Good morning, everyone! How’s Thursday treating you this week?
Can you believe August is almost over? This weekend is Labor Day here in the States, a three-day weekend that marks the traditional end of summer, then it’s September and the new TV season. Yay! I’m seriously looking forward to Castle and The Big Bang Theory and The Walking Dead; I’m already enjoying the new season of Grimm. Before I know it, October will be here, which leads me up to one of my favorite holidays — Halloween.
This week’s story fits right in with that scary season. Imagine you’re driving down a lonely country road at night, the window in your car rolled down to catch the last warmth of the summer evening. You stop at a traffic light, fiddle with the volume on the radio, then you’re pulled out the window by something out of a nightmare. That’s only the beginning of “They Lie.” Enjoy!
Published by Thunder Valley Press
Copyright 2011 by Annie Reed
Cover Art Copyright Tomislav Pinter | Dreamstime.com
The writers of books like Twilight, of television shows like Buffy and Angel and Forever Knight.
There’s no romance. No love. No quests for redemption or pining for companionship or longing to become human again, and no damn sparkling in the sun. There’s only darkness and fear and an all-consuming hunger that obliterates whatever’s left of your poor, screaming soul.
If you let it.
My maker pulled me out the open window of my car when I stopped for a light on a lonely country road late one night. I’d spent most of that night watching chick flicks with my best friend, Chelsea. I haven’t seen her since. It’s a struggle. I don’t need to be invited in, and I know the way back to her house. Even if I didn’t, I could still find her. I know her scent.
I’m not sure why I stopped at that light. Chelsea lives out in the sticks. Nothing but flat farmland for miles. I could see enough of the road to know that no cars were coming in the other direction. No cars at all, but I’ve always been a good girl. A rule follower. So I stopped and checked for headlights. Unbuckled my seatbelt for a moment to straighten out a twist while I listened to some inane pop song on my radio.
Then I died.
It wasn’t a quick death. Imagine being ripped apart by a wild animal, but staying awake for the whole thing. My maker was ancient and rotted, and he smelled like an open sewer pit. He chewed at my neck and my arms, and when I tried to run away, he pounced on my back and bit into my spine.
No one came to save me when I shrieked. No one at all.
(read the rest of the story here)