Scary Writing Samples: Lucky Charms

A Writing Workshop Writing Sample (Right!?!)

(NOTE: Scary Writing Samples is a series of excerpts created by me and others for use in writing workshops. I needed excerpts that weren’t by “real people” so participants would feel free to say what they really thought. If you wish to use any of these as a sample in a writing workshop or other creative endeavor, please contact me first! This one was written for a contest on the Edittorrent blog for worst POV sample.)

Polly lowered her green beer to the bar and felt something bump her elbow. She turned to see…nothing but the same St. Pat’s Day crowd that had been jostling her all night.

Verne knew if he couldn’t get the woman’s attention, he’d never win the bet. “Down here!” he yelled, but she could barely hear him.

She glanced around, bewildered, not noticing the way her lush locks bounced on her shoulders in sultry allure. Who could have said that? she thought. “Who said that?” Polly asked the thin air, then the thick air, just to be safe.

The bartender set pretzels beside the voluptuous blonde who’d nursed the same green beer all night. She’d been stood up–his lucky day. “Not me.”

Verne hopped onto a barstool and chomped a pretzel, smiling at his mark.

Polly hadn’t noticed him before, and she’d been staring at every man who came into the bar. Maybe the owners had hired him for the celebration. He was wearing of the green. “Hi there,” he said with an Irish accent, though he was faking it.

“Hello.” Uh-oh. If Verne was her blind date, she was going to kill her sister.

“Can I interest you in a bite?” Verne asked the woman, trying not to laugh.

“What?” Polly cupped her hand around her ear to hear him better.

“Can I INTEREST you in a BITE!”

“He asked if you want a bite.” Feeling protective, Colt gave Verne the stink eye. He knew that gang and they were never up to any good. She didn’t deserve that.

“A bite of what?” they both said, curious. Then their eyes met and…locked.

“A bite of me,” Verne yelled, “because I’m magically delicious!”

He was also fifty bucks richer, even if the bartender got the girl.

***

© 2008 Jody Wallace

Scary Writing Sample: No Earthly Captive

A Writing Workshop Writing Sample (Right!?!)

(NOTE: Scary Writing Samples is a series of excerpts created by me and others for use in writing workshops. I needed excerpts that weren’t by “real people” so participants would feel free to say what they really thought. If you wish to use any of these as a sample in a writing workshop or other creative endeavor, please contact me first! This one in particular was for training contest judges.)

Someone was following her. Velusia clutched her Louis Vittoin purse tightly to her chest and hastened down the deserted street toward her Mercedes. Her designer heels clicked against the pavement like the second hand of a clock. Her tight Manchino suit’s knee length skirt wouldn’t allow her to break into a full run, but she could definitely hurry. She glanced over her shoulder but saw nothing and no one in the midnight darkened street that would be giving her these heebie jeebies.

She simply had to stop working this late. She put in the long hours at the firm to prove herself, the lone female in the corporate law offices of Bonehan & Floyd. In fact, Velusia intended for it to be Bonehan, Floyd and Sanchez some day–some day soon. It was part of her ten year plan, and she was in year five. Velusia was nothing if not organized and on time.

Her silver z200 sat glistening under the street lamp like a giant cat. She sighed with relief. Her shoulders relaxed and she reached up and teased free her long, dark hair, releasing it from its tight, professional bun. It fell in sensual waves halfway down her back, and she shook her head so the night air could reach her aching scalp.

Velusia could taste the iron tang of coming rain when she licked her full lips. It would storm tonight, but she’d be tucked safely away in her pricey downtown condo, watching the lightning branch across the Phoenix skyline like gigantic trees of fire.

As she reached her car, she became aware of a humming sound that surrounded her, echoing up and down the one way street off the blank, glass windows of the buildings in the office district. Puzzled, she glanced at the street light, which flickered wildly. Great, the light was about to go out or explode, one.

She unlocked the door, slid into the butter soft luxury of leather seats. Closed the door. The light steadied, but the humming increased, even through the expensive, soundproofed walls of her vehicle. In addition, the light grew brighter and brighter until she had to hold her hand over her dark eyes to shade them from the glare.

What was going on? Surely this wasn’t a malfunctioning street light!

The glow coalesced into a nearly solid bar of light in the middle of the street. Wind whipped up, blowing papers and leaves in a mad dance around the illumination. She watched, amazed, as the figures of three men in silver jumpsuits stepped out of the glow and approached her car.

Panicked, she popped the automatic locks and fumbled for her keys. A pale hand landed on the driver’s side window and she screamed.

The door was wrenched off its hinges and thrown to the black, dusty pavement. A very tall, muscular man with silver eyes and tight, blonde curls motioned her to get out of the car. If she refused, would he throw her against the pavement as well? Unwilling to test that, she complied, her knees practically knocking together with fear. She wished she’d let Mr. Bonehan talk her into buying that gun now! Where were the cops? Where was anybody besides these three strange men?

“What do you want?” She held out her purse. “Take it. I have three hundred dollars cash and credit cards galore, mi amigos.”

The man, his aquiline profile etched against the bright column of light in the street, frowned. He opened his palm and glanced at it, seeming to read something.

“Come with us and you not harm,” he intoned. His raspy voice sent a frisson of fear up her spine.

She retracted the purse and held it bundled in her arms. If she could hit the speed dial for 9-1-1 on her cellphone…. She let her hand slide across the Vitton bag, feeling through the fabric for the outline of her phone. Ah!

“Please,” said the man. The other two behind him, both equally as tall and blonde, started forward, but he waved them back. They stopped on either side of the light column like doormen.

Maybe that’s what they were.

“Who are you?” she asked. “What are you?”

He watched her without answering, as if inspecting a creature in a zoo he’d never seen before. She lifted a hand to brush back her hair; his eyes followed her gesture. She licked her lips nervously; his eyes followed that movement, too–and he echoed it.

Did he taste the coming rain–or was he interested in tasting something else?

Anxiety made sweat bead on Velusia’s upper lip. She resisted the urge to lick it again, since the man was staring at her so oddly.

“Who are you? What do you want?” she repeated. “Voy a casa. I have to go home now.” She started on the other end of her purse, feeling her way across it.

He looked at his hand again. Did he have a cheat sheet of the English language cribbed there?

“We come in peace,” he answered her.

“Is this a joke?” Was that her phone? Yes! Luckily she hadn’t yet upgraded to a flip phone. She let her sensitive fingertips test the buttons, seeking out the rows. If she held down the number nine for five seconds, it would ring 9-1-1.

Got it.

One of the doormen spoke in a musical voice, sharply. The other men glared at her and the first man held up his palm. A glow not unlike the column emanated from it and hit her purse. Inside, she heard a pop as her cellphone exploded. With a little scream, she dropped her bag.

“Do not,” he said. “You not harm. Please come.”

He gestured at the light.

How the hell had he done that? Por Dios, what was going on?

“I’m not going anywhere.” Velusia backed toward her car. The keys were still in the ignition. “I’ll scream if you come any closer. There are security guards in every one of these buildings, compañeros. Back off.”

“Do not,” he repeated. A frown wrinkled his perfect brow, and he reached out that strange, deadly hand to her.

She jumped into the car. He darted forward, grabbed her arm.

“Don’t touch me with that thing!” She socked the large man in the gut, but his rock-hard belly hurt her knuckles more than she hurt him.

He did utter a surprised “Oof!” but he didn’t lose his grip. The other two men barked questions in that strange language she’d never heard.

Velusia grabbed her attacker’s shoulders and threw her weight back into the carseat, pulling the surprised man nearly on top of her–until his square chin met the low roof of her Mercedes.

This time his grunt of pain was genuine instead of mere surprise. He lost his grip and she clambered to the passenger’s side of the car.

One of the other men was already lurking there like an angry statue, arms crossed over his massive chest. He had to be at least seven feet tall. The pale glow from the column glinted on his silver jumpsuit and in his eyes.

She darted for the key in the ignition, tried to crank it. The first man took his hand off his bleeding chin, directed his palm at the hood of her car, and with a staccato “Ping!” she knew her motor had just been incapacitated.

Velusia felt fear wash through her limbs as harsh as a gin without tonic. Fear battled with adrenalin as her mind scrambled for a way to escape, a way to claw her way to safety, just as she’d clawed her way out of the barrio to rise to prominence in a high-powered law firm. She wasn’t a quitter; she was a fighter. A luchador.

To that end, she raised both stiletto heeled feet and began raining blows upon the man outside her ripped off door.

She struck once, twice, him grabbing for her slim, dangerous legs and howling out to his comrades. A hand pushed underneath her skirt, attempting a secure grip in the fabric. She squirmed, tried to claw at his silver eyes with her manicured red nails.

“Don’t touch me!” she cried out. “Ayúdeme! Police! Rape!” Her skirt rode up around her hips, ripping apart with a terrible sound.

The man’s fumbling, grasping hand landed on her privates, burned through her silken panties. He pressed his weight onto her pelvis and stilled the twisting of her hips. His erection prodded her front while, in parallel, the emergency brake dug into her back.

This was it. The reason she’d run from the barrio, and now it had found her, even with all her achievements, all her plans and sueños. She fought him but he trapped her wrists and climbed on top of her, pressing her upper body into the passenger’s seat. A knee parted her bare thighs, the silver cloth of his jumpsuit sliding like thick silk against her flesh.

She bucked helplessly and tried to scream so loud it would hurt his eardrums. He transferred her wrists into one strong hand and pressed a long finger against her lips, stilling her screams.

She would not cry. Ningunos rasgones. “Shh,” he whispered. Silver eyes bore into hers, trapped her. His finger rubbed her mouth softly, almost reverently. Though he was obviously aroused, he didn’t grind himself into her.

“Please,” she begged. Did she have a chance of getting out of this unharmed? “Don’t do this.”

His silver eyes darkened to pewter, and he leaned forward until his face was close enough for the blood from his chin to drip and pool in the hollow of her neck. It tickled. Again he licked his lips.

No. She twisted away. If he tried to kiss her, she’d gnaw off his tongue. Were his friends going to watch or go next? Was the light a spotlight, so their gang would know they’d caught a live one, a rich senorita who deserved to be taught a lesson simply for having a womb? She smelled something like cloves and mint on his breath, a spice in the air she didn’t recognize.

What would he taste like, with breath that sweet?

“Shh,” he said again, and crooned something in the unknown language that danced across her skin like lightning. His penis, hard in the silky jumpsuit, nudged against her core and to her extreme humiliation she felt herself moisten for him.

Holding her gaze, he leaned over her and unlocked the passenger door.

Then he retreated, eyes wicked, fingering a scratch on his face beneath his right eye. His chin and his erection, he ignored.

Why did he stop? She could feel what he’d wanted between her thighs. Read it in his darkening gaze.

When he made no move to resume the encounter, Velusia’s heart stopped, then started again, a flatline of relief. She drew her legs up, hid her near-nudity with her ripped skirt as best she could. Surely they’d take her money now and leave her alone in her battered car, with her battered heart.

He uttered something brief, laughed harshly. The giant beside the car opened the passenger door. She felt a huge hand clasp her skull, the palm heat up in an oddly comforting fashion.

That was the last thing Velusia Maria Sanchez remembered for a very, very long time.

# # #

“The Earthling female was very uncooperative.” M’ddor Thedeus, Khan’s chosen and succorer of women, crossed his arms and glared at his lord and commander. “None of the others you listed gave us such trouble during the capture. Most passed out when we emerged from the transfer beam.”

Khan B’lal settled back into his seat and waved a royal, negligent hand. “I’m sure she’ll be worth the trouble. She rounds out my collection perfectly. Didn’t you say she was, what, one of their lawyers?”

“As ordered. She’s also Mexican-American, third generation,” M’ddor added. He caressed the claw mark she’d given him in the struggle to kidnap her from Earth; he’d refused to let Jjana heal it, as a reminder not to allow himself to be blinded by the purity and striking appearance of the Earthling breeders. “No commingling of the bloodlines, according to our DNA scans. Also single, no children, no pets, no immediate family dependent upon her. And as you can see, very beautiful.”

“A bit thin, but that hair is magnificent.” B’lal cocked his head to one side. “Perhaps I should have the keepers hasten her acclimation. I find myself interested in the services she’d provide.”

M’ddor tightened his lips to hide his grin. Unless he’d been mistaken, the Earthling had been ready to remove his tongue as part of her servicing. In fact, he’d been surprised to keep his finger intact when he brushed it against her plush, soft lips.

He found himself fighting arousal at the memory. He stared at B’lal’s gloved hand, a hand that, when uncovered, could destroy a human with a single thought, which is what made him Khan and M’ddor a chosen. That definitely dampened his fire.

“She is a good specimen,” he finally said to his Khan. “She should produce many daughters for our race.”

“I love this little planet. So many flavors of humanity. The extent to which our kin evolved on this world is truly remarkable. I regret the ladies’ spirits are so recalcitrant, but that will mend in time.” The Khan adjusted his protective silver gloves, stretching the fabric more comfortably between his fingers. He pressed a switch on the console beside his chair; it brought up the viewing screen that surveyed the most recent acquisitions from Earth until they could be fully acclimated like the others.

The Mexican-American woman lay slumped on the pillows in her small, sumptuous cage, not yet awoken from the glowstun Jjana had pacified her with after M’ddor’s nigh-intimate encounter between her thighs. He nearly hardened again at the thought, at the sight of her, but it would be foolish to reveal his unpermitted lust in B’lal’s presence. The harem keepers had dressed her in red zhilk top and pantaloons to complement her dusky coloring, so unlike the pale Khandish.

Around her, in their own cages, the other unhappy additions to the Khan’s harem, more used to the shipboard routine, took advantage of the daily lull in their training and testing to sleep, read, meditate, cry, stare at datascreens, or whatever the unfortunate women did when not preparing for their glorious futures.

Earth had only been discovered recently by an explorer ship in the employ of the Khan B’lal. Instead of alerting the Khanduit proper, the alliance of galactic races of humanoid DNA that inhabited this sector of the galaxy, the Khan had chosen to take inventory of the new solar system personally–due to the fine specimen of womanhood the explorers presented him with as proof. The Khandish were the most powerful branch of the ‘Duit, ruled by Khan B’lal of the Iron Fist; lesser branches had their own Khans but not the power and influence of the Khandish. What could they do against a fist like B’lals? The man could do as he wished.

Even now, after several months of picking and gleaning, the Khan had not yet chosen to share the vital discovery, a planet teeming with differently evolved humans of all shapes and sizes, not to mention the other genetic diversity on the small, gemlike planet, blue and glistening in the light of its strong yellow sun.

A find indeed.

This last woman, this lawyer, completed the kaleidoscope of appearance, size and occupation the Khan thought would most enhance his royal harem, which, with the addition of the exotic Earthlings, numbered over a thousand. Obviously the Khan did not receive service from all his women, though such was his right as Khan, but the more women one controlled in this galaxy, the more powerful one’s fist.

For various reasons, Khandi women of all strains rarely conceived females, so the men of the Khanduit outnumbered the women fifty to one. More in some segments, in some lines. In actuality, as the sperm of the men cemented the gender of an embryo, it was the men’s “fault” for not creating more XY sperm, but regardless, additional females were valuable and desirous. Artificial wombs had been mastered long ago, but they could not take the place of the divine power of the female body to create and incubate the eggs of life.

The Khan had a separate ship engaged in the task of collecting Earthling males to research just what it was about them that created prolific XY sperm, but as yet no answer had been located. The Earthling males were just as recalcitrant as the females, though easier to bring to their necessary conclusions in order to conduct the research. To his dismay and that of his harem masters, the Khan had found that the Earthling females’ bodies were difficult to bring to orgasm; their bodies and states of mind seemed to be deeply entwined. Ever diligent, the harem masters were working on that problem, as was the Khan and a few of his chosen. The psychic power contained in the orgasms of females increased the vitality of a Khannish male, the range of his fist, even as it made the woman happy and receptive.

What a heinous task, M’ddor thought with a dry grin. Learning to please these Earthling females.

He shifted his gaze from the six gilded cages to the front viewscreen, that of Earth. This planet, this find–M’ddor wondered if the Khan would ever reveal it to the ‘Duit or just siphon off the technologically inferior humans to increase and continue his reign and power.

However, when the rest of the Khanduit got a look at females like this lawyer, or the ebony black doctor they’d taken from the other side of the planet, or the delicate, cream colored dancer with the perfect bowl of black hair they’d taken from China…. There would be no concealing the discovery.

The Khanduit would rage through the galaxy until it found this fertile planet and suck it dry of women, of variety, of greenery, of anything worthwhile, until Earth was nothing but a dry husk of spacedust. Unless Khan B’lal could stop them.

Had his lord considered this? Or was his selfishness with the planet just that–motivated by his own desires? B’lal oftentimes didn’t confide his plans in his chosen until the time, as he called it, was ripe.

M’ddor watched the woman he’d just captured as her small breasts rose and fell beneath the red zhilk. Ripe as she was, she had no idea. Earth had no idea.

He just had to trust that the Khan had some idea of how badly this could go wrong.

***

© 2005 Jody Wallace

Scary Writing Samples: Demon of Love’s Long Night

A Writing Workshop Writing Sample (Right!?!)

(NOTE: Scary Writing Samples is a series of excerpts created by me and others for use in writing workshops. I needed excerpts that weren’t by “real people” so participants would feel free to say what they really thought. If you wish to use any of these as a sample in a writing workshop or other creative endeavor, please contact me first! This one in particular was for training contest judges and was a ’round robin’ by me and one of my BFF writer buddies, Monica McCabe.)

“No, no you shan’t take me you bloody demon,” the anguished cry awakened Lucius from a sound sleep in his four poster bed with Louis II hangings. It sounded like it was coming from outside the window. Who would be outside at a time like this?

Lucius bounded out of bed and parted the heavy red velvet curtains to see a young woman dressed in a white nightgown ripped at the neck with blood streaming down her neck fleeing through his formal gardens. Behind her stalked a figure ominously dressed in black, a rapacious smile on his death pale face and blood on its lips.

‘Twas the demon of the Long Night, rumored to come out only once a year on the longest night, according to ancient Celtic legend. Lucius did not believe in the demon but who was he to deny the proof before his very eyes!

He could not let the rest of his household know the dreaded demon was real. His maman would go into a decline even though the demon could not get in unless someone invited it, nor would it return until next year and when would be haunting another area in English soil.

Lucius slipped into black pants and a billowing shirt and tried not to waken the lass in his bed since the Long Night celebration. He grabbed his ancestral sword from the hanger above the vast fireplace in the Great Hall and exited Hawthorne Castle to put a stop to the Demon of the Long Night once and for all. He was England’s finest duelist and surely a demon from the pits of hell who prayed upon innocent young women would be no match for his might.

“Help, oh, help!” cried the girl, her voice stirring his manly ardor with its sexy tones. Why had she been outside of the castle on the longest night? Was she a new serving wench or one of the guests, perhaps one of the many eligible maids who had attended the ball invited by his maman who longed for him to marry? After he dispatched the demon he would learn her name and take her to bed, an she was willing.

Lucius caught up with the demon and its prey by the gazebo near the lake which he could see glimmering in the moonlight. The girl sobbed helplessly as the tall, vicious demon in black grabbed her by her golden curls and bent her head back at an uncomfortable angle.

“And now, my pretty, I shall finish what we started when I found you asleep in his lordship’s stable! If only you’d hidden in a crofter’s cottage I couldn’t have entered, but, a stable is only for horses.”

“No, no!” the girl cried.

“Let her go,” Lucius declared in ominous tones used to being obeyed. He drew the sword of his ancestors, the mighty Gildrang and the sound electrified the freezing night air.

“Ah, ’tis the master of the house come at last,” breathed the demon in a husky evil laugh. He dropped the girl helplessly to the ground where her gaping neckline revealed two perfect marblelike breasts with blood trailing between them in a thin line. Who was this beauty who had been sleeping in his stable? He’d gladly let her sleep in his bed! The sight of her nubile form stirred his loins and made him rage against the demon who befouled her.

“Avast, foul demon, I shall dispatch thee to the hell from whence you came!” He lunged and ran the cruel figure through and the girl on the ground gasped.

The demon fell with a thud, its bony face frozen in shock. Lucius had heard that only pure wood or silver could dispatch the demon but apparently fine steel did the trick as well.

“Did he hurt you, m’lass?” he crooned to the maid. He extended a firm hand that quivered a little with excitement from her nearness. She was a fair maid indeed and her giant blue eyes widened as she met his eyes.

“I am sore bit, m’lord,” she said. She indicated her neck. “You must chop off my head or else I’ll be as cursed as that beast.” A single, perfect tear fell like a pearl from her eyes.

“Nay, I will not kill such a beautiful maid.” Lucius drew her to her feet and breathed in the luscious perfume of her natural scent like violents and flowers. “Come into my castle, I will rouse the footman to fetch the doctor from town.”

“You must not allow me through your door!” she cried. “For then I can enter at will and slake my unholy bloodlust!”

“The only lust you should slake is your lust for my love.” Lucius kissed her full, bee-kissed lips and she sighed with passion into his mouth.

And then she began to dissolve in his very arms. Another perfect tear fell from her eye and landed on his cheek, burning like brimstone as it left an oval scar. Soon the maid with her tragic, yearning gaze had dissolved into nothing in his arms, a mere ghost who had never existed.

“I hope you got a good look,” said a cruel and harsh voice behind him. Lucius whirled around in a half circle and to see the demon who had risen to his feet and was adjusting his black waist coat and black cape with red silken lining to hide the sword slash. Scarce any blood dampened the fabric as the demon laughed, its sharp teeth glinting in the clear moon light.

“What did you do to her, you demon!” Lucius lunged with his steel sword again but the demon caught the blade in a bare hand and ripped it from his grasp.

“It was all part of my master plan to lure you from your castle where you hid safely from my influence.” The demon threw the sword to the ground after breaking it over his knee. He inspected his hand a thin line of blood on it. “Oww, that smarts.”

“Your bite enchanted her and sent her away. Who was she? I must know!” Lucius had no fear for himself or his immortal soul but for the precious tiny maiden who had been pillaged by the demon of the Long Night.

“She was nobody…yet. She will be somebody someday, though I canna say when. Perhaps in ten years or a thousand.”

“I must meet her. Tell me or I will call the castle guards who will dispatch you with the pure wood of the hawthorn tree.”

“I am shaking in my boots,” said the demon. “I fear you not, Lord Hawthorn for I’m only here to bring you your destiny.”

“You mean the girl, she is my destiny?”

“I hope you looked long and well at her for as long as you could. I hope you memorized her delicate, perfect features like the face of an angel. You’ll need that mental picture in the eons to come. She’s the only one who can save you.”

“Save me from what? You?” Lucius scoffed.

“You cannot fight me. Look into my eyes.”

The demon grew closer and closer and its red eyes mesmerized Lucius until he couldn’t move not even when the vampire like creature drained all the blood from his body and made him drink from him. Lucius fell as dead to the ground, the fire of the demon burning through his veins in an agony that lasted through his burial, through an entire year until the next Longest Night. The curse of the demon was that he would be in agony for a year and a day and then he would rise from his grave. He had to dig his way out with his peternatural strength the whole while cursing the demon he had become with unholy bloodlust.

Why had the demon done this to him, he raged? He had done nothing except defend a beauteous innocent who was only a ghost, a ghost of the future. It was true that the demon had brought destiny to the Lord of Hawthorne castle for he would never leave until the girl came back. She was the only soul who could save him from his godless, pitiless existence.

****

CHAPTER 1

200 years later

Ok, he’d leave for a little bit. Surely she wouldn’t come while he was gone and he was getting really bored. He’d just check in every fifty years or so but right now he was sick of the bland British blood and wanted to dine on Italians.

*****

1010 years later, Hawthorne Castle

“This is the stupidest tour I’ve ever been on,” complained Courtney to Amanda. She was so bored and not interested in Louis’s furniture or crumbling stone work. The young women were from America and had joined a romance writer’s tour group to England to take in the sights, including several ancient castles.

“Oh, do hush, I like it. I might even set my next best-selling novel here.” Amanda fluffed her long, blonde hair back behind her shoulders and wished she had affixed it in the sensible bun in which she usually wore it. Some sprite of mischief, some sense of destiny, had bade her to leave it free this morning as they got ready in the shared bathroom in the little country inn in Louchester on Whedon.

Amanda thought back to the excitement of writing her first novel, which hit the best selling list and stayed for months, based on an ancient vampire legend called the Lords of the Long Night. She had always felt drawn to write about the cursed beings known as vampires, even though they weren’t real, and, her favorite interpretation was always the demon of the long night that had a Celtic origin. She had recently purchased an authentic Celtic text which she translated because she had a degree in medieval languages, it revealed that the last known location of the demon of the long night had been Hawthorne Keep in the wild north of England. Nothing would have it but that she would go on a tour to see the castle for herself and bring her best friend Courtney with her for companionship.

Courtney meant so much to Amanda, who had been orphaned at the tender age of twelve when her parents died in a car crash. They had had her late in life so her grandparents too were dead. She had an uncle Barney in Alaska somewhere but the gold camps were no place for a young girl on the verge of womanhood and so, Amanda had been shuttled from foster home to foster home with cold welcome. She spent her time daydreaming about the prince on a white horse who would come rescue her, those dreams eventually turned into full blown romance novels she was writing by the age of sixteen, the only spot of happiness in her dreary existence that never allowed her to settle in one place for long. That year too she finally landed in the home with Courtney and her parents. There she had stayed with her new best friend and they had gone to college together while Courtney studied to be a advertising executive and Amanda to be a writer.

And now finally here they were at Hawthorne castle at long last. The tour guide wasn’t the greatest speaker. Courtney fidgeted again and wished she could be off flirting with the local lads in a tavern on the green, but dear, sweet Amanda had never been much interested in boys. Not in high school and not in college though many pursued her for her delicate beauty and sweet manner. Courtney would be jealous except enough boys pursued her for her tall, buxom figure and titian locks with a mouth like a sailor. Amanda lived her love life in the pages of her best selling novels, though you wouldn’t know that from reading them that she was truly an innocent in the ways of love, which Courtney liked to tease her about. But she’d never reveal Amanda’s secret.

“This armor was worn by Lord Lucius Hawthorne in the Crusades,” rambled the tour guide, pointing at some armor standing in the corner.

“Oh, that armor looks newer than what they wore at the Crusades,” said Amanda, revealing her degree in medieval history. “The gussets on the tabard, too, speak of a later date.”

“Uh, uh, uh!” The tour guide, a skinny witchy woman with dyed black hair, glared at Amanda. “I know what I’m talking about! Do you want to lead this tour, Miss America?” Courtney felt rage surge within at this mean treatment of her friend who had just spouted off a fact is all.

“Oh, oh no,” Amanda apologized, feeling very bad that she had hurt the woman’s feelings. The eyes of all the other women on the tour glared at her and she shrank. None of them knew she was the best selling novelist Amarantha L’amour because she was traveling under her real name Amanda Ghost. They thought she was some newbie.

“Well I never,” huffed one of the other women.

“That’s totally obvious,” quipped Courtney, a real smart-aleck. She liked to tell it like it was and it did most people good to hear it, in her opinion.

“If we could just move on, it’s getting late,” glared the tour guide, looking at Amanda and Courtney in a mean way again. “We will now go to the dungeons where Lord Hawthorne’s ancestors were said to have captured their enemies and made them drink blood.”

“Oh, yes that’s where the origins of the demon of the long night started,” Amanda thought to herself since the tour guide obviously wasn’t going to point it out. “The Hawthornes raised the demon to gain power in their land and it eventually came back to haunt them, ending the Hawthorne line before Lord Lucius Hawthorne could take a wife and breed.” The very name sent superstitious shivers down Amanda’s spine as they followed the group into the deep, cool bowels of the castle. Lord Lucius Hawthorne had been discovered on the long night ravaged about the throat by wild beasts, or so the authorities said, and buried, and the title went to a second cousin. His maman died of grief and never recovered.

But then a year later, the new castle owners has reported sightings of a dark, frightening figure in the castle and on the grounds that haunted and bewitched young maids, particularly any with hair of gold and eyes of blue. Rumors abounded for at least two hundred years when they became scatty.

Just like me, Amanda thought. She paused before an age darkened portrait of Lord Lucius and the merry yet commanding look in his eye said that he knew secrets he’d like to tell her, secret things he’d like to show her, if only she’d lived a thousand years ago.

“Come on slowpoke,” Courtney said. Why was Amanda staring at that old picture as if mesmerized? The dude in it was good looking yeah, but dead as a doornail. Of course that’s how Amanda liked her men, dead, historical figures she could write about so they said all the right things and made love without ever fumbling. Well that would have some advantages but, there was a bigger advantage in having a real man between your thighs.

Courtney and Amanda got into the dungeon last as the tour guide was finishing up her speech. The other ladies, freaked a little by the gruesome details the tour guide relished on, bustled past Courtney and Amanda and ran up the stairs. The two women were last except for the tour guide who gave them a mean look, her face strangely white in the dim dungeon.

“The troublemakers,” she snarled. “I think I know how to cool your jets.” She ran up the stairs before them and slammed the dungeon door with a clang.

“Oh, she’s just joking. I’ll give you the rest of the tour, I studied the castle in our tourbook last night.” Amanda comforted a startled looking Courtney.

“I want my money back if the old bag isn’t going to do her job,” Courtney grumbled. “This isn’t all it was advertised to be. And I should know, I write ads for a living.”

“Oh, now you’re being silly,” Amanda chided. She peered into a deep cell that had nothing but blackness against the back wall and some chains that might have once ago held the enemies of the Hawthornes. Maybe even the ones drained of blood in succor to the demon they raised on purpose but didn’t mean for it to haunt them forever on the longest night.

Courtney tried the door. She felt her heart pound in her chest. “Hey this thing is actually locked! Let us out of here you British bitch!” There was no answer.

It had nearly been dusk when they came downstairs. As they frantically raced around the dungeon to find another door Amanda reflected on the fact it was probably full dark by now.

“There is no way out of here!” wailed Courtney. She wanted to kick the door down in frustration but it was thick with wood and bars and would only hurt her foot clad in expensive designer sandals. “I’m going to miss my date with Chauncey from the pub, before they find us in the morning and the damp dungeon air can’t be good for my complexion.”

Was it Amanda’s imagination or were there red glowing eyes in the far back of the cell? The torchlight flickered against the torture apparatuses and the iron maiden and the rack and the other ancient devices. Oh, no, was it a rat?

Suddenly a mist rose across the ill-lit floor and Constance clutched onto her arm with a gasp. “What is going on, is it sleeping gas to rob the tourists? How did they know you were rich?”

“Oh dear, Courtney,” Amanda whispered in a frightened voice. The mist all formed around a figure in the dark back of the cell. “We are not alone.”

“Who is there?” Courtney said, her voice quivering with fear. “We are actually not rich at all, we are very poor and you can have my gold watch anyway.”

“It’s youuuuu,” moaned a long, anguished voice, that cracked at the end as if long unused. Amanda felt it to the core of her marrow bones. The hair on the back of her neck stood at attention.

“It’s uuuuuuuuss,” Courtney said, irrepressible. She didn’t like to take guff from weirdoes in castles. “And who are youuuuu?”

A man stepped out of the shadows. There was a tear shaped scar on one cheek….

***

© 2005 Jody Wallace

Scary Writing Samples: A Beastly Beauty

A Writing Workshop Writing Sample (Right!?!)

(NOTE: Scary Writing Samples is a series of excerpts created by me and others for use in writing workshops. I needed excerpts that weren’t by “real people” so participants would feel free to say what they really thought. If you wish to use any of these as a sample in a writing workshop or other creative endeavor, please contact me first! This one in particular is for training contest judges.)

The wind swept across the moors like blade of vengeance, and cut strait through the thick woolen skirts and shawl of the old woman. A brown crow, the crone huddled a bundle close to her chest, and glanced frequently over her shoulder, back towards the menacingly dark crag from whence she fled. Feet clad in rags without pattens hastened across rocks and through tufts of moor grass and coarse sedge, setting startled tarmagin to flight but never missstepping from the secret path only the crone could sense through the reedy, dank fen.

The bundle against the woman’s chest held some live thing, a thing that released a thin wail when the crone stumbled over a rocky outcropping, and jarred it.

“Hush, me sweet ba, hush,” the woman crooned softly in a thick Scots brogue. “‘Sright ye’ll be warm enough when I carry ye far fra’ tha cold evil man what called hisself your da.”

The babe wasn’t comforted by the assurance, and continued to cry with increasing vigor and vitality, a cry of sheer life in the desolate bog. The crone paused to pull back the stolen Clan plaid that covered the babe’s face. Blue eyes, fair skin and a crown of blonde hair met her gaze. She fumbled a sugar tit from her robes, and gave it to the child to suckle.

“I ‘faith, your sweet own face woulda been enough to show how your Ma cuckolded him, yet he would still claim you as daughter, and wed you to the McClaren beast when you come of age. I swore upon yer Ma’s cairn I wouldna let tha happen, Rosamunde, and so I shall not. For love of yer sweet ma, so I shall not.”

And so the nursemaid, witch, and traitor to Clan Campbell disappeared like the veriest mist into the moor, with the only heir of Lord Ian Campbell crying at her withered breast. Ne’er was the witch or child found, though Lord Ian and his clansmen hunted the moor ceaselessly with their huge hounds and hawks. Nay, the Witch of Crannag was too canny for the likes of them, and raised the babe as her own and taught Rosamunde the ways of the ancients, to speak to the beasts and birds as if they were nigh human. The babe grew into a beautiful girl who knew naught of the world outside of the vast, deep moor, until one fateful day when she met the one beast she couldna tame…

***

© Jody Wallace

Scary Writing Samples: Timeswept Love

A Writing Workshop Writing Sample (Right!?!)

(NOTE: Scary Writing Samples is a series of excerpts created by me and others for use in writing workshops. I needed excerpts that weren’t by “real people” so participants would feel free to say what they really thought. If you wish to use any of these as a sample in a writing workshop or other creative endeavor, please contact me first! This one in particular was for training contest judges.)

“Whatever you do, don’t get separated from the group.” The hiking guide’s words echoed in her mind as Bonnie Donald fruitlessly searched for the trail that her tour group had been following. Vast trees rose around her with frightening shadows. She had wandered off from the group at lunch to seek out the sound of a lovely woodland trickle of water she could hear just out of earshot. She hadn’t found it and now she couldn’t find her way back. Which way was the picnic pavilion?

The rest of the group had been nice enough but not very friendly. Bonnie felt that her money was going to waste from joining the group, which had been her attempt to rejoin the land of the living after the death of her grandmother, who Bonnie had nursed through the poor woman’s long illness. She had wanted to socialize again and make friends. But growing up an orphan with an elderly lady as her primary companion had not made Bonnie very hip to pop culture references and the other stuff the young men and women in her Christian hiking group talked about.

And now she had allowed her sense of being different to make her stand apart from the others. Loneliness even in the crowd sent her on a wild goose chase for something more satisfying to her soul, like proof of the Lord’s hand in creating a majestic waterfall, and now she was lost in the woods. She stopped and brushed back her long mouse brown hair with just a hint of wave. She usually wore it in a prim bun but had left it down so she would look like the other girls, who had curly perms and blonde dyed streaks in their fashionable mains. Even one of the men, who had tried to hit on her but Bonnie hadn’t been attracted to him, had colored blonde hair. Did that make him Mr. Clairol?

And still, here she was with no path, no supplies, and the sound of the trickling water teased her delicate ears. Maybe if she found the source of the enticeing sound she could then find her way back to the pavilion where the hiking group had stopped for lunch. Surely if it was as beautiful as it sounded there would be a trail or a mile marker and they could find her.

Unless they never noticed she was gone, because she always blended into the background.

Bonnie cursed her tendency to wear earth toned shapeless garments and no makeup. If she had looked more like the other girls with their tight jeans and bright shirts, people would have noticed her and would be looking for her now instead of leaving her to fend for her self in the wilderness. Yes, she definitely wasn’t getting her money’s worth if the group leader in charge just ran off uncaring that one of his members was missing!

She should have just spent her money on the movies and books she loved to lose herself in instead. Bonnie had never felt quite right in this time or century. Perhaps it was just living with her old Scottish grandmother whose tales of leprechauns and Scottish clan feuds spiced up Bonnie’s days. She lived more in her grandmother’s memories than she did in the twentieth century, make that the twenty first century, she lost track sometimes. She loved the old-time movies like Last of the Mohicans and Braveheart about magnificent warriors and times when life and love were simpler, meant something. After she would watch these movies, she would dream that she had lived then and only now was living the true dream, a bad dream of a blah existence. Characters and colors populated her dreams that sometimes seemed more real to her than her few friends at school or her job as an office clerk in a real estate office.

Bonnie sighed at the sad memory of her grandmother. Nana would have wanted Bonnie to make friends after her passing and that was why Bonnie had joined the hiking group, because she had always loved the land and loved to read books about how to survive in the wilderness. What plants to eat and how to make a fire, just like pioneer women in the olden times. She guessed she hadn’t read the right books though becaues she couldn’t even tell East from West and find her way back to the pavilion!

Let’s see, the sun set in the West, and they had stopped for lunch at noon after a long hike through the wilderness on a rocky trail. The sun was now at about a two o’clock position. Bonnie set out again between the boles of the ancient oak trees in search of the trickling water sound. Had she seen this tree with the broken branch before? Off to her left a long howl of a wolf startled her and her heart leapt in her chest like a rabbit. She knew they had released wolves in this park recently and perhaps the animals were stalking her! She set off at a run. If she could just reach the water and cross the stream the wolves could not smell and follow her scent! The wolf howled again, closer, and she fancied she could hear hunger in its eager tones. She ran blindly through the thick underbrush until suddenly the ground dropped out from under her! She fell and blackness ensued.

* * *

“Oh my aching head!” Bonnie woke to the loud sound of water rushing over rocks and not the growling of vicious wild canines like she had feared. She opened her eyes and the greenery around her nearly assaulted her senses with its bright health. Heather and other fragrant flowers made her bed while her head lay near the rocky bank of a rushing stream. She looked up at the embankment she had tumbled down in her terrified flight through the woods. She did not hear wolves now but could tell from the position of the sun in the sky that several hours had passed. Surely the hiking group had gone on without her, yet it hurt her that they would do so and not even care to search.

Bonnie sat up and a sense of unreality seized her senses. It was almost as if she had traveled to another plane of existence while she had been unconsious. This did not look like the forest she had last seen. It was somehow wilder and more verdantly alive. Strange odors taunted her nostrils. She felt every crumb of dirt rubbed into her hands and knees from her fall and sweat stuck her hair to her face. She could smell things better than ever before. Perhaps this was what happened after a near death experience, one could appreciate life more?

This wasn’t a disaster, it was rather enjoyable to feel so connected to the land. She looked around her little haven. The stream formed a bubbling bowl with fronds and plants around the edges like a spring fed into it underground. The clearing had the embankment on one side and was almost perfectly round, with rounded grey boulders close to the circumference. There were even mushrooms planted amidst the standing stones. It was almost…mystical in its perfect pattern.

She remembered tales Nana had told of maids who had wandered into the Scottish hills into faery rings only to be taken by the fairy clans. When the maids escaped they were said to possess a fey power and wisdom and the ability to tell the future. A shudder passed over her. Why would she think of that just now, just because the heather near her assualted her senses like an expensive perfume? Just because she sat in a small glen in a circle of stones? She was being silly.

Well, at least she had found the source of that water! The beautiful woodland glen was just as she had imagined it when she could detect the peaceful noises just beyond her hearing. It was almost as if she sensed it here calling her, like a destiny. A sense of peace stole over her, peace she had hardly known in her life, and belonging. It was what she’d wanted to find without knowing it.

The cool clear water in the round pool with a waterfall at one side looked so inviting and it was so hot. Bonnie looked around and didn’t see any people. If they hadn’t found her yet they wouldn’t find her in the next hour or so and she could seize these moments for herself to enjoy this wonderful peace and communion with the earthen land. And do something she had always secretly longed to do but had never had the chance. Again, Nana’s stories came to her mind. When a maid bathed on Summerlin’s Day in the sacred glen her true love would come to her. Bonnie had never even had a false love, much less a true one, so this tale only made her laugh.

She stripped off her dirty shirt and jeans and revealed to the birds and bees her voluptous body that did not suit the fashions of this time. She was happy to take off the uncomfortable thong underwear that the saleslady had said all the girls were wearing when Bonnie shopped for new clothes for this expedition. She tenderly unclasped her red bra, the color daring against her pale, porcelain skin, and released pink tipped breasts. Defiantly bear to the open air. She shook back her long, tangled locks that just brushed the top of her curved bottom, unaware of her own sensuality though she was unawakened. She had no idea the effect she had on men like the Mr. Clairol who had expressed interest in her. Her ripe sensuality called to men like a siren’s call but her blue eyes reflecting widely at her in the mirrorlike waters of the pool were as innocent as a doe.

Bonnie stepped daintily into the pool and gasped to find it secretly warmed from some underground fed spring. It was cooler than bathwater but somehow more sensual, more exciting. She found herself sinking into the pool as if it were the embrace of a man she’d never known. Soon she was floating and laughing in the water with a carefree attitude that was new and wonderful. She felt a freedom from restraints and dove in and out of the waterfall like a fish. Unaware that she was being observed….

Laird Douglas Campbell gaped at the sight before him. A maid of unsurpassed beauty cavorted in the woodland pool where he had come to bathe, a pool he thought only he as Laird of Clan Campbell knew about. The secret glen had a reputation for being a portal to the faery world but he had never believed it. He would be the only one to know about the pool until he could pass his knowledge on to his son. A son he didn’t have yet. A son he secretly longed to create with the nubile wench lustily splashing in the pool afore him.

Och!

Bonnie Prince Charley’s own daughter couldn’t have been lovelier than this lass.

The girl rubbed her small hands over her bonteous breasts, gasping as she caressed her ****. Her eyes widened with surprise at the sensual discovery.

Double och!

Douglas crept closer, his kilt little restraint against the burgeoning blade between his thighs at the unexpected show. The lass’s pink tipped breasts were hard and bouncy and spoke of a maid who had not borne kids. His eyes greedily drank in the sight of the water glistening on her rounded body, he longed for for her to stand further from the pool so he could see the secret pelt covering her woman’s treasure and imagine himself parting her secret **** with one smooth thrust. Never had he felt such instant lust for a maid, not even when his Da took him to town for his coming of age so he could become a man with a woman of the night.

She was an angel, with the golden brown hair of a wild deer.

Bonnie left the water, wanting to feel the waterfall trickle down her body in the open air. Something about this glen made her feel wanton, though Nana had told her that only bad girls touched themselves. Yet washing her **** awoke such pleasure deep inside she could barely contain herself. It must be her new connectedness to the land. She leapt gracefully from stone to stone and he got his wish to see her fully revealed to his greedy eyes. Never had he beheld such perfection. Moisture glistened on her slim thighs and she let the fall of the waterfall caress down her body. Again she ran hands over her breasts as if discovering them for the first time because she was. Douglas heard her moan in passion.

He grabbed his **** unable to help himself. He wished ‘twas her hot pink mouth.

The girl sank to her knees and raised her face to the sun. The sunlight was like a lover’s caress on her face while the waterfall ran down her body like his hands. If only she could have a true love! She felt so restless like something was missing. The water beat from above gently yet relentlessly and she shifted her hips restlessly. Was she a faery come to the glen to enchant him thus? Her tiny hands pinched her pink, hard ***** to hardness and he longed to suckle one like a nursing babe. His hand clenched with tightness on his randy ****, he crept forward careful to make no sound to disturb the enchanting sight. ***** oozed from the mushroom like **** and made his **** all slick like her spittle.

The bonny lass shifted her tempting **** cheeks on the hard round pebbles of the waterfall’s base and suddenly her eyes shot open with pure shocked pleasure as the cascade pummeled her hot ****. “Oh!” he heard her cry out ignoring the strange accent of her words. His **** surged to it’s full ten inches. He could nigh restrain it, he took three more steps forward and ripped off his kilt in readiness. Her eyes closed to her own pleasure, her hands felt of her breasts. She didn’t see him coming closer to her across the woodland glen revealed in pure manly glory and ready to take her as she begged for.

He was close enough to see her large ***** and navel and her hips helplessly bucking. He would thrust between them and let the sweet juices slide him home! The maid needed a hard, fast ****** that much was obvious, even if she was a faery, and he was just the human to give it to her, all ten inches of it. Bonnie let her fingers creep down to her **** since no one was around to see and she explored her pulsing ***** that she’d never touched. It begged to be discovered. The sensations turned her to jelly and she put other finger inside.

Douglas nearly spilled his ***** at the sight of her slim fingers probing her wee tight *****. No reason to spill on the fragrant heather when the woman’s lush body beckoned, surely she didn’t want to ***** all alone and she looked very close. He looked at her all over with lustful readiness. There was something about her face that looked familiar, even gaping in passion. She had the features of an angel but also…. Of a….McDonald!

Douglas squinted and looked more closely. Her stubborn chin, the set of her large blue eyes. So familiar and so hated! The gel was a McDonald lass, the spawn of his sworn enemies! His hand stopped pumping his hard, huge **** that his palm could barely span as his mind whirled.

A maid such as this must be quite the prize. Old Laird Rebus McDonald doubtless planned to use her to firmly bind his clan to some other and make them invincible against the struggling Campbells. A plan formed in Douglas’s mind. A plan of revenge that would allow him to wound the old Laird just like the man had wounded Douglas when he had stolen away Douglas’s intended bride, the fair Mary Patrick, so many years ago. Breaking Douglas’s heart, especially when he learned that Mary had carried a bastard child in her womb from illicitly swyvving Brutus McDonald, the Laird’s offspring. She hadn’t saved herself for their marriage bed as she’d always sworn she would do, and she’d broken that vow with a McDonald! Women were not to be trusted, he knew that now. Just as this lass had the look of innocence but her body spoke of knowledge of carnal pleasures.

Mary had betrayed him with Brutus on the sly and then the Laird had kidnapped her, adding insult to injury. He hoped the traitoress enjoyed functioning as the whore for the McDonald Clan, for surely that’s what she was now. Douglas had never loved a woman since–though he’d made love to plenty–but he did need a wife, someone to carry on his family genes.

He would take this bonny McDonald lass and teach the villainous McDonald Clan to trespass on his family lands!

When she heard a bellow of triumph, Bonnie opened her eyes and screamed in sheer panic at the sight of a naked fully aroused Scotsman standing not a few feet from her, embarrassing her secret pleasures! She’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar!

She was a bad, bad girl.

***

© 2005 Jody Wallace