Category Archives: Writing

The Sacrifice of Mendleson Mooney

Free Novel Wednesday – The Sacrifice of Mendleson Moony: Four

The Sacrifice of Mendleson Moony Cover
I’m sorry this one’s a little late. I spent the morning reinstalling Windows on the computer Wendy uses after the system drive failed, and I completely forgot that today was Wednesday, until just now.

So, here is the fourth installment of The Sacrifice of Mendleson Moony. I’m putting up a new chapter of the book for free each Wednesday, and after another nineteen weeks, you’ll be able to read the entire book for free.

If you need to start at the beginning, you can find the first chapter here. If you just can’t wait to read the rest, there are links to purchase the book in many different formats at the end of each chapter.
 
 

Four

 

Henrietta stood for a moment, trying to take in what happened. The wraith was the easy part. It had come for her, like she knew it would. She just hadn’t imagined it would be so soon.
She hadn’t expected to be saved. Not from a wraith. And not by Mendleson, of all people. She didn’t know where he had come from, as she’d only had eyes for the wraith as it held her in place and brought its terrible claws toward her eyes.
A rock had come down while she waited for the end, driven by a pair of hands, and smashed the wraith’s skull. It fell away, its claws ripping the flesh of her neck. She felt at her neck, felt the scrape marks. They stung, but she didn’t feel the blood she expected.
Of course, she couldn’t die here. Or, at least, the chances of it were not great. Her death would happen someplace else.
Rage had overcome Mendleson. He smashed at the wraith again and again until at last, he tried to stand.
He did stand, for a moment, before she saw that he was falling backward, toward her. On instinct, she reached out and caught him, kept him from falling to the stone pathway.
It left her view open, and she could see past him, to the open cowl, where it was obvious her attacker was not a man. He must not have realized what he was saving me from.
She held him up until he caught himself and got his own feet under him.
“What… what is that?” he asked.
Once Mendleson had control of himself, she let go. “It’s a wraith.”
“A wraith?”
She nodded. She didn’t want to go into it here. I have to leave. She looked out to the road and saw the coach sitting there, waiting for her.
“I have to go.”
She went back into her house to get her trunk.
“Where are you going?” Mendleson asked. He moved to help her with the trunk.
“I don’t know. I can’t stay here, though.”
Together, they brought the trunk out to the coach and strapped it on to the rack. She was grateful for the help.
“Why not?”
“The wraith. It will come for me until I’m dead.”
“But it’s dead. I killed it.”
She shook her head. “No, you didn’t. It can’t be killed. It will wake and come after me. I don’t know how much time I have left.”
She looked back at her home. “I’m going to miss this place,” she said. The way the sun sets on the horizon, my tree, my garden, the quiet. “You’ve been a good neighbor, Mendleson. Go hide in your home and don’t come out until morning.”
She climbed up into the driver’s seat.
“I could come with you.”
Her vision came back to her, and terror leaped into her chest fully formed. “No! You can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Just go home. Thank you for your help, but please. Go home and hide.”
He pulled the coach door open and jumped inside.
“I’m not going home until I know why you were so afraid of me the other night,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t scare me. I…” Movement by her house caught her eye and interrupted her thought.
The wraith was trying to stand. Too late. I can still drop him off later. I can still change it.
“Shut the door, Mendleson.”
“What?”
“Shut the door! It’s waking up.”
It had pushed itself to its knees. She assumed it had knees. She didn’t really know what they were beyond what she had gathered from stories heard at her grandmother’s feet.
She heard the door shut, and she urged the horses into motion. For a moment, she worried they wouldn’t accept her, that they were some sort of ethereal creatures.
But they moved, and the coach lurched and picked up speed. Just horses.

* * *

For what felt like half the night, Mendleson rattled around inside the cabin of the coach while Henrietta drove the horses as hard as she could. It gave him time to think and reflect, but like the bumpy ride, his thoughts were disjointed and disconnected.
The interior of the coach seemed far more luxurious in the dark than he would have imagined a hired coach would be. The walls were embossed in leather, and the seat felt well cushioned. If Henrietta hadn’t driven the horses so hard, it might have been a really nice ride as far as coach travel went.
Once inside and they were on their way, he thought for a while about what that thing was. He’d never seen the like, but he suspected few people ever had. That Henrietta knew about it, knew it wouldn’t die, that scared him. Has she seen them before? Is that why she moved here in the first place? Did she know it was coming?
Of course, they weren’t questions he could answer on his own. He’d somehow have to convince her to answer them if he was to protect her.
His mind went quiet for a moment.
I am going to protect her. He knew it.
He tried to argue against himself. What about that thing? How are you going to protect her if you can’t kill it? How are you supposed to fight something that won’t die?
He didn’t know the answers. But the answers didn’t matter. She needed his help, and he wouldn’t fail her. I’ll find a way.
An hour or so later, he looked out the window on his right to find the moon had risen. In the near distance, he could see it reflecting off water. The Western Sea. She’d driven them down through the town and south along the Coast Road.
He tried to think of where they might be, how close to the next town, and realized they wouldn’t reach it for hours yet. How long have we been running?
He opened the side window. The salt air spilled into the cabin. Whatever chill had come with the wraith was gone. The coolness of the air now came from the sea.
“Henrietta!” he yelled.
She didn’t respond, so he repeated his call.
“What?”
“You need to slow down! You’ll kill the horses!”
He didn’t hear an answer, but after a minute or so, he could tell she’d eased up. The coach slowed, the ride grew smoother.
After a few minutes, he leaned out the window again. “Stop the coach,” he said. “I need to talk to you.”
“We need to keep moving.”
“It’s got to be miles behind us by now. It can’t travel that fast, can it?”
Several moments passed before he heard an answer. “I don’t know.”
“Then just stop long enough so I can climb up next to you. I think we really need to talk.”
“Fine.”
The coach slowed to a stop, and Mendleson stepped out and shut the door. He climbed up to sit on the bench next to her. As soon as he was sitting, she got the horses moving again.
“So what do we need to talk about?”
“Where are we going?”
“South.”
“I know that.”
“I don’t know where I’m going. I’m just running.”
He tried to get a look into her eyes, but she turned away from him. “Why are you running? Why was it trying to kill you?”
She didn’t answer.
“If I’m going to help, I need to know what’s going on.”
She did turn to look at him then. Moonlight reflected off her eyes, but he couldn’t tell whether he saw anger or tears. “You are not going to help me. I can’t allow that to happen.”
“What?”
“You’re getting off in the next town, and we’ll never see each other again.”

* * *

Mendleson looked upset, but Henrietta didn’t care. She could not have his death on her hands.
“What do you mean we’ll never see each other again? You need me.”
Henrietta hated sitting next to him, hated having this conversation. None of the women had ever questioned her insight. Of course, Mendleson doesn’t know why I’m trying to rid myself of him.
She looked deep into his eyes, lit as they were by the lamps that burned on the side of the coach. The worry she saw there made her wonder. She surprised herself by wondering aloud.
“You’re not trying to help me because of your wife, are you?” she asked.
He sat back and looked away. She tried to guess what he was thinking, but could not conjure anything specific.
“No,” he said. “I don’t think so. I’m not sure.”
He turned back to her, and she did see tears in his eyes. She hadn’t meant to hurt him. She hadn’t realized how vulnerable he was to thoughts of his wife.
She opened her mouth to say something, but words wouldn’t form. I’m sorry? It seemed too little.
“You were home the other day when I came by and knocked on the door,” he said.
She nodded. No point in lying to him now.
“I only wanted to apologize for whatever it was that I did to frighten you.”
She looked ahead, pretending to watch the road ahead. “You didn’t frighten me.”
“But you looked so scared after I touched your hand. I thought for sure…”
“You didn’t frighten me.” Why won’t I tell him? He knows what I am. The only answer she could come up with was that she didn’t really want him to go. But she did want him to go. She felt certain of it. She wouldn’t allow herself to be responsible for his death.
“If I didn’t frighten you, then what happened? Why did you hide from me?”
She decided she’d tell him, in the hope it would frighten him away. She turned to face him again. He looked so earnest.
“When our hands touched, I had a vision.” she said.
“A vision?”
She didn’t want to talk about it. It was too close to the vision of her own death that she had when she received the sight. She’d had it drilled into her that she should never reveal that vision. But here she was, about to reveal it to a man she hardly knew. A thought came to her.
“I saw you with me, and I saw you die,” she said. She felt proud of having told him of his part in her vision without revealing the whole thing.
“How do I die?” he asked. He didn’t seem afraid at all.
“Wraiths, in the mountains.”
He appeared to think for a moment. She liked watching him think. He may have been a fisherman once, but he wasn’t one of those that frequented the taverns along the waterfront.
“You were afraid for me,” he said. “You think that if I stay with you, I’ll die.”
“You will die. I saw it.”
“But you told me at the festival that your visions don’t always come true. You implied that they can be worked around.”
“I did say that,” she said. “And that’s why I want you to leave. It’s the easiest way to work around it.”
He reached out to her. “But if I leave, you’ll die.”
She shied away from him. He seemed to realize what he’d done and let his hand drop.
“I’ll die, anyway, Mendleson. It can’t be helped. I’ve known from the day I received the Sight how my end would come.”
“That’s horrid.”
She shook her head. “It is the way of things. I wish it could be different. I wish I had more time, but knowing my end is the price of the gift. There is no way I can escape it.”
“There’s got to be a way. If I can avoid the fate you’ve seen for me by just leaving you, then you should be able to avoid yours by just never going where you saw your end.”
“Mendleson, it doesn’t work that way. For me, the threads of fate will be constructed in such a way as to place me where I need to be. There is another Seer coming into the world, and she needs my Sight.”
Henrietta couldn’t believe how comfortable with the whole thing she was making herself sound. It frightened her to her core.
“But…”
She cut him off. “No. I already tried to circumvent my fate. I came here, and in doing so, I tied you to me. You were never in my visions before.”
They rode in silence for a while. She stole glances at him as often as she dared, but he looked out to sea.
I wonder if he misses the sea? I don’t have the right to take the possibility of returning from him.
The road began to curve, following the coastline, to the south east. More and more trees sprouted up to her left, high on the hills. They were leaving the more arid lands to the north. And she was getting tired. She’d been awake since the sun had risen.
“Henrietta,” Mendleson said, causing her to jump a little in her seat.
“What?”
“I dreamed of that wraith the last two nights.”
She jerked her head over to look at him. “You what?”
“I dreamed of that wraith, or something much like it each night since we touched at the festival. I knew it was coming for you. What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never heard of such a thing. Tell me about it.”
“It was just a dream. I don’t remember a whole lot about it except that wraith, it had to be the wraith, was chasing after you. I was chasing after you, too.”
She thought about it for a moment. Is it possible? Did some of my vision spill over our connection?
“You’re right,” she said. “It was just a dream.”
“But it couldn’t be just a dream. I dreamed of that thing, and then it showed up. That must mean something.”
Finally, she gave up trying to reason with him. He obviously had no regard for his own safety. “Look, Mendleson. You are leaving me when we reach the next town. I will not be responsible for your death.”
“You’re not responsible for me. I’m not leaving.”
“How can you be so stubborn?” She wanted to cry, but wouldn’t let herself.
“Why are you in so much of a hurry to die? I can help protect you.”
Then the tears did come. She couldn’t stop them. “I’m not in a hurry. I just don’t have a choice.”
“Then I’m staying, at least until we come to this mountain where you see me die. If we’re still alive, then I’ll leave.”
She wiped at her eyes, trying to clear the tears. She didn’t know what to say. It might work as well if they waited until they reached the mountains before he left. As long as he never went to the plateau in the mountains where the monolith stood.
They wouldn’t have long, but for the first time in her life, she’d met a man that didn’t fear her, and she didn’t want to let him go.
The coach rolled on in silence for a while, until he noticed her yawn.
“Give me the reins. I’ll drive for awhile. You climb in the cabin and sleep.”
“But…” Another yawn cut off her protest.
He stopped the coach and she climbed into the cabin and lay down on the seat. It didn’t take her long to drift off into dreams, but not a one of them was sweet.

 

 
If you’ve read this far, and you just have to read the rest right now, you can get the eBook or a really awesome paperback from the following retailers.
 

E-Book Paperback
Amazon
BN.com
Sony
Kobo
iBookStore
Smashwords
DriveThruFiction.com		 Amazon
CreateSpace
Barnes & Noble

Read Chapter Five

The Sacrifice of Mendleson Mooney

Free Novel Wednesday – The Sacrifice of Mendleson Moony: Three

The Sacrifice of Mendleson Moony Cover
This is the third installment of The Sacrifice of Mendleson Moony. Every Wednesday, I am putting up a new chapter of the book for free. Eventually, after another twenty weeks, you will be able to read the entire book for free.

If you need to start at the beginning, you can find the first chapter here. If you just can’t wait to read the rest, there are links to purchase the book in many different formats at the end of each chapter.
 
 

Three

 

The next day, Mendleson made sure the work he did on his farm kept him in sight of Henrietta’s house. He felt sure she was still there. He couldn’t explain it, even to himself.
He also couldn’t explain why, of a sudden, he felt so obsessed with her. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other before the festival. The way she left their conversation, and her complete absence since, certainly seemed to indicate she had little desire to speak to him again.
“It’s only because I want to apologize,” he said to himself as he dug at a particularly persistent weed. The weed somehow seemed a metaphor for his obsession with the Seer.
He pulled on the weed, putting his weight behind it. After a brief struggle, the root of the weed finally gave up and pulled free, depositing Mendleson on his back.
“Great,” he said, then sat up and tossed the weed into the waiting cart.
He looked across the way again. Henrietta’s home hadn’t changed since the last time he looked.
“One thing I can thank you for,” he said. “I haven’t dreamed of the fire the last two nights.”
No. Instead, I’ve got this other dream. He thought back to night of sleep he’d had, again interrupted by a dream of something dark coming for her. He couldn’t shake the feeling Henrietta was in danger.
What really irked him was that the Justice seemed to think there was little amiss. There weren’t any signs of distress in her house. There was nothing to indicate she hadn’t just gone somewhere for the day, other than the message from her to the grocer, and the Justice dismissed that.
Whatever help she needed, and Mendleson felt sure she needed help, he decided he would be the one that would have to give it to her. He was not about to let Henrietta’s house burn with her inside it.
As evening approached, he was growing tired of watching. He still refused to stop, but he was beginning to think that maybe she had left for good without the coach she had requested.
He stabled the horse and went inside to make his evening meal. Some bread and a vegetable stew. He didn’t even heat the stew that long. He wanted to get back to his watch.
He dug out the center of the bread, forming a bowl, and poured in the stew. He grabbed a spoon and took the whole thing out to his front steps to sit and eat.
Dusk had come while he prepared the meal. He dipped the excess bread into the stew and took a bite. It wasn’t all that warm, but he didn’t care.
A lone tree in her garden blocked his view of her door, but he could see the window.
At first, he couldn’t place what was different about the window. In the near dark, it was hard to discern details.
But after a moment, he figured it out. Her shades are closed. The Justice had opened them when they went into the house. Were they closed all day? Or just now? He thought back over the day, but didn’t remember. He thought maybe they had been shut all day, but he somehow hadn’t noticed until now.
Or she came home and shut them while I was cooking.
It didn’t matter really when it happened. What it mean was that she was still around.
He set his meal down on the step and stood up. I’m just going over there to apologize. But in his heart, he knew there was more. He wanted to make sure she was alright, that she wasn’t in danger.
As he started walking, he caught a dim light that flickered behind the shades. She’s home. He picked up his pace.
As he approached the road, a cold breeze came from the north, carrying an almost wintery chill. He shivered. The breeze carried a sound with it. Horses.
Mendleson stopped and crouched down behind a large stone that had marked his property for as long as he could remember. No man or horse could move it.
He had no idea why he hid. The breeze, the sound of the horses. It didn’t feel right, and he heeded his feelings.
Moments later, a quartet of horses rode down the lane pulling a coach behind them. The coach, painted black, seemed over-large and sinister. Lamps on either side of the driver’s bench illuminated the area around it. The driver seemed a big black shape, a shadow.
Something about it frightened Mendleson, and he wished for it to pass on by. But he knew it wouldn’t.
It pulled to a stop in front of Henrietta’s home in a rush of noise and scattering dust blown by the breeze.
The driver climbed down, took a step toward Henrietta’s home, then stopped and turned to look back at Mendleson.
It knows I’m here. He ducked behind the rock. I’m not here, I’m not here.
Tense moments passed while he imagined it coming for him, imagined it reaching out and grasping his forehead and crushing it.
He heard it turn, and take steps away from him.
He knew what it was. It was the thing in his dream, and it wasn’t here for him. It’s here for Henrietta.

* * *

When Henrietta closed her shades early in the morning, she knew she would be taking a risk, but it was less of a risk than having someone see her through her window. And she certainly didn’t want to remain stuck hiding in the cellar the whole day.
“Two days for a coach,” she said. “Unbelievable.”
But there was nothing for it. If she had to wait, she had to wait, and hide.
She spent the day going through her things a little more carefully than she had the day before. She had time.
She set the things she wanted to take out on the table. Figurines, little pieces of artwork, letters, books, clothes. Anything she couldn’t bear to part with. By mid-morning, the pile had begun to spill off the table, and she realized it wouldn’t do. She couldn’t take everything, even if she wanted to.
She went to the window and peeked through the shades. Mendleson was out working his farm, near the road. A little excitement flowed through her. She knew exactly what he was doing, and it made her happy enough for a moment that she smiled.
She scolded herself. “You know what will happen to him if you don’t get rid of him, Henrietta. Forget about him.”
But she couldn’t. It didn’t hurt that she liked to look at him. He was a strong man, kept his thick hair cropped short. The pain of his tragedy was written on his face, but she remembered when he smiled while talking to her at the festival. I can’t let him do that again, or I’ll never want him to leave.
“Henrietta, stop thinking about him. Get back to work.”
She forced herself to leave the window and go back to sorting what she would take with her.
She started with her needs. Clothes. Her tools she used to See. She didn’t really need those, she knew. They were mostly props, and not actually necessary to See. Where she was going, she didn’t think she would need them. But one never knows. Besides, the ball, eight inches round and pure crystal, had belonged to her grandmother. She couldn’t part with it.
Once those were in, she still had some room, so started adding her books and other things. A comb her mother had given her. A beautiful figurine of the sea goddess given to her by a woman she’d helped to avoid a terrible fate. Henrietta couldn’t remember what the fate was, but she adored the figurine.
She looked over her trunk, and then sat in a chair.
“Who am I fooling?” she asked herself. “I’ll be dead in a couple months. I won’t need any of this stuff.”
But she couldn’t part with it.
Her work was done. Now, all she had to do was wait for the coach, and then she could leave, and Mendleson would be safe from sharing her fate.
She went back to the window to watch him.
When she saw him, her heart caught again, like it seemed to do ever since their conversation. “I didn’t mean to put you in danger when I came here,” she said as if he could hear her. “I was only trying to escape my fate. I only wanted to live as long as my grandmother.”
“Of course, I should have realized I couldn’t escape it.”
She sighed, then went and sat in her reading chair. She stared at the trunk, and tried to decide where to have the coachman take her once he finally arrived. The only destination she could settle on, however, was away.
When she woke from her inadvertent nap, she realized it was almost evening. She cut the wick on a candle short, then lit it. She hoped the little bit of light wouldn’t leak through her shades too much.
Her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten since morning. She went through the groceries, and pulled out some bread and some smoked pork. She couldn’t afford to cook and have the fire signal someone was home.
The pork tasted salty, more than she usually preferred. If she were staying, she’d have a talk with Hugh about it, but for now, she had little choice.
“I hope that coachman arrives in the morning. I don’t want to have to sit in here another whole…”
A knock at her door interrupted her monologue. She blew out the candle, hoping it wasn’t too late.
She went to the window and peered through it. On the side of the road, she saw a big, black coach, lit by some lamps. Her fear that Mendleson discovered her subsided. The coach had arrived early.
“Time to leave.”
She went to the trunk and shut it, then dragged it across the floor to the door.
She opened the door, and then stood, frozen. It was not a coachman at her door. What stood at the door was the stuff of her nightmares, the stuff of her visions.
Her fate stood, two heads taller than her, a black cowl hiding a face that wasn’t a face. It had no eyes. She thought she could make out a mouth among the shadows.
It’s lips moved. A sound came out. “It’s time,” it said.
“No,” she whispered.
The thing’s arm shot out and grabbed her by the throat. Sharp talons tipped its fingers and dug into her flesh. She could not move for fear of having her throat ripped out.
“It’s time.”
The wraith, for that’s what it had to be, brought its other arm up to her face and toward her eyes.

* * *

Without thinking about what he was doing, Mendleson reached down and dug a fairly large stone from the ground. When it came free, he hefted it a couple times and decided it would do. For a moment, he wished he had a real weapon, a sword or something. But the stone was all he had. I’m no swordsman, anyway.
He peeked out from his hiding place behind the monstrous rock. The shadow man moved with a measured gait toward Henrietta’s front door. It was not looking at him. The horses seemed calm and reserved.
I hope they stay that way.
He moved out from his hiding place. Making as little noise as possible, he snuck across the road while keeping the horses between him and the shadowy figure. The horses looked at him, but did not seem bothered by his presence.
He snuck around to the back of the coach and peeked around it. The shadow man had just passed Henrietta’s tree. Mendleson waited for it to move a little further along before stepping out from his hiding place.
He worked even harder at being quiet. He didn’t know why, but he had a feeling if the shadow man turned around on him, he might not live through the experience.
The cold breeze picked up a little as he moved, making him shiver.
The thing was almost at her door. I have to make it to the tree. Quiet, Mendleson. Quiet.
Step after step, he moved closer to the tree. It blocked his view of the window, but not his view of the shadow man. A couple more steps.
Then he was behind the tree, hidden from the shadow man. Maybe fifteen paces from Henrietta’s door. Close enough to help her, but far enough away to go unnoticed if she didn’t need his help.
The shadow man knocked at the door. Its rap, rap, rap sounded distant in the strange, unseasonably-cold breeze.
It waited. Mendleson waited, while watching from behind the tree. His muscles felt tight with anticipation. He hadn’t seen Henrietta in two days. He needed to see her, but he feared for her. He feared this man.
Why am I waiting? Why don’t I just rush him?
Because he might just be a coach driver arrived early.
His argument sounded hollow. But he couldn’t be sure.
The door opened, and he saw Henrietta, her face illuminated by a candle that she held. His heart thumped in his chest. The candle light somehow made her beauty even more manifest.
And for a moment, he thought everything would be alright. He thought that it was the coach driver, come to take her where she wanted to go, and his heart fell. He wouldn’t get the chance to see her again.
Then her eyes went wide, and the same look of horror that he’d seen at the festival crossed her face again.
Mendleson heard the shadow man speak, a hissing sort of voice. “It’s time,” he said.
He couldn’t hear Henrietta’s reply, but her lips seemed to say, “No.”
The man’s arm reached out and grabbed her throat.
Mendleson started running, holding the rock up high. I’m too late! He’s going to kill her before I get there!
But the shadow man didn’t seem to be choking her, not yet. It was just holding her in place. It brought its other arm up and moved it toward her face.
Mendleson raced as fast as he could, and just as he arrived at the shadow man, he brought the rock down with both hands, smashing it into the his skull. The skull seemed to cave in, almost as if it hadn’t been completely solid, and then Mendleson’s body collided with the shadow man, knocking them both sprawling.
The shadow man’s arm came free of Henrietta and started to grasp at Mendleson. It had sharp fingernails or something. Knives on the end of its fingers. They dug at his flesh, but Mendleson didn’t care. He brought the rock down again on the man’s head.
The claws dug deeper.
Again, he brought the rock down. The shadow man shuddered, and then relaxed its grip on him. The claws came loose.
Mendleson could feel drips of blood on his skin where the claws had penetrated. He paid them no mind.
Excitement rushed through him, the brief fight energizing him. He brought the rock down once again, just to be sure.
He pushed himself up, then stood over the shadow man. Its hood had come free, and for the first time, he saw one of the things hands.
It hadn’t been a man, not at all.
His chest felt tight, and it became harder to breathe. He backed away from it, stumbling over one of its outstretched legs.
He didn’t fall to the ground. A pair of arms caught him. Henrietta’s.
“What is that?” he asked, short of breath.

 

 
If you’ve read this far, and you just have to read the rest right now, you can get the eBook or a really awesome paperback from the following retailers.
 

E-Book Paperback
Amazon
BN.com
Sony
Kobo
iBookStore
Smashwords
DriveThruFiction.com		 Amazon
CreateSpace
Barnes & Noble

 

Read Chapter Four

 

The Sacrifice of Mendleson Mooney

Free Novel Wednesday – The Sacrifice of Mendleson Moony: Two

The Sacrifice of Mendleson Moony Cover
Here is the second installment of The Sacrifice of Mendleson Moony. Every Wednesday, I am putting up a new chapter of the book for free. Eventually, after another twenty-one weeks, you will be able to read the entire book for free.

If you missed the first chapter, you can find it here. If you just can’t wait to read the rest, there are links to purchase the book in many different formats at the end of the chapter.

Two

From the moment Henrietta began to talk to Mendleson, she knew she could grow to like him, perhaps more. The incident with his wife was a barrier, of course. He obviously hadn’t recovered from it and blamed himself. Her heart thumped in her chest, even when he asked questions that strayed too close to subjects she’d rather not think about.
But he owned a warmth and a protectiveness that appealed to her.
If only she didn’t know how her life would end. If only she hadn’t learned it the day she had come into her Sight. If only I could live with the ignorance of the unsighted.
When he asked the question of her, asked if it would have been possible to save his wife, she’d pulled away. She knew then that he still held tight to the memory of that tragedy. She knew nothing good could come of continuing the conversation.
But he reached up and touched her hand, like she’d longed for him to do, but had refused to allow.
Her normal vision clouded, and her Sight took over at his touch. What she saw horrified her.
The monolith stands, stark and black, blotting out the night sky. The wraiths are on the plateau, coming for her. Coming to take her Sight. Coming to take her life.
A man appears and shouts something she can’t hear. A man that looks strangely like Mendleson. The wraiths turn and converge on him. Circling.
They pounce. She thinks she should hear him screaming, but hears only silence. They come away from him, and turn back to her.
He is laying on the ground, not moving.
The contact with Mendleson’s hand broke, ending the vision, but she had seen enough. The vision had begun like the one she saw when she gained her Sight. But now, it was different.
“Here,” he said. “let me help you up.”
The horror of what she’d just seen washed over her. “No,” she said. “Stay away from me.” She couldn’t let him die, not for her. “Stay away.”
She scrambled to her feet and ran. People were looking, but she didn’t care.
“Henrietta,” she heard him yell. “Stop, I’m sorry!”
She ignored him. She couldn’t let her vision happen. It was the wrong vision. It couldn’t be true. She didn’t want to be responsible.
I should never have come here.
She ran all the way home in the darkness.
When she shut the door behind her, she locked it, then lit a candle. She pulled her shades, then sat down at her table to think.
“How could this happen,” she asked herself. “How could he insert himself into my vision. It was my vision!”
She could only come up with one answer—she’d done it herself by coming to this town. “I should not have tried to avoid my fate.”
She looked around the small home that had been hers for the last three years. Nicknacks, pots, and books lined her walls, overseen by a portrait of her grandmother. She put her head in her hands and tried to focus on what she should do. Tried to evoke another vision.
Her sight left her empty.
“Fine,” she said. “I know what I should do, now. I know what I did wrong. I’ll correct it. He doesn’t deserve that fate.”
She wrote a note for the grocery boy to take with him when he came. She knew what the vision meant and knew what her lack of visions for others meant. Her time was near. She couldn’t see beyond her death. The end of the summer or early autumn.
She got up from the table and started sifting through her things, noting what she’d have to take and what she’d have to leave behind. She wouldn’t be able to take everything.
After a moment, she grimaced. Do I really need to take anything?
But she couldn’t make herself leave it all. Like she’d told Mendleson. Fates could be changed. Even mine?

* * *

Mendleson lay in bed thinking about his encounter with Henrietta, and no matter how he turned it over in his head, he couldn’t figure out what he’d done wrong. He’d only touched her hand, and she had pulled away violently. It was an innocent gesture, and she had reacted all out of proportion to it.
So why do I feel like I wronged her?
He couldn’t come up with any answers.
And the look on her face. It was like I’d suddenly turned into a monster.
It puzzled him until he finally fell asleep.
When he woke, he remembered dreams of Henrietta Swooth. Dreams that he didn’t understand. Dreams of her in trouble, running from something dark and foreboding. He remembered chasing after her, but she ran from him, too.
He climbed out of bed, ate a breakfast of bread and bacon, then went out to work his fields. He resolved, while eating, to put Henrietta out of his head. She was a strange woman. He’d thought there might be possibilities with her, but after her reaction to his touch, after she ran away, well maybe he’d been wrong.
He stepped out his front door, but couldn’t help glancing across the lane toward Henrietta’s home. The shades were drawn, and he didn’t see any movement. Don’t be a fool, Mendleson. It’s still early morning.
He went to his barn to get his horse into its harness. As he opened the door, he realized that Henrietta had given him one thing without trying. She’d given him a night free from nightmares of Mirrielle.
The day’s work proved hot and draining. The sun bore down on him, its heat a relentless opponent. He looked up occasionally from his work and didn’t see a sign of her, which was unusual. He often saw her outside in her garden.
But her shades remained shut throughout the day. Even the grocery boy came and delivered sacks of groceries, but he left them on the porch to bake in the sun.
When he finished for the day, he went inside and cleaned himself up. He didn’t know when it happened, but sometime during the day, he’d decided he should go and check on her and apologize for upsetting her. He couldn’t get her out of his head. He hoped an apology would do the trick.
He found himself standing on her doorstep only a little while later. His stomach buzzed with butterflies and his heart thumped in his chest. The woman did something to me. She must have. Yesterday, all he could think of was his wife. Since he’d talked with Henrietta, all he could think of was her.
The groceries still sat on the porch, ensconced in a burlap sacks. Maybe I’ll help carry them in.
He knocked on the door and waited.
A minute passed. Two. He knocked again. More minutes passed.
“Henrietta,” he called out. “Your groceries are out here in the sun.”
He knocked on the door again, then put his ear to it. He heard nothing.
Mendleson gave up after a few minutes more, after it became obvious there was no one home. He told himself not to worry. She just had a call to make in town, or something. It’s not because of you.
He descended the steps from her porch to the stone path that led through her garden to the lane. He turned back to look, and for a moment, he thought he saw one of the shades in the window move slightly. He watched for a bit. When it didn’t move again, he turned back to his own house.
That night passed even slower. He couldn’t get the dream from the night before out of his head. It left him with a feeling that she was in danger. He thought that’s what his dream was telling him.
He tossed and turned until he decided, late in the night, that he would skip his work in the field to try to figure out what happened to Henrietta. She could be safe and hiding from him, or something could have happened. He wouldn’t let the opportunity to protect her pass him by. He wouldn’t let it happen again.
When the morning came, he was up soon after dawn. He ate, then went back to Henrietta’s where he repeated the performance from the previous evening.
He decided to make the journey down to the town and find out if anyone knew of her whereabouts. She could be staying with someone down there just to avoid him.
He saddled his horse and began his ride. A half hour later, he hitched it to a railing outside of the grocer. The smells of the waterfront overwhelmed him, like they always did these days. The fresh salt air, tainted with the strong odor of fish, reminded him of what he’d given up.
The men working the docks cursed loud and incessantly. Mendleson found himself missing the companionship of those men. Of course, the men still working the docks and boats at this time of day were the lazy ones. The better fishermen had already put out to sea for the day. Paulus would be among them.
Mendleson stepped out of the cacophony and into the grocer, who had just opened for the day. The door, when it shut behind him, blocked out most of the noise.
“Mendleson,” said a rotund man who stood behind the counter. “I don’t see you much these days.”
“How are you, Hugh? I don’t have much need to come by.”
“The farming must be treating you well.”
“I’m not hurting for food, though I could use help harvesting it.”
Hugh laughed. “What brings you here?”
Mendleson stepped up to the counter. “What can you tell me about Henrietta Swooth?”
“Why would I know more than you? You live across the way from her.”
“She buys her groceries from you, Hugh.”
Hugh nodded, causing his jowls to shake. “She does buy groceries from me. My boy delivered her order yesterday, as a matter of fact.”
“I saw. They sat on her front porch, and were still there when I woke this morning. She doesn’t answer her door.”
“Well, now. That’s odd.”
“Why is that odd?”
“She sent a note with my boy, asking for me to send for a coach.”
“A coach? Did she leave already?”
Hugh squinted. “Why the sudden interest?”
“We talked the other night at the festival.”
Hugh smiled. “Finally, though I’m not sure why you’d pick her.”
“No, it’s not what you think. I said something. I’m not sure what, and she left, offended. I only want to apologize.”
“That woman is a bit odd. My wife swears by her viewings, though, and she pays on time.”
Mendleson wanted to reach out and slap the grocer. “Did she leave already?”
“What? Oh, why, no. There’s not a coach due for another two days.”
Mendleson slapped the counter.
“Why are you so upset?”
Mendleson couldn’t tell Hugh about the dream. It hardly made sense to Mendleson. “I just want to make sure she’s all right. I just want to apologize. Look, thanks for your help, Hugh. Tell your wife I said hello.”
“It was good to see you down here. I’m sure everything is all right.”
Mendleson left and went in search of the Justice. He’d want the man with him when he entered Henrietta’s home. He couldn’t keep the thought that she was in trouble out of his head.

* * *

“When will that man get the hint and leave me alone?” Henrietta asked her empty room when she saw Mendleson approach her house through the crack in the shades. This time, he had the Justice with him.
For a moment, her heart warmed. It seemed obvious he was worried about her, but when she thought about her vision it only made her more frustrated. How can I get rid of him? His concern would result in his death. She couldn’t allow that.
Whatever she wanted, she couldn’t let him find her now. Time to hide.
She went to the rear of her little home and pulled up the cellar door. She climbed down into the hole, the darkness of her cellar swallowing her up. She could only hope they wouldn’t be too thorough in their search.
She worked herself into a corner, out of the way of the light that would poor through the cellar door when they eventually opened it. I hope there aren’t too many spiders down here.
She heard the door above open, and then the shades. She could tell light flooded the room above as little rays poked down through the floorboards, illuminating the dust that came free with every step the two men made.
A thump landed on the table. Maybe they brought the groceries in.
“Well, it looks like you’re right, Mendleson. Something certainly happened to her. Are you sure she didn’t just go to visit someone?”
“I’m pretty sure,” said Mendleson. “Hugh said his delivery boy brought a message from her. How could he have done that if she wasn’t here? Why wouldn’t she bring in her groceries?”
“What did the message say again?”
“She asked for him to send for a coach.”
“Maybe the coach arrived already,” said the Justice.
“It didn’t. Hugh said there wouldn’t be another coach for two days.”
Two days? I have to pretend to be somewhere else for another two days? She wanted to curse, but held her breath instead. I can wait two days.
“Curious. You didn’t have anything to do with her disappearance, did you?”
“Why would I?” Mendleson said. His voice sounded indignant to Henrietta’s ears. “Why would I come and get you to search for her if I had something to do with it?”
“I just have to ask.”
The Justice walked to the rear of her home where the cellar door was. The door opened, and Henrietta crouched down, trying to make herself as small as possible. She hid her face in her dress.
“Is there a lamp in here?” the Justice asked.
She heard Mendleson moving around in an apparent search for something. He stopped. “How about a candle?”
“That will work.”
Mendleson moved to the cellar door with the Justice. The Justice lowered his hand into the room, followed by his head. He apparently didn’t want to climb down. Henrietta prayed he wouldn’t change his mind and kept herself as still as she could. She also prayed he would hurry. Her legs were starting to cramp.
After a few moments, the Justice withdrew, taking the candle with him. The door shut. “She’s not down there.”
“Then where is she?” Mendleson asked. She could hear the confusion in his voice. It was mixed with something else. Anguish?
It didn’t matter so much, as long as he remained safe and ignorant of where she was.
The two men milled around a bit longer before eventually leaving.
Henrietta stood, rubbing cramps out of her legs. “Two days,” she said softly.
She climbed out of the cellar and shut the door behind her. She brushed herself off, then looked at the table. On it, her groceries waited.
“I can do it,” she said. “I can wait two days.”

 

 
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Read Chapter Three

The Sacrifice of Mendleson Mooney, Writing

Free Novel Wednesday – The Sacrifice of Mendleson Moony: One

 

The Sacrifice of Mendleson Moony Cover

I’ve decided to add a new feature here. Free Novel Wednesday. Of course, you saw that in the title of this post. For at least the next twenty-three weeks, I’m going to post one chapter of a novel each Wednesday, consecutively, until the novel is available for free in its entirety. I’m starting with The Sacrifice of Mendleson Moony.

I had originally thought of putting up a ‘written for the blog’ novel as a serial, but with Fragments still needing my attention, I decided I’d turn to a different book, one that I really wish more people were reading.

This is an experiment, of course. There are links at the end of the chapter where you can purchase complete copies of The Sacrifice of Mendleson Moony. One of my hopes is that you’ll like the book so much that you can’t wait to read the rest and will purchase a copy of the book for yourself. But even if that doesn’t happen, I really love this story, and I want people to read it.

I’ll shut up now. What follows is synopsis and chapter one of The Sacrifice of Mendleson Moony

 

 

Fisherman Mendleson Moony lost his family in a fire. Four years later, he still mourns and has given up the sea to farm his land.

Henrietta Swooth, the Seer that has lived across the road from him for the last three years, has a secret. She knows the time and place of her death, and she must soon leave to meet it.

A vision sends her to the summer festival, where she and Mendleson talk for the first time, When he touches her hand, everything changes, and not for the better.

Mendleson comes away with a desire to save her. She comes away knowing that his attempts to save her will see him dead at her side.

Can Mendleson overcome his loss to find love again? Is it already too late?

 

 

One

 

In the mind of Mendleson Moony, the mid-summer festival was an utter waste of time. He ought to be home, working his small farm, or down on the waterfront trading his services with the fishermen who had a need for someone who could help mend boats or nets. Anything other than frolicking and celebrating for an entire day.
Around him, the town-folk cavorted and competed, heedless of his distaste for the entire affair. Contests abounded. Archery, races, tests of strength. Merchants had their wagons and carts set up to sell their wares. A dozen boars roasted over an enormous fire pit. Children raced in and out among the adults’ legs with orders to slow down going unheeded.
A large, flat area remained clear. Musicians were setting up near it. The dancing would start as soon as the roasted pork had all been eaten. Mendleson looked forward to the dancing the least.
“Mendleson,” a man’s voice called out to him. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
Mendleson turned around and found his friend Paulus approaching him from the thick of the crowd. Paulus wasn’t very tall, but his thick body contained more power in its muscles than most other men. He liked to show off his muscles, preferring to go without shirts whenever he could get away with it. He wore a shirt to the festival, though, surprising Mendleson.
“I almost didn’t,” Mendleson said. “Only the promise of a free meal brought me out.”
“That and the girls, right?”
Mendleson shook his head. “You know…”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Paulus reached up and put a hand on Mendleson’s shoulder. He looked Mendleson straight in the eye. “But you’re my friend, and I worry about you wasting away out there on your farm. You need company, my friend. You grow more and more into a ghost.”
“It’s only been…”
Paulus interrupted him. “It’s been four years, Mendleson. You need to move on. You need to find another wife.”
Four years? Has it really been that long? It seems like yesterday.
“There are plenty of women here that would be happy to have you, too,” Paulus continued, while sweeping his arm out to cover the festival goers.
Mendleson looked around, and for a moment, he entertained the idea, but could not see one woman who he thought would be interested. “Point some out. I don’t see any,” he said.
Paulus laughed. “Fine. I’ll point them out, but first, let’s go find the ale. I can’t be doing this without something to wet my throat.”
Paulus led him off across the field toward the carts bearing large kegs. While they walked, Mendleson worked back through the years and discovered that indeed, it had been four years since he’d come home from fishing one day to find his home burned to the ground, his wife and young son burned with it.
He could remember every detail like it happened yesterday. He’d seen the smoke on the horizon as the boat landed, and he didn’t think much of it until he started making his way home. About halfway there, he realized it was near his land and began to worry. When he arrived, he found his neighbors working hard to quench the flames, but there weren’t enough of them.
He looked around and didn’t see his wife, Mirrielle. Upon realizing she wasn’t there, he tried to run in to find her, but his neighbors held him back. The house collapsed into rubble only minutes later while he cried out for her, again and again.
After the rubble cooled, they found Mirrielle and his son Josua, huddled together. He’d resolved right then to never put to sea again.
He rebuilt his home and started to farm his land in earnest. He gave up fishing.
And Paulus is right. That was four years ago.
They reached the ale carts. Paulus paid for mugs for the both of them, then lead Mendleson to a bench where the two of them sat and sipped their ale.
“There,” Paulus said, pointing at a woman in a burgundy colored dress. She kept her dark brown hair up, and her hands close to her body. She was talking with two other women. One of the women said something, and the three of them tittered.
“Melissa Stander?” Mendleson asked.
“Right,” Paulus said. “She’s a widow, and I hear he did not leave her a pauper.”
“Not her. She was friends with…” Mendleson didn’t want to say Mirrielle’s name aloud. Just seeing Melissa brought back memories. “I didn’t like Melissa then. She’s far too vapid.”
“Fine, not her, then. How about Jessica Breach?”
Mendleson took a sip of his ale before answering. “Who’s that?”
“Over there by the pork roasters.” Paulus said. “I hear she’s nice. Her father was a merchant, but not a good one. He tried to marry her off to a Lord from Isundry, but couldn’t afford the dowry.”
“The short one?”
“In the green dress and blonde hair.”
Mendleson thought she was pretty. Petite, thin boned, and delicate. For a moment, he entertained the thought, but couldn’t imagine her helping with the farm.
“You must be kidding,” Mendleson said. “Her father raised her with the idea of gaining a position at court. She wouldn’t last a day on the farm.”
Paulus nodded. “True. How about her?”
Mendleson looked where Paulus pointed and found himself looking at Fredetta Jointer. Mendleson punched Paulus in the shoulder, causing Paulus to nearly spill his ale.
“What’s that for?” Paulus asked. He couldn’t keep the hint of laughter out of his voice.
Mendleson laughed for the first time. It felt good. “Everyone knows she’s a shrew. Her father couldn’t give her away to slavers. I wouldn’t even want to live in my own house!”
“It would get you back out fishing with me where you belong.”
“That it would,” Mendleson said, his mirth fading.
“Sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“I still should have thought… Look, forget about her. There’s got to be someone here who can satisfy you.”
Mendleson stood up and drank the last of his ale. “Thanks for your help, Paulus. I know you’re right. I do need to find someone. I just can’t forget what happened. I can’t forgive myself for failing her.”
Paulus stood, and pulled Mendleson around so they were face to face. “Mendleson, my friend, you have to forgive yourself. It wasn’t your fault. There was nothing you could do. It was an accident of fate.”
“Fate? How could it have been fate? What good has come out of it?”
Paulus didn’t answer, and Mendleson knew why. Nothing good had come out of it.
“Thanks for trying to help,” Mendleson said. “I know you’re right. I do need to put it behind me, but maybe I’m not ready yet.”
Paulus nodded. “Look, they’re taking the boars off the spits. Let’s go eat. I promise I won’t point out any more shrews.”
Mendleson chuckled, and motioned for his friend to lead them forth. Maybe he’d feel better with food in his belly.

* * *

Henrietta Swooth muttered to herself as she walked the road to the mid-summer festival. She had no real desire to go. In her three years living in the little cottage that looked out over the cliffs and onto the town below, she had not attended the festival.
But she had seen herself there. Something important would happen, and so she went. She’d learned long ago that events would conspire to put her in the places she saw herself if she tried to avoid what her visions showed her. What made it all hard to deal with is that she rarely knew why she had to go. The meaning behind her visions of herself remained a mystery.
This wasn’t the case when trying to see things for the women that came to visit. She could almost always determine their fate and the reasons behind it. Sometimes, she could even see how they could do things differently to avoid the fate given to them.
But for herself, her options remained opaque.
So she found herself walking the mile and a half between her home and the festival grounds, dreading what was to come. She tried to prepare herself, as she walked, for the overwhelming number of visions that would assault her as she touched people, as she brushed them, or they her.
She looked to her right, where she could see the Western Sea, and the orange-red sun that hung low on the horizon. She’d waited until just about the right moment to leave. Her vision had her at the gathering at twilight. She didn’t want to spend any more time there than necessary.
She heard the music, first. Horns, drums, and a great deal of singing, much of it out of key. It made her long for her home near the mountains.
“Put that out of your head, Henrietta,” she said to herself. “You left home for good reason.”
She topped a rise in the road and saw the festival ground laid out below her. Oil lamps were already lit and waiting for the sun to set. It appeared to her that most of the town had turned out.
She took a deep breath. “It’s only for a short time, Henrietta,” she said. Then she worked her way down the hill to join the festival.
When she first entered the grounds, she thought she might go unnoticed. Most everyone concentrated on the singing and dancing. She wandered the perimeter, looking for the place where she’d seen herself. She had time, so didn’t hurry.
Which was a mistake. Three young women noticed her before she even walked twenty paces. Of course, it was always the women. The men never acknowledged that they noticed her. In her experience, men had a healthy fear of her visions. Henrietta had always thought that their reluctance was because men needed the fiction that they were in control. Surrendering to fate seemed difficult to impossible.
The women here accepted her, though. They sought her out, once it was discovered what she could do. They seemed more willing to want to work with fate, instead of against it.
Well, most of them. The women approaching her, though, had other ideas.
“Henrietta, I must ask you something.”
Of course, it would be that vapid girl Melissa who wanted to know her future. I wonder what she’ll ask me this time.
“Melissa, it is good to see you,” Henrietta lied. The men suffered her here because the women liked her. She couldn’t afford to upset any of them, lest the men drive her out. “What must you ask?”
“You said you saw a man coming for me, that he would be here by the end of the summer.”
“It is not summer’s end, yet,” Henrietta said.
“I know, I know. I just wondered, with the festival and all, there are quite a few merchants from out of town. Would any of them be the one you saw?”
Well, that is a change, at least. She’s given thought to accepting less than a Lord for a husband.
Henrietta looked for the merchant carts and found them, but she couldn’t see through the crowd to find who manned them.
She sighed, then held out her hands. “Take hold of my hands.”
Melissa smiled and reached for Henriatta’s hands.
Henrietta closed her eyes, which wasn’t strictly necessary. She just didn’t want to watch Melissa while lying to her. She made a show of seeing the future, but as always, the girl’s future was as empty as her mind.
It scared Henrietta, too. More and more often, she could see nothing in the future for the women that came to see her. She broke her contact with Melissa, not wanting to think about what it meant.
“I still see the man you hope for coming by the end of summer,” she lied, “but he is not here.”
Melissa’s shoulders slumped in disappointment.
Henrietta understood how Melissa felt. She secretly wished for her own man to come calling, to help her give a child to the world, like her grandmother had done. But it would never be.
She looked around the festival, hoping to find some way to escape these three girls. Her gaze passed over a man she knew only from a distance. A neighbor that lived within sight of her home. She had never talked with him before, but she’d seen him working his fields, his muscles running with sweat and a permanent air of seriousness set upon his face.
Of course, she’d heard the story of what had happened to him. The women that came to her told her everything. She had locked eyes with him once, across the road, and she’d thought for a moment he might have an interest in her, but he looked away just as quick. The pain in his eyes had been near palpable.
And he was sitting right near where her vision had told her she had to be.
“Excuse me,” she said, making a hasty decision. “I must go talk with someone.”
Melissa ignored her, but Melissa’s friends seemed to be a little put off. Henrietta didn’t care. Now that she’d made her decision, she would walk over to Mendleson Moony and see what happened. Likely nothing at all.

* * *

“Hey, look,” Paulus said. “Here comes your neighbor.”
Mendleson looked to where Paulus pointed. Indeed, it was his neighbor, the Seer, Henrietta Swooth. As always, she looked resplendent. Her blonde hair was bound back, but allowed to cascade onto her shoulders. The gown she wore, black with a purple trim along its arms, fit her slight frame perfectly.
When she’d arrived in town only a year after his wife died, all the single men he’d known had talked about her, wondered how she’d bought the cottage that looked over the town and the sea.
Of course, the wondering stopped as soon as wives and girlfriends started to talk of their meetings with the Seer.
Mendleson often wondered how that day would have changed if the Seer had lived across the street when his home, his life, burned. He’d thought about visiting her more than once, but in the time they’d lived across the road from each other, he’d never managed to speak a word to her.
Then Paulus hit him. “What about her? I bet she’d make a good wife for you. You’d always know what’s about to happen.”
“I don’t think it works that way, Paulus.”
“How do you know? Have you ever asked?”
Mendleson shook his head, and looked up. The Seer was almost upon them.
“Well, ask her. I need another ale.” he said, then laughed and left Mendleson to stand there.
Mendleson turned to follow him. He did not want to be alone with her.
“Mendleson,” she said to his back.
Just the one word, his name, stopped him. He couldn’t move any further. He’d never heard her speak before. Her voice was arresting, almost magical.
He turned to face her, but couldn’t open his mouth to speak. This close, she was as beautiful as he’d thought, and younger. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-four or twenty-five. Of an age with his wife, had she lived.
He shook his head. I don’t want to think of that. He made to turn and leave.
“Don’t leave,” she said.
“Why?”
“We’ve lived as neighbors for three years,” she said. “I think it’s time we at least said hello.”
Mendleson couldn’t argue with that. “You’re right, of course. I’ve been remiss in welcoming a neighbor. I’ve had a difficult time of it lately.”
“I know,” she said.
Mendleson wasn’t sure she meant to say it aloud. Her thoughts seemed to turn inward for a moment, almost as if she nursed some kind of hurt within her, too. “Here,” he said “Let’s at least sit on the bench.”
She nodded. “Yes, let’s sit.”
Mendleson put his hand out to help guide her to the bench. He didn’t even know why he did it. It was something he would have done for a lady he was trying to court. But he wasn’t trying to court her. The gesture felt right, though.
Henrietta avoided it deftly, though, sitting on her own.
He withdrew it and sat next to her. I wonder why she did that?
For a while, they sat next to each other and said nothing. Mendleson let his gaze wander among the sights of the festival. The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon. The bonfires lit the dancers in a flickering light that seemed almost unearthly.
He stole a glance at her and found her looking at him. Staring. In the low light, it was difficult to tell what color her eyes were.
“Why did you really come over here,” he asked.
“I don’t want to tell fortunes tonight,” she said. “If I wander around by myself, the women will come up to me, one by one. Each will ask me to tell them their future, and I can’t refuse.”
Mendleson was puzzled. “Why can’t you refuse?”
“How long do you think they would let me stay if I refused them? They suffer me because I indulge them.”
“Is that why you’re here? Did another town run you out?”
She laughed, but the laugh held little joy. It made him feel warm inside, nonetheless. “No,” she said. “I’m here for—other reasons.”
“What other reasons?” he asked, and regretted it immediately. The smile she’d had on her lips faded.
“I’d rather not talk about them,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, no. I understand.” Just like I don’t want to talk about that day.
They sat in silence for a couple minutes, listening to the music, watching the dancers. He stole glances at her, and he caught her stealing glances at him.
She intrigued him. He could tell there was pain in her past, or something akin to it. It’s probably related to her being a Seer. Not every town accepts them.
“It must be lonely,” he said.
“Sometimes. Though, at times, I find myself wishing everyone would leave me alone.”
“Why?”
“The women, they come to me, all of them wanting good news. Wanting to know of long lives for their children, or wealth for themselves, or any number of silly things. They think I can give it to them, but I can only tell what I see. I don’t decide their fate. It’s—difficult when I have to give someone ill news.”
“Does everything you see happen? Does it come true?”
She shook her head. “Things don’t always come true the exact way I see them. Fates can be changed, visions misunderstood.”
Fates can be changed? “Tell me,” he said. “If you had been here, could you have warned me of the fire, of…”
Henrietta stood up, and Mendleson thought he’d angered her somehow. He reached out and grabbed her hand. “Please, don’t go. I didn’t mean…”
A flash, a spark, something, raced between them at that moment. His heart seemed to open up. At the same time, her eyes grew wide, and terror crossed her face.
She pulled away from him, stumbled backward, then fell to the ground.
Mendleson stood up and went to her. What did I do? What did I say? What happened?
“Here,” he said, “let me help you up.”
“No,” she said. “Stay away from me. Stay away.”

 

 

If you can’t wait to read the other chapters, you can get the eBook (or a really awesome paperback) from the following retailers.

E-Book Paperback
Amazon
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Sony
Kobo
iBookStore
Smashwords
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CreateSpace
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Read Chapter Two

Short Fiction, Writing

The Assassin and the Potionist

A couple weeks ago, I went to a workshop where I spent the week writing and learning, along with 20 other incredible writers (and I’m not just saying this to be nice – there were some awesome stories generated there), and during that workshop, I wrote this short story based on the one word theme, Gangsters.

Of course, I couldn’t write about real gangsters. I have a hard time dealing with stories that aren’t at least minimally sprinkled with the fantastic (I wrote one while there, believe it or not, but I have to create a whole new me before I put that one up), so I sprinkled it with a bit of fantasy, and came up with The Assassin and the Potionist.

It’s currently available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Smashwords.

Click through to read an excerpt from The Assassin and the Potionist

Writing, Zombies Ate My Mom

Zombies Ate My Mom – Seriously Delayed Announcement

Zombies Ate My Mom!I think I announced it everywhere but here. Zombies Ate My Mom is available in most places like Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Smashwords, and DrivethruFiciton.com. Kobo and Sony should be coming along soon.

I’m excited about ZAMM, and I hope you all like it. I’d love to write two or three more of them, as this one was a blast to write.

Brad never thought the zombie apocalypse could happen without him noticing. But when he and his mom run into a zombie horde on their way to get take-n-bake pizza, he discovers the awful truth.

Now, Brad must rescue his girlfriend from the zombies that are at her door, but he needs help from his father, a man he hasn’t spoken with in two years.

First, Brad must find his car keys.

Click through to read the first chapter of Zombies Ate My Mom