Ghost Stories: The Cellar...a short story.

While I'm between manuscripts or if a project is with beta readers I try and stay fluid by writing short stories. 

The Cellar is the first in a collection I'm currently revising. All the tales take place in a room or "space" of some sort. And while I wait for news I hope to announce very soon, I'll entertain myself writing 1k shorts. My novel needs more head space. I have ten of these to revise: The department store, an alley, the computer, etc., trying to create something a little shifted.  

                                     The Cellar

“Momma. What’s that sound?”

“Must be the skis in the cellar. . . . .again." Uneasy, Mrs. Halloman stood up from the couch, leaving her ten-year-old daughter to watch TV. Reassured her that it was nothing, once again, then moved to find out for sure.

She went to the basement door. Held the handle, and waited. She turned the knob. Darkness was before her. She switched the light on and proceeded down the steps.

“What is it, momma?” Kaitlin stood at the top.

“I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ll see if the skis fell and make sure they didn’t fall on the rabbits.

“Can I come?”

“Just wait here, and switch the light on if it goes out.”

“Okaaay.”

Kaitlin’s breath was heavy behind her. The humidity had brought on her daughter’s asthma. She labored for each breath. Mrs. Halloman continued and walked the fifteen steps to the bottom.

The light went out. “Kaitlin!”

“Got it!”

They were back on.

Ever since the Halloman family moved into Essex 105, the blackouts were frequent. Not unheard of in the windy mountains of Western Pennsylvania, but on some days, even if it wasn’t windy the lights went out. And no amount of fuse flipping brought them back. On two occasions while the neighbor’s lights went out during a storm, the lights at 105 Essex would be on. And vise versa. As if 105 Essex had its own energy supply.

At the bottom, Mrs. Halloman walked around the hidden corner and could hear the rabbits munching. Not sure why she kept them in the basement instead of the art shack out back. It was warmer there. The rabbits looked up at her with their usual nervous twitches, one finishing a carrot and not the least bit disturbed about anything unnatural.

BANG!

She jumped. “Kaitlin, are you all right?”

“Yes, momma. Are Pinkie and Peppy, OK?” Looking around for the piece of furniture or athletic accessory that had fallen, and satisfied all was fine she reached into the pen and picked up Pinkie, the white rabbit with brown patches.

“Can I see the bunnies?” Kaitlin called down. “Please?”

“Sure, come on, just watch your step.”

Kaitlin was next to her before she turned and put Pinkie back in his corral.

“I’ve got, Pinkie.” She hugged, his neck stretching away from her, a leg far separated from the others.

“Not too long. Your asthma’s already kicking up.”

Kaitlin nodded. “And Peppy, I don’t want you to get jealous.” She replaced Pinkie in favor of Peppy.

Mrs. Halloman moved away from the pen, and over to where the recent sound of falling objects came. 
Not only did their new house enjoy its own light display it seemed to try its hand at redecorating. Favoring the basement for its antics. As suspected, the line-up of skis had fallen on top of the hockey equipment set aside for the season. Her husband and son were out for the evening enjoying a ballgame. With the unexpected storm coming, they could be home soon. She almost wished they were.

Something caught her eye. Movement?

But it was nothing, only her imagination.

She lifted the skis; glad to have moved the rabbits days ago. From where she stood she couldn’t see the rabbits or Kaitlin. She finished and moved toward the tiny dark window at the farthest wall of the cellar. It was open. She shook her head. “Must have been a raccoon,” she whispered, turning the knob until the window squeaked shut. “There.”

She went back to Kaitlin.

I wonder if raccoons would hurt the rabbits? She made a mental note to take the bunnies out of the basement tomorrow morning.

Kaitlin?

Where were the rabbits?

“Kaitlin, you can’t take the rabbits upstairs,” she called, walking up the steps. “Not now, please. I didn’t put Edgar away. Can you get the leash . . .” As she reached the second to the top step. 

SLAM.

The basement door shut.

 “Kaitlin, the door!” She twisted and turned the knob. It was locked. “Kaitlin!”

The lights in the basement flickered. “Not again,” she groaned.

 “Kaitlin! Open this door right now!”  She knocked, knocking harder and harder.

No answer.

Mrs. Halloman raced down the steps and over to the back exit when she noticed the small window open. Again?

 Her first thought: a raccoon is in the basement. “Ridiculous, a raccoon could not swivel the window open — in ten minutes at that.” Her heart raced. She tried to swallow, but her throat closed, dry. She coughed, almost choking.

She reached basement exit. Lifted the metal bar up and over and unlocked the bolt, but she could not push the door open. She banged. Who could hear her outside with only the woods for miles? And Kaitlin? Wasn’t answering her calls. Not unusual if she went to her bedroom with the rabbits. Sweat rose over her lip. The air siphoned away. There was no exit from the back door. She turned and ran up the staircase entrance.

The blender was on. Or was it the juicer? “Kaitlin!” she yelled.

She pounded on the door until her knuckles cracked and splintered in red. She knocked until her hand numbed. She kept knocking. 
And she stopped; slid her back down the cellar door, exasperated, and listened to each and every electrical appliance grind and whirl. 
The basement lights popped. Darkness folded into every crease and crevice. Grinding motors grew deafening. 

 “Kaitlin . . . ,” she whispered. Her watch read 9:00. Her husband would be home soon. Kaitlin was playing in her bedroom with the rabbits, two flights up, and being a very bad girl. No excuse for this, even if Kaitlin wasn’t feeling well. “Kaitlin,” she whispered, knocking, a last time. Her head fell against the door. The whirling and grinding continued.

Suddenly the house became silent. Halted.

Mrs. Halloman looked at her watch: 9:30.

Something rattled at the foot of the steps under the newspapers. She made her way toward the sound feeling along the wall. The rabbits must be here. The crackling papers became louder. “Kaitlin?”

The lights went on.

A willowy shadow wavered before her.

She screamed and turned, running up the steps.

The door flew open. 
“What are you doing down there?”

“Harold!” They half-embraced. “Shut the door”

SLAM.

“Where’s Kaitlin?”

“She isn’t with you?”

“In her room!” Mrs. Halloman ran up the second level. “Kaitlin?”

“Hi mom.” It was Jack.

“Where’s Kate?”

“Dunno?”

“You didn’t see her?”

She raced from room to room calling her daughter’s name. Kaitlin’s room was empty. The lights off. She hadn’t been there at all. Perspiration rose, encasing her in heat. A sickening malaise gripped her throat. Confused, she couldn’t breath. Harold looked under the furniture saying, “She’s only hiding somewhere.”

Mrs. Halloman passed the large bay window facing the woods and caught a glimpse of pink. She ran outside. “Kaitlin!” 

Ran down the deck side. Her daughter was walking into the woods and didn’t take notice of her calls. “Kaitlin!” she kept calling until she was beside her. 
She put a hand on her shoulder. “What are you doing?”

Kaitlin turned around, covered in mud and twigs. “What’s going on?” she asked her daughter. looking into her distant eyes. 

“He told me to set the rabbits free. . . In the woods.”

She pulled her daughter close to her heart and began to cry. “Is that where they are now? In the woods?”

Kaitlin nodded, hidden under her embrace.

Mrs. Halloman let out a breath and looked for her husband standing on the deck. She could see the cellar’s back door. The lights were on. 
And a dark silhouette stood there as if it waited. Waited for its next request to be fulfilled.

  

The Full Moon Affect

Did you enjoy the full moon on July 1? Wonderful, because we have two full moons this month, otherwise known as a Blue Moon, and the next is on the 31^st. Apparently this hasn’t happened since August 2012. Well, Ok…. This time I will be prepared.

After about the hundredth time observing my children go bonkers during the full moon, (basically, turning into werewolves) I began to wonder about its effect on our emotions, creativity and sleep cycles. Even though some articles I’ve read state that the effects of the full moon haven’t been scientifically studied, so I’ve drawn my own hypothesis from years of experience, observation, and asking questions.

First, I’ll begin with what hits me right away: my teens fighting non-stop. They become easily frustrated, agitated and lash out at each other, verbally, and on occasion, physically – this is where momma werewolf jumps in.  It’s uncanny how distraught they become when the moon is full. Whenever they hit lunatic levels (above the “normal” Crazyland) I soon notice, why, yes the moon is full tonight or waxing toward it. 

Another affect the full moon has is to deprive me of sleep. I was puzzled when this first started, wondering why I couldn’t sleep; waking several times a night, or waking much, too early, say at 4 am. Yes, it’s the start of day for a Yogi, but it doesn’t work for me. It was consistent enough that I noticed the reoccurrence every full moon. OK, since I’m the mother of the werewolves, I must be affected by the glowing disk in the night sky, and began to wonder if I should go outside at howl at it.   

EoOOWWwLL

I already know from friends and family that a hospital’s ER becomes a mess of activity, and police friends agree that the full moon brings out people’s base behaviors. There are more accidents in general during the full moon. Go ahead, and ask.

Children in utero fall to the earth more readily during the full moon, or I mean, are born. Many parents can attest to this. Right? And I know, you know all about the moon and the tides.

Oh, boy – watch out for the Super Moon then. Also known as the perigee moon, which means near earth. Next one is September 28, 2015.  I’ll be sure to stock up on sleep a few days prior, and possibly get a hotel to escape the madness of my teen boys at home.

How do you children behave during this time?  Is there any noticeable difference? And what about you, is there any change in your own emotions or behavior?     

Writers and the Doubting Blues

       … and one small measure that might help, aside from a good night’s sleep.

Writers, we go along this path impassioned by our thoughts and inspirations, characters, and twisting plots. We read as much as we can about writers block, contract mishaps, predators, friends struggles, long journeys, and depression. We might begin writing as the most optimistic person and still things happen that can bring you down.

Take depression, the blues, that low-down isolated feeling. Writers are isolated.  No matter what, you are going to find yourself alone at some point—because, hey writers take what’s in their brains and put into the world in physical form, and that needs a little think/inspiration/muse time.

You can either embrace the aloneness, which many of us do, or become swallowed by it. And many of us do. I’ve certainly had my days of doubt. Some days I’m better at moving through it. I’ve had to develop skills for this. My mother has suffered depression all my life.

Maybe you experience mood swings, and who hasn’t, whether from cyclical body rhythms, diet or life events. You may feel physically alone. That’s par for the course, the weight of responsibility and anxiety for the future, or fear.  It’s human. We go there. We can visit or we can stay.

In the beginning of my writing journey— not all the way to five years old, but during my definitive push for publication I read so many stories of others and the pitfalls, the things that can go wrong, I thought I was prepared mentally. I wasn’t going there. It can’t happen to me because I “know” better. It’s an illusion and I’ll push it away, I might tell myself.

On a few accounts, I’ve felt the wall of the blues pressing on me in physical form, at times when I had no reason to feel blue.

I found my diet at the time to be rich in sugar and processed foods. I unwittingly experimented with this idea, by eating most of my children’s Halloween candy and for the next two days felt glum and downtrodden. When I figured out the diet connection, many of my mood swings, and much of my anxiety calmed down or disappeared completely.  My diet was key to my feelings, and how well, strong and energetic I felt. Now I’ve become gluten intolerant. As I grow older I find I must constantly fine-tuning my diet. I steer clear of chemically produced produce as well. Trial and error worked for me.  It’s heredity. Many in my family have health issues, and never make the diet/food connection. They keep on their habitual food path and continue to suffer.

Guess what I want to say is depression, blues, low-down feelings are real, and it never fully goes away. What I mention here are blues with no known reason, not the stress or depression of dealing with life’s unexpected burdens. Life is filled with ups and downs, all the gorgeous and messy fodder we need for our stories. Writers are like warriors, taking life’s blows and reliving them on the page for others to experience.  Maybe we can ride the fear like a wave, knowing the doubts will pass eventually if we can float above the waters of emotion.

Some days I can dissolve the blues by running outside, along the Hudson River. It’s the best to help me de-stress, and I usually follow it up with a thirty-minute meditation on the pier, weather permitting. That’s my perfect day.  Most everything rolls off of me after a 5k run -- even my teens’ maniac bickering the moment I walk in the door.

What are some of the ways you beat the writer-low-down blues or writer-isolated-doubts?  Because we’ve ALL been there. But we sure don't want to stay. 

A Tiger In The Jungle.

King Tacho hanging out with me in my new office. 

MG Book Review: Anywhere But Paradise by Anne Bustard.

Anywhere but Paradise by Anne Bustard
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I won Anywhere But Paradise in a giveaway, and thoroughly enjoyed reading this historical middle-grade book. Thanks, Egmont!

12-year-old, Peggy Sue has moved from Texas to Paradise, aka Hawaii. What a fluid, transporting entrance into the story it is. In its visual splendor, you’re sent back to 1960, Hawaiian Island Oahu, filled with sunshine, hula, salt, and hibiscus flowers. But Peggy Sue isn’t happy. Not happy at all.

She misses her understanding grandparents, her home in Texas, and worst of all, her cat has to stay in quarantine for 120 days! He’s slipping away, not purring, and barely notices her when she visits. If that’s not bad enough, she’s being singled out for Kill Haole Day, which is what the locals call her kind, the kind of people who dethroned their Queen Liliuokalani in 1893. Who continue to take their jobs, make them do all the work, or at least that’s what Peggy Sue’s nemesis, Kiki, tells her. And Kiki wants revenge.

Peggy Sues starts a couple odd jobs to earn enough money so she can fly back to Texas. She makes a friend in Malina, who helps her start a sewing business. It’s something Peggy Sue is really good at – and Kiki knows this and exploits her talents, bringing them a little too close for comfort.

The pacing is snappy; the chapters are quite short, making for a brisk read. And just when you think everything is simmering down – a terrible disaster strikes, and reorganizes many of Peggy Sue’s held beliefs. It changes her way of thinking and eventually changes the way others view her. She’s quite a tough cookie, even when she doesn’t think so.

A few historical events are entwined in this book, which makes for fun research later. The end is unexpected. An all around great read for 8-12-year-olds, and as someone who had to move too many times growing up, it’s very relatable and at times, a little scary.


View all my reviews

My BEA 2015

This year I attended first Book Expo of America. And IT. WAS. AWESOME. I began my day meeting my editor, of Leap Books, Judith Graves, in the cafeteria. Informal and splendid, I've learned that I must have one of the coolest editors out there.  She’s multi-talented, wise and plays guitar! Both of us, musicians and writers, we connected like a 3/4-time signature, storytellers through and through. Even Thoreau was a musician. The essay, On Duty and Civil Disobedience, figures prominently in The Unmoving Sky, my YA suspense with Leap Books. (Spring 2016)

Three "generations" of Leap Books. Judith Graves, founder, Laurie Edwards, and Shine author, K.L. Hallam.

Back to BEA. I was nervous, not knowing what to expect.  The unknown is what often causes us anxiety. But once I got there, everything opened up and I found my place. I meet with, Gail Nall, talented MG & YA author and Kidliterati contributor. She showed me the ropes: how to stand in line, and WAIT. Yeah, that’s pretty much the rhythm of BEA, a lot of waiting, standing and searching for a place to charge your phone. I used the handy-dandy BEA app, which worked fine enough for me. I noticed many print outs in the hands of other attendees, (the pros). But I got by.

Me with YA & MG author, Gail Nall.

I stopped in at a couple of the Blogger/Social Media talks, one of which was supposed to show authors and publishers how to utilize social media for their book sales, but that talk turned into a sales job for Bookgrabbr. And one, meek voice in the crowd stepped up to call them out on it. They immediately apologized and threw us a bone. I enjoyed listening to best-selling authors, Juliana Baggott, Elin Hilderbrand, Kimberla Lawson Roby, talk about their writing process. I always love hearing how authors use their time and writing techniques. I spent Thursday at BEA, and in the morning the exhaustion and excitement hit me like a hangover. And while BEA was in town, along with several writers from my amazing and supportive group, Kidliterati, we gathered that Friday night. It was the icing on the cake!  But we sure did miss the others.  

Benjamin Brooks, Brian Sargent, Chris Brandon Whitaker, Ella Schwartz, Melanie Conklin, Gail Nall, and (me) K. L. Hallam #mgbetareaders. Only 8 representing our 24 members of Kidliterati.

Until Next year BEA!