.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>In two nights time it would be the traditional </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Unnatural Howl</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. Every ten years a shriek would echo from within the Hunter mansion. Monica scoffed whenever she heard it referred to as a ‘howl’, but still, the townsfolk and those who had moved away continued to make the trek, parking cars for miles, to listen outside of the gates. For over a hundred years, it had never disappointed. Unlike her peers, Monica insisted it was a cry out in pain, not the animalistic calling card of some inhuman beast.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>She quickly turned out the lights so that the tricksters could not see her spying. The street light flickered; again she heard the laugh, but it sounded deeper than that of an adolescent, more guttural. Minutes ticked past as she watched with bated breath at each flick back on of the street light, but the night was still once more.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>Slightly disappointed, she decided to go back to bed. Even dark, she could navigate to the large wooden banister as her eyes steadily adjusted. At the top of the stairs in the faint glow of moonlight cascading down the hall from the window, the ornately carved door to her bedroom twisted. Animal shadows rose and fell. She blinked a few times, </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It’s my imagination</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, then turned the knob and hurried in past the phantasm.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>None of the other rooms had such intricately, painstakingly designed entrances, but for the owner’s suite, her husband Adam insisted on using the old front door from his grandparent’s house. His grandfather had been a woodworker, and after the two passed, Adam inherited the small one room cabin built by his grandfather. The only part of the shack not deteriorating with rot and termites was the door. Since it was such a sentimental piece to her husband, Monica didn’t fight it, but there was something about the lifeless eyes of the woodland creatures beneath the large tree that ensured she averted her own eyes whenever possible from the heirloom piece.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>Still dark. Too early. Morning for Monica and Adam Shetfield would always come too early, still dark.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>Monica yawned and stretched under the warm blanket before reluctantly shifting her legs over the edge and catching her feet in the awaiting slippers. Adam remained fetal and covered, ignoring the chimes of the alarm. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>A soft creaking from the wood plank floors followed Monica’s footsteps into the bathroom as she prepped for the morning. Downstairs, the front door clicked closed; Annabelle had arrived.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>The Shetfield’s had owned the Hiddendale Bed and Breakfast for just over a decade. It was refurbished with blood, sweat, tears, and a few favors. Their daughter, Annabelle, started working as a server in the mornings at the cafe, and yet she remained, despite already finishing her degree in psychology.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>In time, Monica finished dressing, leaving Adam to sleep. Gently, she latched the chiseled bedroom door behind her and made her way down the wooden staircase before turning right into the dining hall. Past the empty tables, the sound of running water and random clanks reverberated from the kitchen. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>“Good morning, sweetie,” Monica greeted her daughter hovered over a tub of silverware.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>“Mornin’. Full house?”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>“Oh yeah.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>“I saw the parking lot. Anyone we know?” </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>“A few familiar families here for the </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Howl</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">.” For a moment as she turned on the grill, Monica thought about the occupied beds, then suddenly remembered being awoken in the middle of the night by three strangers. She turned to Annabelle, “I almost forgot, I think we have some reporters staying here!”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>“Really?” Monica recalled in detail the strange clothes and accents, embellishing here and there on their conversation about the upcoming anniversary.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>One by one, the lodgers descended to their free breakfast. The early twilight had only just tinted the black sky a dark blue as a few paying locals straggled in for their usual orders of cheap omelettes and coffee.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>“Stan! How are ya?” Monica greeted her regular morning patron as he sat down at the bar separating the kitchen from the dining room. He was dressed in his steel-toed boots and heavy canvas jacket; what he wore every morning to work. “Your order will be right up.” She didn’t even have to ask.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>He smiled, “Better make it spicy this morning. Don’t want to fall asleep. I need that extra kick.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>“Stan!” Adam called from behind. They exchanged a quick greeting before Adam claimed he needed to step away. Annabelle, he insisted, needed relieving from the grill in order to tend to incoming guests and customers. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>The aroma from the sizzling bacon had begun to waft up the stairs, enticing those still in bed to vacate their slumber, while the clink of dishes ensured they were up.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>“So, Stan,” Monica began as she poured his coffee, “notice any new vandalism? I haven’t seen any pranks yet this time, but I did see two people hop the fence last night. Could have been teenagers going to make their mark. The new generation, ya know?”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>“Too dark this morning, but I’m sure we’ll see something. Do you remember last time, you both had just opened this place up.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>“Oh, yeah. We remember. Vandals tried to get us, too, but I was standing watch. Called the police every night that week leading up. Different generation, like I said. I do like seeing familiar faces,” she paused, “and new ones. Some out-of-towners showed up late last night. Not sure if they’re reporters or what.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>“You don’t say. Makes sense. Something strange happens in our small town every ten years, bound to attract journalists and the like.” Adam had just placed a steaming plate containing a pepper omelette in front of Stan. “Chow time.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>In the thralls of conversation, Monica did not notice the three new diners seated near the front window. Annabelle had made her way over to take their breakfast order. “Hiya, folks,” she said, “and welcome to the Hiddendale B&B. Ya’ll here for the </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Howl </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">tomorrow night?” </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>The woman with the brown curls, a red jacket, and black boots answered as she placed her phone on the table, “No, but we heard a little something about that last night from the lady who checked us in.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>“Yeah, that’d be my mom,” Annabelle smiled and tilted her head gesturing toward Monica behind the counter.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>“Yes, her,” she didn’t smile; instead she seemed anxious. Annabelle noticed the bags under all of their eyes as the woman, seemingly the speaker of the group, continued, “The Hunter house she mentioned, is that the one just down the street there?” She pointed through the window toward the overgrown gate encircling a dilapidated mansion set back in the trees. Annabelle didn’t need to look, she knew it well. “Yep,” she affirmed and then tried to get back to their order, but the curly haired woman continued. “Is that owned by a laboratory?”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>That, Annabelle thought, slightly taken aback, was an odd question. No one had ever suggested such a thing. “I don’t think so.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>The man spoke up, “Have you heard of Nurture Bio Corp?” Another odd question, Annabelle thought, and shook her head.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>“So,” Monica began as Annabelle returned with their order, “whadya find out?”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>“I don’t think they’re reporters, but they asked about some lab. I think they are looking for a doctor.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>“Maybe one is sick? Which one d’ya think?” Monica stood on tip toes to look over Stan at the table. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>Stan also took that opportunity to peer over his shoulder, “Is that them?” Seated at the table, the other woman (with blonde hair up in a tight bun and black leather jacket) caught their eyes. They quickly turned away; Monica began stacking clean plates. In a hushed voice she said, “I bet it’s the one with all the hair. She looks like she’s been through hell and back.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>Stan sipped his coffee, “Dunno. She and the other girl sit a little too straight. Think it’s the fella. He’s a bit more loose.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>Monica squinted at the table scrutinizing the man with close cut hair and in a simple t-shirt, jeans, and jacket, “No he ain’t. He’s just as posturized as the rest of ‘em.” Stan laughed. Monica liked to invent words and was never shy on conversation. “They ain’t here for no doctor. Maybe they </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">are</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> doctors.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>“Could see that,” said Stan as he sipped his coffee.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>After her mother urged her to find out who the three were with, Annabelle returned to the stranger’s table with their drinks. “Could you tell us more about the howl?” the curly haired woman asked. The blonde pulled out her phone and appeared to begin taking notes.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>“Well, they breed monsters. At least that’s what kids at school used to say. It requires a human sacrifice. Usually an out-of-towner that no one will miss… or three,” Annabelle winked as she walked away.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>“Wait,” the man at the table called after her, “could you please ask your mother about the Nurture Bio Corp?” She raised her eyebrow, but nodded.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>“So…” Monica said anxiously, “what did they say that time?”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>“I don’t really know. They want me to ask if you know about a nature corp lab, or something, that owns the old Hunter property.” Monica’s face twisted and her head tilted, “Huh?” Stan shook his head. “Yeah,” Annabelle said, “I didn’t think so. Maybe they’re bounty hunters looking for someone who skipped bail or assassins hired to find some elusive millionaire.” Annabelle smiled. She enjoyed fueling her mother’s gossiping fire. It was the best form of entertainment. In another life, her mother could have been a writer with the tales she would weave.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>Their meal finished, Annabelle began to clear the table when the man said, “It’s beautiful here.” The other two women looked up at him as if he had just swore. He smiled up at Annabelle and she smiled back.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>“Where is your laundry facility?” The curly haired woman asked.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>“Down in the basement.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>“John, take your time. Angelica, let’s go.” The two women quickly rose and departed the noisy dining room.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>“So, I guess you’re on your own,” Annabelle tried to make friendly conversation.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>“Yeah, we got here late last night. Everything was black, but looking outside now. It’s incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Annabelle followed his gaze outside. It was a normal foggy morning. The mist was rising to the tops of the trees in the valley on the other side of the road. Mountains rose and fell in the distance as the orange sky skirted the horizon. For a moment the man, apparently called John, just stared into the distance, then he turned, “What’s the history of this place? The B&B, I mean.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>“Well, my parents bought it like ten years ago. It was in pretty bad shape. We all did a little work on it to get it up and running, some TLC, ya know. Before that it was just an old house that nobody loved.” She looked out the window again, “Just like that one.” As she nodded to the Hunter house, she noticed someone pulling into the parking lot. “Excuse me, my friend is here, need to say hello,” Annabelle turned and carried the dirty plates back toward the kitchen.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>Into the dining room walked a fully uniformed sheriff's deputy. Without looking at the diners, she made her way to the counter and sat down. “Morning, Kayla,” said Monica. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>Annabelle patted her on the shoulder, “Are you excited for your patrol duty tomorrow night? It’s gonna be insane!”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>“It’ll be fine. If anyone gets out of line I’ll just yell at them, ‘Hey, you! Listen up! I’m the authority here and if you don’t stop, I </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">will</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> arrest you!’ See, no one’s gonna get away with crap on my watch.” It was hard for those surrounding Kayla to believe that she would come across as intimidating as she believed. She stood 4’11 with a tiny frame and the gear she wore weighed more than she did. “Could I please get a steamed veggie wrap on spinach and a green tea smoothie with coconut milk?” Stan made a gagging noise in disgust. “So,” Kayla turned to Annabelle, “anyone here that we know?” Annabelle just shrugged, she looked back at the table by the front window where John had been, but he was gone. For a moment she felt disappointed, but she wasn’t sure why.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>“Delicious as always, folks,” Stan said. “Free right?” Monica laughed.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>“Are you a guest?”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>“What if I said, ‘Yes’?”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> </span>“Pay up. When you decide to stay you can have a free breakfast.”</span></p><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://cswarnerauthor.blogspot.com/search?q=Vera+King">Click here to catch up on past Vera King stories.</a></span></div></span>
<br />
<center><a href="https://www.patreon.com/cswarnerauthor"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpQ87FU1PoCLBDVo0BBJUQRxOLYxHS2Xw97g76kxYfrTWqlqYoyB1knHr7geOV4ZyipX7ezPCQEy1my-_ZzndKiBgcmu3MOvDU12o6hl5y3-3aQRpzLGo96bUjqxQqgpNAxWL0576gEog/s1600/become_a_patron_button.png" /></a>
<br /><b>Thank you, so much, for supporting indie authors!</b></center>
Join my exclusive Patreon community to get access to bonus materials and help to shape the Vera King serial. Although I normally enjoy writing horror, lately my passion project has been writing a weekly episodic science fiction mystery, and this community will keep it going strong! <a href="https://www.patreon.com/cswarnerauthor" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Click here to learn more.</a>Cassandra Garnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10657891416511808538noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5925195647584288781.post-47546478133661273172020-11-11T13:27:00.006-05:002020-11-17T09:21:12.149-05:00Vera King: Wormanoid<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheeNaLYqtIEi2_OI4WZpZRhdk3U1t3JLAh6Z_r1PZdVfBSj0jWvF3vD_sPd1DbkXZb-Koik2Bii_841Nx42b9geQEh4yU669NCQ97CVfOzhJqAbTZfWGlS7tyjYzLmZUDoZeVV48snC8g/s2048/Copy+of+Copy+of+wormanoid.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1283" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheeNaLYqtIEi2_OI4WZpZRhdk3U1t3JLAh6Z_r1PZdVfBSj0jWvF3vD_sPd1DbkXZb-Koik2Bii_841Nx42b9geQEh4yU669NCQ97CVfOzhJqAbTZfWGlS7tyjYzLmZUDoZeVV48snC8g/s320/Copy+of+Copy+of+wormanoid.png" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><h2> Vera King: Wormanoid</h2>By:<br />C. S. Warner<br /><br />A science fiction mystery.<br /><br /><i><u>Buy the eBook here:</u></i><br /><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08N8MXK3G" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Amazon</a><div><a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1053798" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Smashwords</a><u><i><br /></i></u><u><i><br /></i></u><u><i>Synopsis:</i></u><br />A strange discovery at the bottom of the sea leaves a trail of death while more questions pile up about the mysterious circumstances of Jeffrey Kenneth's awakening.<br /><br />After exploring what lay at the first set of coordinates, Vera is tasked with identifying the contents of a box discovered inside a scuttled houseboat. Prying eyes see the contents as valuable and death ensues, but does it all still have to do Jeffrey? Or is something else at play? Dealing with that plus a black sedan that she just can't shake from her rearview mirror will take all hands on deck.<br /><br /><i><u>About the author:</u></i><br />C.S. Warner grew up with a love of horror and supernatural films – as evident in her writing. Because of that passion, she has worked on ghost tours and as a paranormal investigator to give her stories life. Using her experience as a foundation for her writing, Warner creates worlds in which her readers can get lost.<br /><br />Facebook:<br /><a href="https://www.facebook.com/cswarnerauthor/">https://www.facebook.com/cswarnerauthor/</a><br />Twitter:<br /><a href="https://twitter.com/cswarnerauthor">https://twitter.com/cswarnerauthor</a><br />Smashwords:<br /><a href="https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/cswarner">https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/cswarner</a><br />Amazon:<br /><a href="http://www.amazon.com/C.-S.-Warner/e/B01702I124">http://www.amazon.com/C.-S.-Warner/e/B01702I124</a><br /><br /><i><u>Excerpt:</u></i><br /><div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #656565; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-a4ee106a-7fff-28fa-87b2-4ccb59c1141c"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was Lou… It was Lou… It was Lou… </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ray’s words repeated over and over in Captain John Coleman’s head as he ascended away from the billowing red blood that shrouded the sunken boat still resting broken on the ocean floor. With his subordinate, ‘Sting’ Ray West, swimming at his side they continued up toward the fragments of distorted sun as it glistened down through the water’s surface.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> The ocean seemed thicker to Ray, harder to swim through -as if he were caught in a whirlpool sucking him back to the grim scene that lied in wait beneath them. Although he was the crew’s lead diver, Ray found himself in a sudden fit of panic. Heart racing, his breath grew shorter in his mask; in and out, faster and faster. He’d never felt like that before, claustrophobic, and it took all of his self control to keep from fervently tearing away his mask. “Calm down,” he heard his captain’s voice over the intercom. “Don’t hyperventilate.” </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> About fifteen minutes had passed, although it felt like only a second, since the two men witnessed their friend, shipmate, and fellow diver, Lou Smith, shredded to pieces by an unusual, oblong sea creature. They had been scavenging the remains of a houseboat after having received its location from a mysterious list of coordinates. The assumed ‘treasure map’ came courtesy of a peculiar obsolete piece of hardware found inside the body of a recently awoken castaway.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> As they surfaced, John thrust off his mask and yelled up at the three bystanders still aboard his commercial crew boat, <i>Viking Past</i>. The three appeared as mostly silhouettes with their backs against the daunting sunlight, but nonetheless as they leaned over the railing their curious expressions were not lost on the two returned divers. “Oswald!” John singled out his first mate, Connor Oswald. “Grab the harpoon!”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.patreon.com/cswarnerauthor" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="51" data-original-width="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpQ87FU1PoCLBDVo0BBJUQRxOLYxHS2Xw97g76kxYfrTWqlqYoyB1knHr7geOV4ZyipX7ezPCQEy1my-_ZzndKiBgcmu3MOvDU12o6hl5y3-3aQRpzLGo96bUjqxQqgpNAxWL0576gEog/s1600/become_a_patron_button.png" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Thank you, so much, for supporting indie authors!</b></div>Join my exclusive Patreon community to get access to bonus materials and help to shape the <i>Vera King</i> serial. Although I normally enjoy writing horror, lately my passion project has been writing a weekly episodic science fiction mystery, and this community will keep it going strong!<a href="https://www.patreon.com/cswarnerauthor" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"> Click here to learn more.</a><br /></div>Cassandra Garnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10657891416511808538noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5925195647584288781.post-54324768615129278832019-09-06T09:00:00.000-04:002019-09-06T09:00:04.634-04:00Why I've Been on Hiatus.<br />
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<h2>
<span id="goog_1986120343"></span><span id="goog_1986120344"></span>Why I've Been on Hiatus.</h2>
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<span id="goog_1986120343"></span><span id="goog_1986120344"></span><br />
<span id="goog_1986120343"></span><span id="goog_1986120344"></span> In the last two years since the second installment of the <i>Vera King </i>serial was posted, a couple major life changes have occurred.<br />
First, my husband and I started and sold a business. It took a lot of time and money to get it going and I wasn't able to devote the necessary energy to a weekly serial.<br />
Second, we found out that we are pregnant! Yes, I am expecting our first child. So, preparations have been taking up a tremendous amount of research and organization.<br />
It wasn't until now that I feel comfortable enough to begin part three. Like the first two, part three will also come out as a weekly serial. The first <i>Vera King</i> is available in eBook form for you to catch up on, and the second, <i>Wormanoid</i>, will be available in eBook form soon -I will keep you posted on its release date.<br />
Thank you all so much for your patience and for remaining fans!<br />
<br />
-C.S. Warner<br />
<br />
Vera King: <a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/739266">https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/739266</a><br />
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Cassandra Garnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10657891416511808538noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5925195647584288781.post-69310066735456084712017-08-31T16:49:00.000-04:002019-07-31T11:49:23.085-04:00The Cursed Outdoors<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikHjMEEvW8ThiufI3fNfOdgJjdl68CTIIrP8BtZeVokrBJ1O8om9lJ_0d-HK-zUfaCaVb2qjjKVHuJ0kxCFjyckoXXfnVKj8z_lWURJbhwfxZ3POV29RpZeKUbd4EzxWkq442EKDjwLcE/s1600/Copy+of+Camping+takes+sacrifice..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1003" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikHjMEEvW8ThiufI3fNfOdgJjdl68CTIIrP8BtZeVokrBJ1O8om9lJ_0d-HK-zUfaCaVb2qjjKVHuJ0kxCFjyckoXXfnVKj8z_lWURJbhwfxZ3POV29RpZeKUbd4EzxWkq442EKDjwLcE/s400/Copy+of+Camping+takes+sacrifice..jpg" width="250"></a></div>
<h2>
The Cursed Outdoors</h2>
By: C. S. Warner<br>
<br>
<i>Camping takes sacrifice.</i><br>
<br>
Buy your copy here:<br>
<a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/744815" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Smashwords</a><br>
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0755ZJX3P" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Amazon</a><br>
<a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-cursed-outdoors-c-s-warner/1127035404?ean=2940154528945" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a><br>
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<h3>
<i><u>Synopsis:</u></i></h3>
On the bank of a swampy Florida river there lies a small campground. Visitors can enjoy different leisure activities like fishing or hiking -but campers be wary; something diabolical in the water grows impatient.<br>
Jamie and her husband, Sean, have tagged along for a family vacation. While enjoying the many activities available at the campground, peculiar things begin to happen. Stirring noises in the night and the spread of a strange rash heighten Jamie's fears, but with the help of a new friend, they begin to investigate. On the trails late at night they stumble upon a canal -with secrets of its own. Will they survive the horrors that lie ahead?<br>
<a href="https://cswarnerauthor.blogspot.com/2017/08/the-cursed-outdoors-media-kit.html#more"></a>Cassandra Garnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10657891416511808538noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5925195647584288781.post-42207188697370845442017-06-20T15:24:00.000-04:002020-11-13T22:22:39.875-05:00Vera King<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZwKtM_6-n6YtnwJfGivKctRT2UoVnXK1h-_qg_PktFOMkySb9fdiCRoXzf0EEImBV7R-rokBuQqLJYr8XCLOi0fH_kRdeNYYRaQ9XHDrM4PYs3qYa1Sl5EeVBCI2XHXeZr27TL-gukj4/s1600/Copy+of+Copy+of+Copy+of+VeraKing.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1003" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZwKtM_6-n6YtnwJfGivKctRT2UoVnXK1h-_qg_PktFOMkySb9fdiCRoXzf0EEImBV7R-rokBuQqLJYr8XCLOi0fH_kRdeNYYRaQ9XHDrM4PYs3qYa1Sl5EeVBCI2XHXeZr27TL-gukj4/s320/Copy+of+Copy+of+Copy+of+VeraKing.png" width="200"></a></div>
<h2>
Vera King</h2>
By:<br>
C. S. Warner<br>
<br>
A science fiction mystery.<br>
<br>
Buy the first eBook here:<br>
<a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/739266" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Smashwords</a><br>
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B074DPMGHP" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Amazon</a><br>
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<a href="https://cswarnerauthor.blogspot.com/2017/06/vera-king-media-kit.html#more"></a>Cassandra Garnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10657891416511808538noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5925195647584288781.post-59541942764064862582016-07-04T09:08:00.000-04:002019-08-26T08:21:45.673-04:00Is It Just Me<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ2i7gZHCEoNz8FFT1u6TIH0zBHiDdYwY9CAiUEpgmgyLMQBEWJV90YemgmNe5Z1otF-cj9HlDefxH6AA7QZ-5CnibudfSZZXyDZG_1QFKhE3i7jgiU6zGlAs2OBudDZxh2I0XyyBiOS0/s1600/Is.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1003" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ2i7gZHCEoNz8FFT1u6TIH0zBHiDdYwY9CAiUEpgmgyLMQBEWJV90YemgmNe5Z1otF-cj9HlDefxH6AA7QZ-5CnibudfSZZXyDZG_1QFKhE3i7jgiU6zGlAs2OBudDZxh2I0XyyBiOS0/s320/Is.png" width="200" /></a><i style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></i></div>
<h2>
<i style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Is It Just Me... Or Is Everyone Crazy?</span></i></h2>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;">By:</span><br style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;" /><span style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;">C. S. Warner</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Available: </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Smashwords<a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/587203" style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px; text-decoration: none;">: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/587203</a> </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Amazon: <a href="https://kdp.amazon.com/en_US/bookshelf?language=en_US">https://kdp.amazon.com/en_US/bookshelf?language=en_US</a><br style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;" /><br style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;" /><i style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;"><u>Synopsis:</u></i><br style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;" /><span style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;">Admiring from afar is one thing, but starting a relationship with her crush may prove more sinister for her than Lydia realizes. What is she supposed to do when he smiles that way at her?</span><br style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;" /><br style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;" /><span style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;">It's a new semester with a new class schedule and Lydia finds that her crush is in one of her classes. Dealing with her mother's neurosis after her divorce gave Lydia a thick skin, but that might not be enough when she experiences Derek's unbalanced behavior. After a confusing first encounter they spend the next couple weeks going back and forth before her life as she knows it takes a drastic turn.</span><br style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;" /><br style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;" /><i style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;"><u>About the author:</u></i><br style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;" /><span style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;">C.S. Warner grew up with a love of horror and supernatural films – as evident in her writing. Because of that passion, she has worked on ghost tours and as a paranormal investigator to give her stories life. Using her experience as a foundation for her writing, C.S. Warner creates worlds for her readers to get lost in.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="line-height: 21.56px;">Facebook:</span></span></span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/cswarnerauthor/" style="line-height: 21.56px; text-decoration: none;">https://www.facebook.com/cswarnerauthor/</a></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Twitter: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="https://twitter.com/cswarnerauthor">https://twitter.com/cswarnerauthor</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Amazon:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/C.-S.-Warner/e/B01702I124">http://www.amazon.com/C.-S.-Warner/e/B01702I124</a></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;" /><i style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;"><u>Excerpt:</u></i><br style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;" /><span style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;">Several moments passed as she paced around, arguing with herself until finally walking outside. Leaving the front door unlocked, she looked around for the house number and street name before going back inside to use the landline to call Mariah’s cell. “I don’t know what happened, but please come and get me,” she pleaded then tried to explain the situation while ignoring the nervous feeling growing in the pit of her stomach.</span><br style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;" /><span style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;">Luckily, he had left his car unlocked. “Boys,” she said as she grabbed her bag out of the backseat and threw it into Mariah’s Fiat.</span><br style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;" /><span style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;">“You’re an idiot,” Mariah scolded.</span><br style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;" /><span style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;">“I know,” Lydia really didn’t want to talk about it; in fact, she was still going over everything that had happened, baffled, while trying to reason that maybe it was just his way of courting by playing uninterested and untamed.</span></span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17362354947492346788noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5925195647584288781.post-66081483420488851512016-07-04T08:50:00.001-04:002019-07-31T11:48:53.569-04:00Born Dead<div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px; text-align: center;">
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<h2 style="font-size: 22px; margin: 0px; position: relative;">
<i style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Born Dead</span></i></h2>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;">By:</span><br style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;" /><span style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;">C. S. Warner</span><br style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;" /><br style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;" /><span style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;">eBook: $0.99</span><br style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;" /><a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/491211" style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px; text-decoration: none;">https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/491211</a><br style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;" /><br style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;" /><br style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;" /><br style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;" /><br style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;" /><br style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;" /><i style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;"><u>Synopsis:</u></i><br style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;" /><span style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;">A family get-together goes awry when phantoms in the night come out, but were they always there, or is Ken and Carol's daughter the light that drew them out?</span><br style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;" /><span style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;">Ken's Army duties have moved he and his family from base to base causing his parents to become fearful that their granddaughter was growing too old too fast without them. They have insisted that he make time to bring his wife, Carol, and their three year old, Kat, to stay the long weekend along with his sister, Anna, her husband, Mike, and their four year old, Trisha. Noises and strangers enter in the night causing Ken and Carol to question their daughter's innocence. Was the fact that she wasn't breathing when she was born have some sort of effect on her?</span><br style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;" /><br style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;" /><i style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;"><u>About the author:</u></i><br style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;" /><span style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;">C.S. Warner grew up with a love of horror and supernatural films – as evident in her writing. Because of that passion, she has worked on ghost tours and as a paranormal investigator to give her stories life. Using her experience as a foundation for her writing, C.S. Warner creates worlds for her readers to get lost in.</span><br style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;" /><br style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;" /><span style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;">Facebook:</span><br style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;" /><a href="https://www.facebook.com/cswarnerauthor/" style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px; text-decoration: none;">https://www.facebook.com/cswarnerauthor/</a></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Twitter: </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><a href="https://twitter.com/cswarnerauthor"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">https://twitter.com/cswarnerauthor</span></a></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Amazon:</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/C.-S.-Warner/e/B01702I124"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">http://www.amazon.com/C.-S.-Warner/e/B01702I124</span></a></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Goodreads:</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/9841828.C_S_Warner"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/9841828.C_S_Warner</span></a></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Google+:<br /><a href="https://plus.google.com/102356772991290749736">https://plus.google.com/102356772991290749736</a><br /><br style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;" /><i style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;"><u>Excerpt:</u></i><br style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;" /><span style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;">It was early morning, still dark, as Ken sat in the hospital room. A female nurse was informing him on how to read the monitor in front of him. “This tracks the baby’s heart beat.” She pointed to the line on the screen, “You’ll see it go up and down during the course of labor.”</span><br style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;" /><span style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;">Carol lied on the hospital bed beside him, trying to portray herself as calm during each contraction. There was a silence between them. They had only briefly dated before Carol became pregnant.</span><br style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;" /><span style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;">Ken kept his idle focus on the blinking machine.</span><br style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;" /><span style="font-size: 15.4px; line-height: 21.56px;">“Maybe some TV while we wait?” Carol pleaded with her best pout, still trying to win Ken’s affections and sympathies. He reached to the table behind him and handed her the remote. He didn’t care what her choice was, his mind was racing. Another child? He had already come to his own conclusions; he would try to work things out with Carol into a real relationship. He liked her enough, but he already had two kids from a previous marriage that he barely saw. What if he did the same to this kid? He didn’t want that.</span></span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17362354947492346788noreply@blogger.com