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Sharon’s  note: This isn’t my normal type of story, but I saw something that reminded me of this today, and thought others might like it. Warning: Story is real, and might prove that humanity is worth saving.

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So, our local animal shelter is very aggressive about getting homes for their animals, and I wholly approve. Anytime there’s an official gathering of people that will let them, they’re right there with a selection of dogs. Each Saturday, they show up to the mall and tempt every person they see to come over and pet the puppies. (All dogs are puppies, no matter the age, and moreover, all puppies are good dogs. I will hear no argument against this, and will die on this hill if necessary.)

The day in question, I had allowed myself to be conned into coming over to pet the various pups. One of the volunteers (who could have sold water to a dying man) was trying to convince me that I really could use an adorable old bulldog in my life. I resisted the urge, but barely. He was truly adorable.

A couple came up with a small boy. I’m not great at guessing ages, but I’d say he was around three. The couple were immediately drawn to a yellow lab mix. It was large and calm, with excellent manners. The dad seemed to really hit it off with the lab, and tried to convince the boy to come over and pet it. The boy did not seem impressed, and refused to come anywhere near the dog. I don’t think he was afraid of it, he just didn’t like it. After a while the dad gave up, and he and the mom started talking to one of the volunteers about adoption.

There were a few other dogs available that day, one of which might have been an animated mop head. By mop head, I mean the dog was small, a dirty gray color, and might have had a face under the massive amount of yarn-like fur, but I couldn’t tell for certain.

As the parents were distracted, the boy wandered over to the other dogs. He and the mop head met eyes, and came to a kind of silent consensus. You know, the type small children and animals excel at. They both headed over to the corner, cuddled into a ball, and fell asleep. The parents noticed this, and I watched looks of pure bafflement settle over their faces. They whispered to each other for a moment, and the mom settled into resignation, while the dad looked absolutely crestfallen. 

The dad returned the leash of the lab, and they told the volunteer that they would be adopting the mop head instead, because their son had made the decision, so that was that. A happy ending for all. 

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Sharon’s note: So, a lot of romances these days are light on romance. There’s plenty of ‘hot’ (really what’s with all the burning loins?) and lots of ‘heavy’, but where’s the actual romance? There’s nothing wrong with ‘sexy’. I like ‘sexy’. But you know what can be sexy? Sweetness. Romance can be innocent too. Warning: Cute flirting and innocent exploration.

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After Wendy handed over a couple of tickets, the guy at the concessions handed over a funnel cake fresh from the fryer, covered in melting powdered sugar and seeping oil that soaked the paper bowl that was too small for it. She broke off a piece and popped it in her mouth, then moaned.

“Oh, this is so good. You can really taste the peanut. Here!” She broke off another piece, and put it against his lips. It was too hot, and burned a little, but he opened his mouth. It was uncomfortable, and mostly what he tasted was sweetened peanut oil, but that being said, it wasn’t bad.

“It’s tasty,” he agreed around a mouthful. He glanced around, and other than the creepy clown at the front, it looked like a normal carnival, albeit with more rides and attractions than he normally saw with them. It was hot and sweaty, but that was it. “So where do we find the dark and scary stuff?”

“I’m not sure.” Wendy spun in a circle, taking in the cacophony of sounds and lights. “Most of the scary stuff will hide until nightfall, but there’s always some sign hiding in plain sight. We just have to find it.”

Jim pointed at a crooked and brightly painted sign post. “Well, if I was looking for obvious evil hiding places, I’d go there.

Her nose wrinkled. “The haunted house? It’s a bit on the nose, but it’s a good place to start. Besides, it should be fun.”

“If, um,” Jim experimented with a cocky grin. “If you get scared, you can alway hold my hand again.”

She stared at him for a moment, blank-faced, then burst out laughing. Jim started to step back and cross his arms, but Wendy grabbed his hand. “I was planning on doing this anyway. It’s just funny because I don’t scare easy. I’d say I couldn’t remember the last time I was scared, but I don’t remember a lot of things, so that’s nothing to go by.”

They strolled through the crowd, nibbling on their funnel cake. Wendy’s fingers were battered in powdered sugar, and she wiped them on the seat of her jeans. Jim tried not to stare as her fingers left long white trails across the material.

In front of the haunted house, Wendy jumped up and down, laughing raucously. Jim didn’t get it. The two story trailer was patchily faded, it’s once black sides now a mottled gray. A cartoonish plywood cutout of a witch pointed to the entrance, and the relatively fresh paint couldn’t cover the outline of the naughty graffiti someone had drawn on her mouth.

“You like this?” Jim raised a skeptical eyebrow. 

“It’s perfect!” She did a little dance in place. “It’s so run down and silly that no one would think that anything in here was real.”

“That’s true.” Jim summoned a smile and pulled on her hand. “So let’s go in and see if we can find something really scary. She winked. “And if you get scared, you can hold on to me.”

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Sharon’s note: So, I’ve always fiddled around with scary elements in my stories, but this is the first time I’ve ever tried to write straight up horror. It’s fun, because it’s requires a different style than I usually use. Horror is a much more visceral genre. I normally shy away from longer descriptions with a lot of sensory words, because in general I don’t like them. They bore me, but I’m trying something different, so new skills are needed. I’m also loading up my reading list with horror books to get a better feel for it. I’m excited about seeing how I progress through my work as I learn. Warning: Some swearing and a pretty generic starting point for a horror story.

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“I appreciate you doing this for me, John.” I used my flashlight to move another strand of cobweb out of my way, shifting my backpack so I didn’t drop it. My breath was hot and humid as it curled inside my mask. The nose piece was starting to rub a little raw where it was pinned under my glasses, but I could still taste the almost oily dust that hung in the air. I wasn’t going without it.

“Yeah, it’s not like I’m doing you a favor.” The security guard walked a few feet behind me, studying the building map under the light from his cell phone. He sneezed again. I’d offered him one of my masks, but he’d refused. “If I didn’t need the money so bad, I’d tell you to fuck off.”

My toe caught on a raised bit of linoleum and I stumbled. I threw out my free hand to grab a nearby door frame, and the metal was almost slick, making me lose my grip. John seized my flailing arm and righted me.

“Thanks,” I shot him a quick smile that he couldn’t see. He grunted in response. I looked at my hand, and it was covered in a black, sooty grime “Ugh.”

“Ya know, the old admin office is a lot cleaner.” John had dropped the map when he grabbed me. He stooped over to pick it up, so I couldn’t see his face when he added, “And it’s a lot closer to the guard shack if you need help.”

I wiped my palm against my jeans. They were going to be filthy before the night was through. “I’ll have the radio. It’ll be fine. Besides, I want the full experience. There’s been no official ghost sightings in the new wing. I want to sleep in McBride’s actual office. If I want to impart my readers with a real sense of the tragedy of this place, I have to feel it myself.”

“It’s just as creepy in the new wing as the old wing,” John grumbled. “It’s all just empty space. Just up front you’re less likely to spend all night lying dead in a stairwell with a broken neck because you got lost on the way to the bathroom.”

The hallway ended in another T and I peered down both directions. To the left was another stretch of peeling, crumbling floor, gray smudged walls, and endless empty door frames. The light faded out before it reached the end, creating false sparks in the distance as it hit any bits of ancient metal. On the right a set of warped wooden doors loomed, grand and oppressive. Thick chains ran through their handles and were bound with a heavy new padlock. 

I licked my lips and barely noticed as the tip of my suddenly dry tongue scraped cotton. “So, I’m guessing the old wing is through there.”

John laughed, then coughed again. “If you’re scared, we can turn back now. I promise I won’t tell your ‘readers’.”

My stomach tightened with the effort not to snap at him. Instead, I forced my voice to stay even and calm. “I am not afraid. Now, if you want your two hundred bucks, take me to McBride’s office.”

“Alright.” He rolled his eyes and pulled the massive key ring from his belt. As he fumbled to unlock the chain he muttered to himself. “It’s your funeral, bitch.”

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Sharon’s Note: So, the game continues. This was such a hoot to write, and I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it. Warning: Author has nothing against clowns. The author has met some very nice clowns. Author admits than when they are meant to be scary, they are terrifying.

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“What do you mean, evil carnival?” Jim almost had to jog to keep up with Wendy’s long strides. 

“I’ll admit, I’m not exactly sure. Evil clowns, a vampire ringmaster, maybe an evil, soul eating presence from beyond the stars. You know, the usual.” She squeezed his arm against her side and shot him another grin. “Don’t worry, though, most of the scary stuff won’t be out during the day. Probably. It’s fine. I’ll protect you.”

“My hero.” He said, unsure. “I hadn’t heard that there was a horror element to this carnival. I mean, there wasn’t anything on the pamphlet.”

“Well, there wouldn’t be, would there? Although, it would make for a funny advertisement, wouldn’t it?” She laughed and waved the pamphlet around in the air. “Come for the cotton candy and funnel cake, stay for the mind bending horrors. Might be effective, though, because now I want a funnel cake. Do you want to split one with me?”

“Uh, sure.” This girl was weird, and going off with her probably wasn’t a good idea but Jim liked her. There was nothing wrong with quirky, right? Simon was still blowing up his phone with texts to tell him that he was stupid, but Simon didn’t have his arm held against a girl’s . . . against a girl. “I’ve got some cash.”

She blew out through her lips like a horse, and did a little skip. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous. I asked you out, so I’ll pay.”

Did she just say she’s asked him out? A smile crept over his face. “Sure. Sounds good. So, um, do you live around here?”

“Nope. I’m just in town for the carnival.”

“Oh.” He drooped a little. “So where are you from?”

She ruffled her hair, making her bell jingle. “I wouldn’t say I’m from anywhere. I travel a lot, chasing stuff like this.”

“So, you like horror and stuff?”

She released his arm to wobble her hands around. “It’s not so much that I like it, it’s just what I do.”

“What, like a job?” Jim’s arm was still warm from where it had been against her. He was trying to get up the nerve to offer his arm to her, but she grabbed his hand and started to swing it like a little kid. He’d take it.

“Yeah, like that.” They turned the corner and she pointed over the houses. “Ooo, look, a ferris wheel. I love ferris wheels. If things don’t get too crazy right away, do you want to ride it?”

“Sure.” Jim didn’t like heights, but screw it, the hottest girl he’d ever met wanted him to go on the ferris wheel with her. He could close his eyes.

The music from the carnival became audible as they approached. It was some kind of butchered, instrumental version of a pop song. Wendy started singing along and Jim couldn’t help but grin. Of course she sang like an angel. She kept nudging him with her elbow, trying to make him sing with her. By the time they made it to the admission gate, he’d given in, and was faintly echoing the lyrics with her. 

The scariest clown Jim had ever seen was manning the ticket booth. His eyes looked sunken into black diamonds, and fake buck-teeth protruded from a scarlet mouth painted to look like it would split his skull in two if it was opened all the way.

Jim leaned in to whisper. “That is one evil looking clown.” 

She turned her head to whisper back, so close that her lips brushed his ear, making him blush. “Not actually evil. It’s just really badly designed makeup.”

When they approached the booth, she pulled a tightly folded bill from her pocket and slapped it on the table. The clown opened it up, then stared at it for a long moment.

“I’m not supposed to take bills over twenty if I’m making change.” His voice was kind of hoarse, and he stared at them like they were trying to scam them.

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, you sell the ride and food tickets too, right? Just give us what’s left in those.”

“Are you shitting me?” The clown laughed so hard he coughed. 

“Why would I do that?” She stared at the clown in complete sincerity, and Jim stared at her. 

The clown frowned at her, and pulled one of those color changing markers used to check bills from under the counter. He dragged it across Benjamin Franklin’s face, then frowned. The mark didn’t change color, but he looked like he still really wanted to deny her.

She leaned forward and whispered something to the clown, and his face softened. When she straightened, she gave him that thousand watt smile that turned her beautiful. The clown looked at Jim, chuckled, then handed Wendy a long strand of tickets.

As she grabbed Jim’s arm to lead him into the carnival she whispered, “If he had taken much longer I would have said screw it and just snuck in.”

“I believe you. What did you say to him, anyway?” Not that he couldn’t believe a guy would do anything she asked when she gave them that smile.

“I told him I was trying to impress a guy who was way out of my league and asked if he could help me out.” She started to pull harder, leading him towards the closest food stall. “Do you want apple or cherry pie filling on your funnel cake?”

Jim laughed. That clown had to stupid to see that smile and think that anyone was out of her league. “Can we just get plain?”

She made a little ‘o’ with her mouth. “Good choice. I like a guy who appreciates the classics.”

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Sharon’s Note: So, this series continues to be free therapy. Most of the hospital staff I’ve met have been wonderful and made my stay as good as possible, but being in the hospital sucks. There’s no getting around it. A good attitude helps though. Warning: Cameos from the first story.

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My hate for hospitals was low level. I had a great respect for the staff, but everything else was horrible. The food was cheap and easy, felt as sterile and impersonal, and was always cold. All these things were by necessity, but didn’t make them any less uncomfortable. More than anything else was the smell. No matter how much bleach got used, there was always a subtle wrong smell underneath. Sickness has a smell, and it lingers like smoke.

Now that I was mobile enough to use a wheelchair, I didn’t have to stare at the same four walls as much. Of course, after Irma returned me to my room I was instructed to keep my butt in bed for the next couple of hours and rest. I flicked through the channels on the television, debating between a rerun of Mash and a documentary on women warriors in history. 

Someone knocked lightly on the door frame. I looked over and a grin spread across my face. “Hey, Brian.”

“Hey, Joy.” The man I had saved from being werewolf food walked into the room holding a bunch of blue carnations.

I raised an eyebrow. “Those are the ‘It’s a Boy’ flowers from the gift shop.”

He blushed and shrugged. “They were out of all the other flowers.”

“I haven’t seen you since they let you out.” I crossed my arms and fought not to smile. I didn’t actually mind, but I had to give him a little hell.

“Yeah, sorry about that. I, um, signed up with Hearth. Training’s been rough.” He ducked his head, but it did nothing to hide the pride in his voice.

I gave up and chuckled. “Yeah, Joe can be a bit of a slave driver.”

“You aren’t kidding. I thought that my arms were going to fall off after the first day.” He grimaced and rubbed his arm.

“Ah, yes. The infamous breaking in pushups. I remember those all too well.” My own arms twinged from sympathy at the memory, or maybe from today’s workout. “It’s his way of weeding out the people who aren’t serious. You’d be surprised at how many people decide they don’t want to play Hunter anymore after Joe’s intro program.”

Brian lifted his chin. “Well, he’s going to have to try a lot harder to scare me away. I missed eight funerals while I was in here with you. There were two more I had to attend when I got out. We had to commit my aunt because we were afraid she was going to hurt herself with her husband and son gone. I’m not letting this happen to anyone else.”

Sadness and pride swelled together in my chest. “I’m sorry for what happened.”

He snorted. “Don’t be sorry. I’ve heard what happened that night. You lost most of your team trying to help us, then you were the only one who had the guts to try and save us.”

“It wasn’t a matter of guts. There was more than one wolf that night-”

“Don’t make excuses for them.” Brian’s fist clenched, crushing the carnations in his fist. 

I didn’t want to argue with him. He already had a Hunter’s determination. We were a stubborn breed. Once we decided something there was no dissuading us. I looked down at the sheets piled over my lap. “I’ll probably be getting out in a few weeks. That means I’ll get to see you at Hearth.”

His smile returned. “Yeah, maybe they’ll put me on your new team.”

I had to laugh. “They are never going to trust me with a team again. Not after the stunt I pulled. It’s fine though. I knew the risks when I left that night. They can always use more support.”

“Nah, you’re too good for them to just let you wither away doing research.”

“Maybe, but they’ll let me stew there for a while as punishment.” I shrugged. “Are you going to visit Max and Ethan while you’re here?”

Brian grunted. “I’ll drop by before I leave. Ethan is best in short doses.”

“That he is.” I laughed.

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Sharon’s note: So I had the idea for a revenant that couldn’t complete its mission a while ago, I just couldn’t figure out what to do with it. I thought that having it consult with a a magic worker could be fun, and that evolved to it talking with James’s character from Witcher Man. I enjoyed trying to mimic the character’s behavior. Warning: James okayed my use of this, so if it’s not good, it’s his fault.

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“You are Daniel McCalister?” The desiccated corpse of Cursed Body of the Holy River King shuffled into the office, dragging the garbage bag behind him. 

“Whoa, hold on there big fella. Let’s talk about this for a second.” The detective behind the desk, who had been kicked back with his feet up, stood, hand diving into his drawer for something.

“That is why I am here.” The Curse drew itself to its full height, well over a foot above the detective. 

“And you are really, really tall.” Danny glanced at the monitor on his desk. “And my two o’clock, it looks like. Alright, cool. First time for everything. Have a seat.”

“I will stand,” The Curse growled.

“Or have a piece of floor, that works too.” Danny sighed and clicked through his appointment information. “So, I don’t have a lot of information here Mr . . .River King?”

“I am not the River King. I am the curse he left behind to guard his body from desecration.” It seemed to consider for a moment before adding, “And I do not like typing.”

Danny glanced at the giant gnarled talons at the end of the Curse’s hands. “I can imagine. Well, that’s fine. What can I help you with, then.”

“The tomb of the River King was raided, and his body violated. This fool,” the Curse raised the trash bag still clutched in its hand, “read the inscription that triggered the curse.”

Danny’s shoulders drooped as he pointed at the bag. “He’s not still alive in there, is he?”

“No, and that is the issue.”

“Why is that a problem? I thought the whole point of these types of curses was to kill the perpetrator. Sounds like a job well done, now it’s time to move on. Is that the problem? You finished the job but you’re still here?” Danny picked up a pen from his desk and started to fiddle with it.

The Curse bared gray, but surprisingly well taken care of teeth. “I do not understand. The fool raised me, and then died at his desk just as he saw me. Was he frightened to death?”

“Well, you are terrifying,” Danny said, and the Curse dipped its head at the compliment. “But, if you were actually the cause of his death that should have counted. Chances are he just had a heart attack or something. An unrelated death could cause the problem.”

The Curse hefted the bag up and dropped the body onto the desk, knowing everything on it to the ground. “So raise him from the dead so that I may kill him properly.”

Danny frowned. “I’m sorry, I have a strict no corpses on my desk policy.”

“My apologies.” It dragged the bag off the desk, but that did nothing to fix the mess.

He sighed. “Look, I don’t do the whole resurrection thing. Moreover, I don’t know anyone who does. It’s a messy business that costs a life at minimum. What I can do is help you go over your options. Have you ever considered having a life of your own?”

It wrinkled its nose, and the right side crumpled and fell off. “I do not have a life. I awaken when summoned, kill the offender, then go back to sleep.”

Danny’s eyebrows shot up. “So you aren’t just a one shot spell? You’re in multiple locations. That’s cool.”

“What will you do to get me back to sleep?” The Curse slammed a fist on the desk and the wood cracked.

Danny looked from the damage to the Curse’s withered yellow eyes. “You’re paying for that.”

“You will be compensated as soon as you help me go back to sleep.” It withdrew its hand, but continued to glare.

“The best way to do this is to appeal to a higher authority.” He sighed. “Fortunately for you, I know a guy.”

“Why would your god help me?”

“Oh, he’s not my god.” Danny grabbed a bag from behind his desk. “I don’t keep them as a general rule. You pick one god, then suddenly none of the other ones will return your phone calls. No, this guy’ll help because it’s his job. Death gods tend to be very dedicated.”

“Very well, call your god guy.”

Danny chuckled as he took out some chalk and drew a quick circle on the floor. He lit a few candles on his desk for atmosphere. He closed his eyes and began to chant.

“You know this particular ritual very well to perform it off hand.” The Curse hauled the bag to the edge of the circle while it observed.

“We have a good working relationship.” He said between verses. When he finished, the world inside the circle faded away and a pillar of void stretched from ceiling to floor.

“What mortal dares to . . . oh. It’s you.” The voice in the darkness seemed very put out.

“Hey buddy! How are you doing?” Danny rocked on his heels with his arms crossed and a huge grin on his face.

“Just tell me why you summoned me so I can leave.”

“Ah, don’t be cranky.” 

“When you die I will joyfully collect your soul and personally ferry it to the other side so that I never have to speak with you again. Now say what you want, and we can all get on with our days.”

“My friend here finds himself stranded. He’s a curse that animates a corpse to kill a grave robber. The problem is that his prey died before he could get to him. I figured if a death god cleared him of his duty it would absolve him and he could rest.” Danny slapped the Curse on its back and dust poofed out.

“It is bad practice to leave a revenant running around out there.” The voice sighed. “You’re sure that the grave robber died?”

The Curse held up the bag in answer.

“Uh,” the Voice groaned. “Fine. I declare this servant of death done, its purpose fulfilled.”

“Finally,” the Curse sighed, and its body fell to ash.

“There. Can I go now?”

Danny sighed and nudged the pile of ash with his foot. Scattered within were a handful of colorful rocks that were probably uncut jewels. “Well, at least I’m getting paid.”

“I said, can I go?”

“Yeah, see you next time.”

“Unless you get yourself killed before then. I live in hope.” The pillar of void disappeared, leaving Danny alone with a chalk circle, a pile of ash and jewels, and a body in a trash bag.

The detective sighed and shook his head. He pulled a cell phone from his pocket and dialed. “Hey, Ollie. Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Look, do you know anyone who does body disposal. No, I didn’t kill him. Sure, yeah. I’ll tell you the whole story when you get here. Yeah that sounds good. Um, peperoni, extra cheese, extra sauce. Oh, and extra peperoni. See you in a few. Bye.”

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Sharon’s Note: So, this is a ‘commissioned’ piece. Okay, so it’s more like a dare. I’m not even going to try to remember the whole conversation, but there was a long discussion about YA romance, an James complaining about there not really being any aimed at boy, and that being stupid because guys like romance too. So here it is, a YA supernatural romance story for boys. Warning: Author thought this challenge was fun as hell.

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“I heard there’s a carnival over in the old Thomson’s parking lot. We could check it out.” Jim shuffled down the road, one foot on the curb and the other on the street below. Chris and Simon were walking down the sidewalk normally. 

“Nah. I’ve been to those little carnivals before. They’re always cheap and end up sucking.” Simon jumped up to grab a leaf from an overhanging branch then started shredding it.

“What do you want to do, then?” Jim stepped up onto the sidewalk to glare at his friends. “You always say anything I want to do is stupid, but never have any better ideas.”

“We can go back to my place. I’ve got the new-” Simon began.

Someone vaulted the six foot cinder block fence separating them from the string of backyards. It was a girl, who sprinted down the sidewalk in a blur, and stopped right in front of Jim. 

She had to be somewhere around his age, around sixteen or so and was tall and lanky, with a long face. Her skin was extremely pale and splattered with freckles, and thematically went with the nearly fire engine red hair. Jim had seen bird nests more organized than her hair. It was chopped at multiple levels and anything more than a few inches long was horribly tangled with ribbons, colored string, and a single silver bell. Her clothes were just as strange. She wore cut off jeans, one leg almost at her knee and the other cut way up high and some kind of vest made of leather patches, laced over a black tee-shirt. 

“Hi. I’m looking for the carnival, and I heard you talking about it. I followed the flier, but I’m obviously not in the right place. Or am I? Did I miss the carnival again?” Her shoulders slumped, as she looked mournfully at the bright purple piece of paper in her hand. Her entire demeanor shifted as she grinned hopefully, and put her empty hand on his chest. Her face went from strange and a little plain to absolutely beautiful. Facing her full on, Jim could see her eyes were brilliant like copper. “Could you help me?”

“Um, yeah. Sure.” Jim’s heart tried to climb up his throat and he fought to swallow it down as he leaned forward to point to a place on her pamphlet. She smelt like pumpkin spice. “You just missed a little detail. See? It says it’s on St. John’s Road. This is St. John’s Drive.”

“Oh.” Her nose wrinkled. “I’m really bad at details. I don’t suppose you could show me where it is? If I try to find it on my own I might get distracted and miss it.”

“It’s supposed to be going all weekend, so you probably wouldn’t miss it completely, but, yeah, I could walk you there. It’s not that far.” Out of the corner of his eye, Jim saw his friends moving out of the girl’s line of sight and started waving for his attention. Chris was mouthing the word ‘no’ as obviously as he could. Simon whipped out his phone and his thumbs flew over the screen. Jim’s phone dinged, and he pulled it out of his pocket just enough to see what was sent.

What are you doing? Bitch looks crazy!

In answer, Jim smirked at them. “I’ll see you guys later, okay?”

They looked at him in horror, and he was about to laugh at them when the girl grabbed his arm and tucked it into hers, pinning it to the side of her chest. Jim stopped breathing for a second while she grinned at him again. “My name is Wendy, by the way.”

“Oh, uh, I, I’m Jim.”

“Okay, come on Jim. Let’s go destroy an evil carnival.” She started pulling him along.

“Yeah sur- wait, what?”

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Sharon’s note: So, I’d always kind of planned to write a few more stories with my hard hunting protagonist, and since I’ve been a bit of a writing dry spell, I figured it was a good time. Warning: Physical Therapists are wonderful people who have helped the author so much. They are also tough as nails and scary in their determination to get you better.

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Irma crossed her arms and glared at me. I’d gone face to face with werewolves, zombies, and vampires, and she scared me more than any of them. I drop my eyes from hers.

“Do it again, Joy. Come on.” Irma’s tone let me know there was no room for negotiation. 

“I swear, next time we have to do negotiations with vampires, I’m sending you in. You’ll have them crying on the floor in minutes.” I grunted, and grabbed a hold of the parallel bars. With a heave I pulled myself out of the wheelchair to my feet. The movement strained muscles from my wrists to the bottom of my feet. Pain reached through the backs of my legs as they stretched to a standing position. “I feel like I’m gonna fall.”

“Sit down if you need to. Take a little rest, then we’ll do it again.” There was no sympathy in her eyes. None. She was a cold bitch. Lucky for me she used her powers for good.

“Slave driver,” I grumbled, then sighed. “No, I can do it.”

“Great!” She took her place holding the chair to make sure it was stable. The whole time she kept that merciless smile on her face.

“I hate you,” I said, flatly.

“That’s fine.” She sounded so chipper about it. “So, how does that feel?”

“It hurts.” I gritted my teeth as the pain started to crawl up and over my hips like I was submerging in it.

“On a scale of one to ten?” 

“I don’t know. A six, maybe?”

“You hunters.” Irma shook her head. “You never answer that question honestly. Okay, sit.”

“I can do a little bit more.” I breathed deeply, fighting past the pain. 

“Good, then you can do another one after you rest. Sit.”

I dropped into the chair and closed my eyes. The pain eased slowly, and as it left the muscles twitched involuntarily. “Next time, I’m just going to let the werewolf eat everyone.”

“No you won’t.” She patted my shoulder. “You’ll do something stupidly heroic, save a bunch of lives, then end up right back here with me.”

“After this, I’m going back to Hearth.” I laughed. “Seth let me know in no uncertain terms that if I throw myself into danger like that again he’ll chain me to my desk.”

“Oh, he’s one to talk.” Irma snorted. 

“Got any dirt on him I can use?” I quirked an eyebrow and fought not to twitch.

Irma opened her mouth, but a klaxon burst overhead in three short, ear shattering whail. She frowned. “So, we’re going to be in this room for a little bit. No more reps.”

“What was that?” My fingers curled around the arms of my chair, really wishing I had a gun.

“It’s to let everyone know that a dangerous patient is being moved through the hallways.” She pulled up one of the plastic chairs that were against the wall. “It’s nothing to worry about. It’s just precautionary. Some of our patients can be unstable when injured, and we clear the way for them as a precaution.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Who all do you treat here?”

Irma laughed. “Everyone.”

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

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Sharon’s note: So, this story came from nowhere and is going nowhere, but I think it’s entertaining. Hope you enjoy. Warning: Kids being slightly psychopathic and accepting of the situation. You know, like kids.

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“Trolls aren’t real.” Robbie leaned against an old wrecked car, his arms crossed tightly and his nose wrinkled. 

Chris tugged the goat over to tie it to the bumper. The empty creekbed was full of all sorts of old trash and heavy things, but the car was the closest to the bridge. “It’s real. I saw it.”

“You probably just saw a really hairy guy.” He pointed at the empty space under the old bridge. “There’s nothing there.”

“He only comes out at night. Just watch, as soon as the sun sets, he’s going to come out to eat the goat.” 

Robbie snickered. “If you really thought that you wouldn’t have brought your mom’s billy. She’s going to be ticked off enough that you took him. If you don’t get him back before she gets home tomorrow she’s going to go nuclear.”

“I’m not going to let it eat him, I’m just trying to lure it out so I can get a picture.” Chris waved his phone.

“If there really is a troll, how are you going to stop it?”

Chris opened his mouth but didn’t have a good answer. Instead he sneered at his friend. “If there really isn’t a troll, why are you sitting over there all scared like you’ve seen a ghost?”

“Shut up!” Robbie uncrossed his arms and stood up straight. He tried not to pout as he stalked towards a large strand of scraggly trees at the edge of the dried up bed. “Come on. It’ll be dark soon. If you want to hide and wait for this thing we better hide.”

They huddled behind the plants while the sun set and played with their phones. The billy goat bleated plaintively and tried to tug its lead loose. When it was finally dark something beneath the bridge stirred. 

It crawled out onto the dried creekbed, its hulking form stumbling over the bits of debris as it moved towards the goat. The billy tugged desperately against the bumper as it started to scream. Robbie and Chris stared in horror as it stood up straight, towering over the panicked animal. It was something like a man, but twice as tall with bluish skin, corded muscle and a beard made of scragledy weeds.

Chris scrambled to bring his phone up and in his haste it slipped from his hands. The phone hit the rocks, and went tumbling out into the open, clattering loud enough to be heard even over the goat’s cries. The creature from the bridge slowly turned it’s head to look at the boys. It shuffled toward them and stopped just shy of the phone. Both boys were frozen, staring up at the monster.

It pointed a long finger at the goat, and spoke in a gravelly voice. “Is that offering mine?”

Chris looked at his friend who shrugged. He looked back at the bridge troll, who was patiently waiting. “Um, maybe?”

It snorted. “Uh, I didn’t think so. No one gives me offerings anymore. Not that I blame them. A water spirit with no water isn’t much good.”

“You’re a water spirit? I thought you were a troll.” Chris wrinkled his nose.

The spirit snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no such thing as trolls.”

“Told you.” Robbie smirked. 

Chris glared at him for a moment before turning back to the spirit. “So what happened to your water?”

“Eh, they built a dam to divert it.” It sighed heavily. “I couldn’t follow it. Before that, I was a great spirit, and could have done much with an offering like that.”

Chris eyed the spirit speculatively. “Well, what could you do with it now?”

Robbie punched him in the shoulder. “You can’t give away your mom’s goat.”

The creek spirit snorted. “It’s not even yours to offer. I should have known. Away with you, then, and take your beast with you. I have no use for what’s not offered freely and in good faith.”

“What if we got your water back?” Chris’s eyes were sparkling with possibilities. “Would you owe us like a wish or something?”

It eyed him speculatively. “Yes, such as I could grant.”

“Okay, we’ll come back when we’ve gotten you your creek back.” Chris stood and walked boldly past the spirit to retrieve his mother’s goat. Robbie scampered after him, and the spirit watched them pass with only mild interest.

“What are you doing?” He hissed at his friend. “How are you going to get the water back?”

Chris waved him off. “Oh, it shouldn’t be hard. With how small the creek is, and can’t be a very big dam. We can probably blow it up.”

Robbie looked horrified. “Isn’t that illegal?”

“Nah, it was his creek in the first place, so we’re just getting it back for him.” Chris untied the lead, and started to lead the goat away. “It’s like being Robin Hood, only for water.”

“This is a mistake,” Robbie grumbled.

“You said that about going to see the troll.”

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James’s Notes: As I begin work on my novel, I want to talk about outlining. These are some lessons I’ve learned from my recent adventures in outlining, as well as what has worked for Sharon in the two novels she has drafted. Like all writing advice, take it with a grain of salt and do what works for you. But hopefully this will give you a few new tricks to try.

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When you decide to write a novel, almost the first decision you have to make is whether or not to outline.

Outlining just means planning your story out before you start writing.

Some people don’t bother, and those people are generally called Pantsers, as in writing by the seat of their pants.

Some people do, and they are called Plotters, for obvious reasons.

George Martin calls them Architects and Gardeners, because one carefully plans out what he builds, and the other plants things and lets them grow how they will.

So how do you know which one you are, and how much you should plan?

First, remember outlines can change. In fact they’re almost guaranteed to.

You’re not married to it just because you wrote it on paper.

In fact, it might even be worth going back to your outline once you’re halfway through the novel, to note all the changes you made up to that point.

Second , remember this is a spectrum.

Some people make very detailed outlines, and some just barely jot down the overarching ideas.

So, let’s cover the whole spectrum of outlines.

First is the lightest, briefest sort of outline.

This is just the overarching plot outline.

All you do for this one is jot down all your major plot points.

You would write down where your main character starts off, what’s your inciting incident is, and all your big plot beats going forward.

The next step up is what is sometimes called the bullet point outline.

Sometimes organized by chapters, you would write down every scene and every important action in bullet point format.

You don’t have to give very much detail, you just mentioned that it happens.

This is different from the plot outline in that it’s not just the major plot points they get mentioned, but every scene at least gets a bullet point.

Which brings us to the most detailed outline.

This is the chapter by chapter detailed outline.

In this one, you break the story up into chapters then you write a detailed description of each chapter.

These descriptions can be pretty specific, just be careful not to go too far, or you’re basically writing the book.

Those are your three main choices. Here’s a little advice about using them.

If you want to use full chapter outlines, start with the plot outline first. Then expanded to bullet points, then expanded to full chapter descriptions.

This can be a lot easier and less intimidating then just trying to write and Incredibly detailed outline all in one go.

Here’s yet another thought.

If you are a new writer, who has never written a novel before, try using one level higher of outlines and you think you need.

If you think you’re a full-on panser who doesn’t need an outline at all, at least consider jotting down the broad Strokes of your plot.

I’ve run into so many new writers who think they don’t need an outline, and then are shocked when they get writer’s block.

Good outlines are one of the main ways to combat writer’s block.

Hopefully some of this information will be helpful.

Remember, as always, if what you’re doing is working, keep doing that.

If, however, you find that you need a new strategy to keep improving, you might give some of these thoughts a shot.