Vacancy – 2.06 – The Other Side

 Vacancy is an ongoing web serial. Find out more about it and start reading here.

v 2.06

Lorelei and Britney both scrambled behind the mirror, sliding into the tight space and smashing up against one another. Britney tried to shove Lorelei back out, but Lorelei pushed back, and they two slapped at one another as they fumbled to be completely hidden from whoever was headed their way.

The footsteps came into the room, and both girls froze, holding their breath and listening. A floorboard creaked under a silent step, then again, until finally a voice, small and feminine, “Is someone there?”

They were caught. Lorelei glanced at Britney who was glaring at her and shaking her head silently. Lorelei shrugged, and peeked out from behind the mirror. There in the center of the room stood a short girl with a round face, her hair pulled back in a knot at the back of her head and freckles spattered across her cheeks. She wore a stiff top and a striped skirt down to her ankles, and looked as though she’d stepped out of a Thanksgiving play. Of course, Lorelei realized, it may have been more likely she’d stepped into one. “Uh, hey there.”

The girl was frozen, her eyes locked on Lorelei’s, an apple in her hand hovering just before her mouth. Then her face lit up, “It worked!” She jumped in place, and laughed, “I can hardly believe my eyes!”

Britney popped out from the other side of the mirror, brow narrowed, and the girl’s smile only grew, “Two of you? By the greatest powers, I’ve done it! And just in time too!”

Lorelei stepped carefully out from behind the mirror, taking in the room again. It was simple, a bed, an armoire, and very dimly lit only by the setting sun outside. The mirror, of course, was also there, but Conrad’s figure had completely vanished and it now only showed her reflection. “In time for what?”

“The ceremony,” the girl strode up to Lorelei and grabbed the edge of her sweatshirt, running a hand over the stitching, “My word, even my magic doesn’t work as evenly as all this.”

“Wait, did you,” Britney came around the mirror looking up at it, “did you make this?”

“Of course. Well, I enchanted it,” the girl moved on to Britney, petting the woman’s curled hair and gasping as her ringlet bounced back, “What craft is this?”

Britney pushed her hand away with a scowl, “How old are you?”

“Fifteen,” she answered quickly, squatting down to inspect their pants, “And trousers! How wonderful! Now, I must know,” she jumped up again, “Tell me everything.”

Lorelei looked from the girl to Britney, but Britney was already shaking her head, “No. You’re going to tell me: why’d you make this thing?”

There was a noise from the hall, and a voice called out, “Alice? How fair thee?”

“More than fair, father!” she shouted back and scrambled for the door, closing it and turning back to the girls, “He can’t know you’re here.”

Lorelei could sense Britney’s annoyance, and stopped her before she could start, “Alice? That’s your name? What’s this ceremony?”

Alice’s eyes pulled away from the two as her shoulders fell. She took a deep breath and crossed the room to her bed, “I’m to be inducted into the order and begin training. I’ve agreed, but in truth, I’m not sure. I want to see the world, to meet new people and hear about their adventures, not be trapped in this dark little house for the rest of my life looking after some rock.”

“Rock?” Lorelei whispered, placing a finger over her lips.

“But I understand I have a duty to my family. This is what my mother would have wanted, I’m sure of it.”

“Well, that settles that,” Britney threw her hands up, “Now why’d you make a Hephastian mirror?”

“What?” the girl cocked her head, “Oh, yes, well, I would like to know what happens to this place in the future. Is it worth staying here, devoting my life to this place? Giving up my dream?”

Lorelei looked on the girl as she gently sat on the edge of her bed, her face downcast, her hands placed gently in her lap, cradling the apple. Her concerns were much too big for her tiny frame.

“Okay, great, well, everything in the future is amazing,” Britney rolled her eyes, “Space travel, Wi-Fi, green smoothies.” Alice’s face twisted in bewilderment. “And the manor is doing great, guests out the wazoo. Now, where’s the other one?”

“Other what?”

Britney took a breath, appearing to be at least trying to restrain herself, “Mirror. To send us back?”

The girl looked between the two of them, her eyes glazing over. She lifted the apple to her mouth, took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. “I didn’t think of that.”

Lorelei felt her stomach flip, “You only made one?”

“Well, it took eight months!” At Alice’s words, Britney looked like she might have a coronary, so upset no words came when she opened her mouth–a first. Alice seemed to be able to sense that, “I think I can shave some time off,” her voice cracked, “I can probably get it down to four.”

“Unacceptable,” for once Lorelei was keen on Britney’s no-nonsense attitude, “We’ll finish in time for your ceremony or whatever. Between the two of us it shouldn’t be difficult.”

Alice’s eyes were bouncing back and forth between the two, “Well, the part that took the longest was gathering the ingredients. I needed a feather from a thunderbird.”

“Whatever, she can do that,” Britney gestured to Lorelei who did not like the sound of the plan at all, “In the meantime, we’ll check in as guests.”

“Guests?”

“Here. Of the manor.”

Alice tipped her head to the side, “This is my home. Tis but me, my father, and grandmother living here.”

“You mean this place isn’t a hotel?”

She looked like she didn’t know the word. Lorelei groaned: of course she didn’t.

“Do you ever put up traveling witches?”

She shook her head.

Britney glanced at Lorelei and sighed, “Time to start a tradition.”

 

Table of Contents | Next Installment – 11/12/18

Advertisements

Blogoween Day 32? A Wrap Up

Well that kinda went to pot at the end, didn’t it?

Happy Post-Halloween Depression, everybody!

I hope whatever you did to make yesterday special was awesome. I got up at about 4:30am so that I could do Husband’s makeup for work. I think it was worth it:

IMG_20181031_054705639

He was a corporate demon with Terms of Service contracts and business cards for Beel Z. Bub. He also had a briefcase that, when opened, lit up with a red light and he played a crackling hellscape on his phone in his pocket throughout the day. If only we could have got smoke to come off him.

IMG_20181031_054555943

Once he got home he changed into something more casual, just your average demon dad:

IMG_20181031_165109720

You’ll notice in these shots our house is still messy as fuck. We’ll never be done unpacking.

I was a witch, which is pretty much the same as the other 364 days of the year, I just showed it on the outside:

IMG_20181031_165048126

I did like a galaxy thing on my face because that never fell out of style with me, but I didn’t get a good picture of it til a lot of it wore off at the end of the night. My eyes are still rimmed in black today because I wear makeup so infrequently, that I have no makeup remover:

IMG_20181031_211148953

I wanted a cute picture with Rutherford, but he was a vampire for Halloween:

IMG_20181031_210928539

So now the season is over, and what did I learn from Blogoween? Don’t try and do it while you move! Seriously, though, it was a lot of fun, I think I pooped out at least a couple good posts, and I can carry this momentum on into NaNo for sure! Which starts…RIGHT NOW!

I’ll be tracking just like during Camp NaNo and hopefully get out ahead of myself these first couple days since November promises to be quite busy. Good luck to all you writers, out there!

Podcast: Vacancy 1.18 – Something That Was Stolen

Episode 1.18 – Something That Was Stolen

Vacancy is an ongoing web serial. Find out more about it and start reading or listening here.

Vacancy’s Theme is “Planet Bullspit” by Corey Major

Vacancy Episode 1.18 uses these sounds from freesound, all of which have been remixed. The inclusion of any sound does not indicate endorsement of this completed work or its author:

Blogoween Day 16 – True Terror Tuesday: Growing Up

blogoween ttt

That’s it. Growing up. It’s fucking scary. End of blog.

Just kidding, I am way more long winded than that.

Did you ever play “light as a feather, still as a board” growing up? In case you’re unfamiliar, the game goes something like this:

One friend lies on the ground, arms crossed over her chest like a corpse. The rest of the friends encircle her, kneeling or sitting, and slide their middle and pointer fingers under her body (coincidentally, the Ouija planchette fingers). Sometimes, if not every time, one of the sitting friends tells a story about how the subject “died” or gives a little eulogy, and then the friends in the circle chant: “Light as a feather, stiff as a board” over and over until they are able to lift the “dead” friend off the floor.

Does it work? In my memory, abso-fucking-lutely. And you don’t question it as a kid because duh, magic is real, and all the grown ups are just keeping it from you! Or they don’t believe anymore so they can’t experience it (like Santa). But it’s right there, in your bedroom, levitation by the power of four ten-year-olds chanting a phrase that one of them learned from their big sister.

So it’s most likely that, as a group, we picked one another up, and were so caught up in the game, it felt real, and after a couple decades our memories are just fuzzy enough to let us question what happened in the wee hours of a weekend morning long ago, but there is a part of me that wants to believe there is some kind of magic going on. And there’s a bigger part of me that wishes I still had the capacity that ten year old me had to anticipate certain outcomes.

I was thinking about this game and others like it and the willingness of my childhood friends (and myself) to engage in such things. Similarly we played Bloody Mary and Candyman (whose name to this day makes me nervous) which always evoked a quick exit from the bathroom and have made me forever nervous of mirrors in dark rooms. Less “dangerous” were fortune-telling games with folded paper and asking ouija boards who you might marry when you grow up (to be clear: I do not believe ouija boards are inherently evil, Hasbro is not mass-producing portals to hell, ya’ll). There were other, let’s call them rituals that bordered on the occult like “crack an egg on your head” or guessing what words someone was tracing on your back, and even the act of braiding the hair of your friend who sat in front of you in class, now looking back on it, was almost like witchcraft, the physical embodiment of saying “this is a member of my coven.”

I wanted to find the origin of light as a feather since it seems such a shared experience, but unlike games with poems or songs like Red Rover or Ring Around The Rosie, it is often done in secret, at night, rarely spoken of outside the slumber party, and unobserved. How did it get handed down and for how long has it existed? Surely it was imagined in the last hundred or so years, maybe popularized by some movie in the seventies, and it will die off in the next few generations in favor of all the 3am games popping up all over the internet. I was surprised, however, to find the diary Samuel Pepys, a British civil servant, who wrote the following in his diary on July 31, 1665:

This evening with Mr. Brisband, speaking of enchantments and spells; I telling him some of my charms; he told me this of his owne knowledge, at Bourdeaux, in France. The words these:

Voyci un Corps mort,
Royde come un Baston,
Froid comme Marbre,
Leger come un esprit,
Levons to au nom de Jesus Christ.

He saw four little girles, very young ones, all kneeling, each of them, upon one knee; and one begun the first line, whispering in the eare of the next, and the second to the third, and the third to the fourth, and she to the first. Then the first begun the second line, and so round quite through, and, putting each one finger only to a boy that lay flat upon his back on the ground, as if he was dead; at the end of the words, they did with their four fingers raise this boy as high as they could reach, and he [Mr. Brisband] being there, and wondering at it, as also being afeard to see it, for they would have had him to have bore a part in saying the words, in the roome of one of the little girles that was so young that they could hardly make her learn to repeat the words, did, for feare there might be some sleight used in it by the boy, or that the boy might be light, call the cook of the house, a very lusty fellow, as Sir G. Carteret’s cook, who is very big, and they did raise him in just the same manner.

This is one of the strangest things I ever heard, but he tells it me of his owne knowledge, and I do heartily believe it to be true. I enquired of him whether they were Protestant or Catholique girles; and he told me they were Protestant, which made it the more strange to me.

So I came to the conclusion that all little girls are born witches, and somewhere along the way we lose that. And that’s the true terror of this Tuesday.

Blogoween Day 13 – Spooky NaNo Prep

blogoween

I don’t think there’s anything particularly spooky about National Novel Writing Month except maybe the bone-crushing fear of taking on such a terrifying task or the horror of putting yourself through a grueling 30 days of writing to reach 50k words. But unless you’re writing horror, or a thriller, or darker paranormal stuff, or real-life scary things, or, well, you get the picture, you’re probably not going to immerse yourself in spookiness for NaNo.

Still, we should discuss since it’s lurking just beyond the horizon of Halloween, aaaaand I need a topic for today.

I’ve written a few (well, more than a few actually) blogs about NaNo in the past:

If you don’t have time for all those, well, I don’t blame you, Dear Reader, but the gist of everything is this: I’ve never hit 50k words during actual NaNoWriMo, but I sure blog a lot about planning to! November 2017 I did manage 30k, and then last July I completed Camp NaNo, and I actually got 50k words done in 31 days! So I have a lot of confidence for this month coming up, and I’ve identified the tools I need to do it.

I hit a slump in August and September, just after wowing myself with 50k words for the first time, but surprisingly it wasn’t because I wore myself out. On the contrary, I was actually more pumped about writing in July and just after than I have been in years–I felt the invincibility that only teenagers in fast cars feel–it’s just that the rest of life got in the way. So near the end of September I formulated a plan:

  • October: Blogoween and catching up with Vacancy
  • November: National Novel Writing Month with a completely new project
  • December: Edit She’s All Thaumaturgy (working title, 2018 Camp NaNo project)

October is meant to be prep month for NaNo-ers, Preptober, I think? So to warm up my creative juices, I decided to blog every day. Sticking to a daily writing/creative task is good practice regardless of if you’re working toward something, honestly, and for me it’s been a way to sort of clear out the cobwebs (ooh, I see we are getting a bit spoopy, huh?)

And of course the other point of Preptober is planning your novel. I’ve learned that I am absolutely not a pantser like I believed for so many years (it was a bit like finding out I was a Hufflepuff and not a Ravenclaw like I thought for so long), but I’ve been torn the last couple weeks on which plot to pick: I have two projects that could neatly fit themselves into the month 1) The Last House on Magic Lane and 2) This One’s Embarrassingly About Vampires and Werewolves. (Neither of these are even working titles, they’re just what I’m calling them for this post, but there is a part of me that kind of wants to be the author who titles her books these things.)

Last House is something I came up with quite a while ago–it’s another story about a charmed place, as I am so wont to do, and has a complex history and soap opera feel to it. In fact, I originally conceived of it as another serial that I wanted to be a long and complex parody of a soap opera, told from many viewpoints spanning a few generations, but I’ve since scaled it back to a one-off. The story does lend itself, though, to a possible trilogy, and might be better served that way, so it may not be the best contender for NaNo. Right now, this book is a collection of scenes and an overall mythology, but a lot of the motives and characters are not neatly defined.

Embarrassing is kind of the total opposite: it’s a much newer idea, the plot is reliant on a much smaller cast moving from pace to place, and it’s absolutely a one-off. The other pro to Embarrassing is that I have the plot and characters almost entirely mapped out; Last House would require significantly more work to get it to the same place. So the choice seems easy, right? Except it’s not because Embarrassing is exactly that: EMBARRASSING. Well, okay, not really, but it falls squarely into young adult paranormal romance territory (I mean, I have it saved in a folder called “Wattpad” on my Google Drive, for goodness sake!), and my fear is that I’ll fall into all the easiest tropes and cheesiest writing if I go with this story. But maybe that’s who I am and I should embrace it? It’s just a first draft, after all, and I can trash it if I want, but I’d really like this to be something I can come back to in a few months (like I will be doing in December) and rework into something publishable.

Then again, maybe Embarrassing, like Blogoween, is exactly what I need right now. Maybe I need to purge these ideas and words from my system. And maybe it will end up being great after all?

I should probably not rush Last House. With only 18 days to go in October (and a LOT of crazy life stuff happening in that short time) I don’t know that I could even successfully plot out where I would want the story to go over the course of a single novel anyway, and I’d ultimately probably feel like I was cheating myself and the story if I cut out all the grandiose plans I had for it. So, I guess that settles it? This One Is Embarrassingly About Vampires and Werewolves it is? Have I talked myself into it?

Well, I guess so. Now to finish fleshing out the plot, and crossing all my appendages that I can shit out enough words in November to make it count!

Blogoween Day 10 – Witchcrafting Wednesday: Twilight Graveyard

blogoween

Happy Witchcrafting Wednesday! As a hurricane makes landfall just south of us and as I pack up all of our belongings to prepare for our big move (which I’m not sure I’ve talked about here or not yet, so surprise!) I managed to bang out another video. I have very few craft supplies at my dispense, so I grabbed one of the few things not yet packed away and came up with an alternative.

Please enjoy what isn’t actually crafting but my commentary on the first half of the 2008 masterpiece, Twilight.

Vacancy – 1.24 – Telling Lies

Vacancy is an ongoing web serial. Find out more about it and start reading here.

v 1.24

Conrad came around the desk, his steps fast and loud on the hardwoods, “Lorelei, meet my brother.”

So, this man, matching Conrad in so many ways, even in how he leaned against the door to their father’s study, was in fact his brother. But that was impossible, wasn’t it? “So there are ghosts here?” Lorelei felt stuck to the spot though she wanted to step back and away from the stranger, her stomach instantly in knots.

“Oh, no,” the man smiled slowly from the side of his mouth, “I’m very much alive.” Even in the darkness she could make out how they shared the same chin, and had this man’s been unbroken, the same nose, but the feeling swimming in her gut when she looked at Conrad’s brother did not bring about the same comforting familiarity as when she looked on Conrad himself. No, this feeling was one of dread.

Lorelei dropped her voice low, turning slightly over her shoulder though she was afraid to take her eyes off him, “But you said he died.”

The man chuckled, “Telling lies about me again?”

“To be fair, I haven’t seen him in years, so he may as well have been dead,” Conrad’s voice had gone cold and unfamiliar, and mixed with the grin his brother wore sent a chill down Lorelei’s spine, “but I’m pretty sure I was just vague enough to leave it open to interpretation.”

“I’m Byron,” the man extended a hand, pushing himself off the doorway, but Conrad cut him off with a few aggressive steps forward. “Oh, a little touchy, I see,” he glanced down at his own hand then dropped it, “or not.”

“What are you doing here?” Conrad’s voice dropped to a low rumble.

Byron pouted, “The prodigal son can’t come home?”

“This isn’t your home anymore.”

“From the looks of it, it’s not yours either,” he shrugged, pacing around the edge of the study. Conrad moved with him, placing himself between Lorelei and his brother. “Figured by now you’d be all settled in, married to that Blackburn girl,” he raised an eyebrow at Lorelei, “That doesn’t look like her though. Apple doesn’t fall far, eh?”

“Don’t,” Conrad growled then took a breath, “Don’t talk like you know me. Now tell me why you’re here.”

“Well, probably the same reason as you, but it looks like we’re both out of luck.” Byron kicked at some of the papers on the floor then turned, “Unless you already have it?”

Conrad stared at him, steely, and Lorelei said nothing. They, of course, had no idea what they were even looking for.

“You’d share wouldn’t you?” Byron took another step toward him, “Like when we were kids?”

Conrad grit his teeth, “There’s nothing here for either of us.”

“No? Well, that doesn’t mean we can’t catch up,” Byron shrugged, “Maybe play a little game? Remember when you used to be playing with something, and I wanted it?”

Conrad reached back and grabbed Lorelei, his fingers digging into her wrist, and he pulled her so that she was behind him. She suspected she should have felt safer, but absolutely did not.

“Remember how I used to just take it?”

“Yeah, you were a jerk then, and I can only imagine you haven’t grown out of it.”

“I wasn’t a very good brother,” he laughed, “Kind of stupid too because I never really wanted what you had, I just didn’t want you to have it.”

Byron raised his hand and with a flash the room lit up. Conrad’s grip around Lorelei’s wrist was gone as he fell to his knees before her, but before she could react, something struck her core, searing through her body. She too wanted to fall into a ball on the ground, but found herself paralyzed, unable to even draw a breath.

Byron took an easy step over Conrad’s body as he groaned on the floor. “It’s cute you thought I wouldn’t attack you.” He got behind Lorelei and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, holding her up against him and pulling her backward toward the door. She wanted to pull away, but couldn’t move.

Conrad rolled onto his knees and staggered to his feet, “What the hell, Byron?”

“Just tell me where the damn deed is.” Byron’s breath was hot on Lorelei’s ear, and it sounded as though he were trying to hide how fatigued he’d suddenly become.

Conrad was coughing, fighting to stand straight, “Deed?”

“To the manor,” Byron shook Lorelei for emphasis, and she began to feel a tingling in her limbs and managed to catch her breath. “Where is it?”

Shaking his head, Conrad focused on them, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and she’s got no idea either, so just let her go.”

“Make me!” She could hear a smile in Byron’s voice. He was enjoying this. “Come on, Conrad, I know you’re better than this.” Lorelei felt her own weight then, as the feeling fully returned in her legs and arms.

With a grunt, Conrad pulled a sachet from his bag.

“One of your little potions? You still do that?” Disappointment dripped from his words, “Come on now, if you refuse to try I’m just going to kill her.”

Lorelei grabbed onto the arm Byron had around her shoulders and pulled down. Catching him off guard and apparently weakened, she managed to spin around in his grasp and wrench her knee upward until it connected with his gut. He coughed, doubling over and releasing her.

The moment she was free of him, Conrad stumbled forward with a fist balled around the sachet and struck his jaw. Byron’s body lifted from the ground and sailed out through the doorway, crashing loudly on the landing. Conrad glanced at his fist, raising his eyebrows in momentary surprise as the sachet melted away, then staggered out the door.

Lorelei heard them on the landing, a shout, and smash, something–possibly human–breaking, but her own senses were dulled and her limbs shaking with either injury or fear, she didn’t know. She blinked about the room for the flashlight, having lost it when she was struck by, what exactly? Had that been magic? Honest to goodness witchcraft? Shaking her head, she ran to the doorway: the pale light streaming in from the window on the landing would surely be all she needed to glimpse the ensuring battle.

The boys were wrestling. She couldn’t tell who had the upper hand as they rolled into the wall and knocked a portrait to the floor. Conrad threw another punch and it was dodged, then Byron caught him in the face with his own elbow, but it had looked to be accidental. Neither seemed to be doing much damage so close to one another, and with Byron’s threat of murder long forgotten, Lorelei sighed to herself, “This is disappointing.”

Perhaps louder than she meant, her words froze them, and they both glanced back at her. “Uh,” she swallowed, “I mean, you’re witches–sorry, warlocks–I just didn’t expect…whatever this is.”

The two then locked eyes with one another, each grimaced as if they realized it at the same moment, and the room lit up with a brilliant green flash and a deafening crack. Lorelei felt the light like a wave as it passed through her, and she grabbed the doorway to stay on her feet, and when it went out, the two stood on opposite sides of the landing.

The portrait they had knocked down flew up from the floor unaided toward Conrad, and he raised an arm just before it crashed into him. Byron grunted, annoyed, flicking his hand in front of his face, and the finial from atop the stair’s railing was sent toward Conrad’s head. This time, Conrad threw his hand out and redirected the finial so that it took a turn and fell down the shaft, bouncing off the landing with a crack on the stories below.

Again, Byron made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat and swept his arm in front of himself. A chair slid out from against the wall, and Conrad used both arms to send it away, toward Byron, where it stopped at his feet.

“Deflect, deflect, deflect!” Byron started flipping both of his hands into the air from which cracks of toxically green bolts were flinging, “How am I supposed to know who’s better if you don’t do something?”

“You’re insane.” The hissing green strikes died out just at the edge of where Conrad held his hands. He’d taken a wide stance and dipped his head low.

“No, our father was. Insane for leaving everything to you without testing your mettle.”

“Arista manages the manor,” Conrad continued to deflect the sparks, “I didn’t even know there was a deed until right now.”

“Regardless,” Byron’s smile had permanently changed to a tight, angry line, “it was meant to go to you. Father told me the deed was hidden somewhere I would never think to look for it, suggesting it was somewhere you would.”

Conrad threw his hands wide and knocked Byron back, “I have no idea, and frankly, I don’t care.”

His brother hit the wall beside where Lorelei stood and blinked. The house fell quiet, the rain echoing outside.

“Fine, a little encouragement should do the trick.” In a swift movement, Byron swam his hand in front of his face and alighted a piece of wood, splintered in their earlier scuffle, to sail through the air toward Lorelei. She gasped, the wind off of it flying past her face, but the sliver stopped just at her throat.

Conrad’s eyes went wide from across the landing. When she attempted to duck away, the spear moved with her, and Lorelei quickly stood again, holding herself as still as possible. Perhaps Byron had been sincere when suggesting he’d kill her.

“Somewhere you’d never think to look,” Conrad was glancing out the window, his voice different now, lighter, detached, “That’s what he said, huh?”

A brilliant flash of lightning followed by a crash of thunder shook the house. In its wake, the lawn behind the house was lit, revealing a massive hedge garden. Conrad turned back to his brother, “Have you been to see mom and dad?”

 

Table of Contents | Next Installment

 

Hey, are you enjoying Vacancy? If so, and if you want other people to know about it, consider reviewing it over at the Web Fiction Guide or at Muse’s Success, and while you’re there, look around for other serials you might like!