Sunday Treats

Pic of the Day


Not a song, but a whole Disney Cartoon!


No excerpt today. But if you right click here: http://www.brooksandsparrow.com/AintNoEasyRun.pdf
you can download an old Torquere Single Shot called "Ain't No Easy Run," about a trucker on a literal hellrun.

A fine October Weekend

There will be a new story to download tomorrow!

Pic:


Creepy Song of the Day:


"Nothing she said, not even a note...she's gone with the man in the long coat."



Paranormal Excerpt of the Day:
This is from "Five Time Loser: The Five of Pentacles" in Into Dark Waters
Not Work Safe


















“I'm working on some time off. Not guaranteeing I'll get it on a weekend, though.”

“That's all right. I don't work.”

“I'll call you as soon as I get word. They've been running me hard lately.”

Pelton's smile carried over the line. “Ah, that way you have lots of money.” Tom knew he was teasing again. “You can take me out... Daddy.” He'd taken to tormenting Tom with that one since the evening Tom had greeted him with a cheerful “Who's your daddy?”

“Oh, yeah, I'll treat you to whatever you like.”

“Including a nice deep fuck?”

“Now that comes free.”

“I'd do it even without an outing, you know. Because you have the best looking cock I've seen.”

Tom groaned at this. Since he'd sent the pictures of his hard-on, Pelton never failed to mention how gorgeous it was. That always turned him on like a radio. “It's better in person. Fuck first, then outing.” He had his cock in hand again and wasn't sure when he'd laid hold. Pelton's voice was like a drug, making his head spin and his balls tight.

“I can't wait. You still rubbing? Going to come for me, or after I leave?”

“Almost there right now. Keep talking, pretty.”

“Wish I was there to do the rubbing, and to catch it when you did shoot.” Pelton made a soft slurp and Tom cried out, coming just from the thought of his spunk all over that pretty face and pouty mouth. Pelton purred. “Oh, yeah, bet you taste good. I love the taste. I'd lick you all clean.” Tom lay quietly and listed to Pelton's soft gasp. “I'd let you return the fa--favor--ah!”

Tom moaned quietly, imagining what Pelton must look like coming. “Damn...” he breathed.

There was silence on the line for a few moments. “Wow.” Pelton sounded far too perky. “I feel so much better.”

“Yeah. You and me both.” Tom yawned, the day's work and evening's pleasures having exhausted him.

“All right then. I'll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Night, sweet.” Tom closed the phone, hanging up. He wanted to roll over and go straight to sleep. But he really needed to check in. He did the time conversion and figured Marybeth would still be awake.

She sounded half-asleep herself when she picked up. “Hi, Tom.”

“Hello, Sunshine.” He knew he sounded no better.

“You driving safe, sweetie? Hope you're shut down as wiped out as you sound.”

“Always. You know me. Just about ready to kip, and thought I should call my girl.”

“I know. My two-million mile man. How's the weather where you are? Icy? I saw the warnings.”

“Nah, it's warming up. No ice around here, just miles of wet pavement.” That was the truth. His outside temperature gauge read forty, well above freezing.

“When you gonna be home? I miss you.”

“That's why I called, babe. It's gonna be a couple days. They're keeping me busy.” He heard what sounded like a snore in the background and the sound of the bedsprings creaking. Marybeth was petite, and still thin. She didn't snore and springs never creaked under her weight. She wasn't missing him as much as she claimed, he suspected.

“All right. I'll see you when you get here. I'll make you something nice.”

The urge to call her on her overnight visitor faded fast. Tom acted as if he hadn't heard the man in the background at all. “Looking forward to that. Haven't had a piece of my baby's pie yet this month. Night, sweet.”

“Love you. Bye-bye,” she chirped.

He hung up, feeling strangely relieved over the presence of another in her bed. It hit him that he really didn't mind. Ten years ago he'd have turned the rig around and screamed for Toledo to beat the crap out of the interloper. Now he was just pleased she wasn't sleeping alone in cold weather.

***

Pelton closed the phone and walked into his chapel. He made shocking obeisance before the altar and then chanted, stroking himself. Five times he orgasmed into the fire, the last wrenched from him with a groan of agony.

“Father Asmodeus, Lord of Lust, hear my prayer and deliver me my desire,” he prayed.

Slowly, deliberately, with no extraneous movements, he reached out his left hand and knocked the semi-trailer off of the model rig.

Help create the Future of Farming

My friend Alex is helping create the future of farming.

In his own words:

"I’m trying to build a farm that will have a long-lasting impact on the lives of people in this region. We need more fresh, organic vegetables in this area. We need more sustainable agricultural practices. That’s not political either. It’s just a fact. Weather patterns are changing. During the grow season, we have extended periods of drought followed by intense storms. That’s not conducive to efficient farming. The future will have to be focused on developing indoor growing environments that are year round and efficient. I’m not even going to get into the effects of rising fuel prices on traditional farming, but our current model isn’t financially sustainable long-term."

Alex is a school teacher and writer of high fantasy. As such, he needs all the help he can get. Even a buck or two helps.

More October goodness

Pic of the Day



Vid of the day



Excerpt of the day:
This is from "Tuition Fees" available in Into Dark Waters (also available for Kindle)

“Dear little one, show me what you've drawn today." Morgenstern was sitting quietly before the fireplace, a glass of brandy in his hand after Chris finished with his painting and cleaned his brushes. Chris had noticed, weeks ago, that Morgenstern never called him by his name.

He had another landscape done: the crags around the schloss, with Okeleke’s just-blooming roses making a splash of color like fresh blood against the bare and jagged rocks.

“Dear little Goth boy, turning all you see into bleakness and despair." Morgenstern smiled his approval. “How is your painting coming?”

“Acrylics are still going better than oil.”

“Splendid. Do keep at it. Have you tried any human figures lately?”

Chris dug through his work and handed over several sheets, most pencil-work, but one small oil canvas. He watched Morgenstern look them over and nibbled the end of a brush in anxiety.

Morgenstern smiled as he looked at them. There was Marcelo at prayer, his fingers working his rosary. The style of the picture led him to expect a hair shirt or some Inquisition victims in evidence. Here was Li with his test-tubes, looking like a mad scientist under Chris’s skills. Okeleke dug in his garden, but looked more as if he was burying a body than planting the flowers beside him in the wheelbarrow. Morgenstern caught himself looking for a skeletal hand under the peonies. The oil was of Nick, stretched naked on the bed, apparently working on his PDA. The angle of the viewer was from the floor looking up, as if Nick had casually tossed them out of bed, assuming the proper place for a used sex slave was on the floor.

“You have an eye for the morbid, my little artist. It is fashionable now." He tapped Nick’s painting. “Your roommate. It is an unusual angle." Morgenstern looked Chris up and down until he shivered under the appraising eyes. “Has he had you yet?”

Chris swallowed hard. “Had, sir?”

Morgenstern leaned in close, too close. His voice purred seductively, “Has he fucked you yet?”

Chris shivered, from the breath on his ear, the crudity or simply the Professor’s closeness he couldn’t say. “No.”

Morgenstern smiled. “Very good. If you are willing, after dinner, we will have an oil tutoring session. You will not return to your room as virginal as when you left it.”

Chris blinked a few times, stunned by the suddenness of the proposition.

“Problem, little artist?”

Chris smiled. “No, sir." He glanced at the Professor’s package quite obviously before he caught himself.

Morgenstern saw this and smiled. “I will not hurt you, child.”

“I didn't think so." Chris gathered up his materials, seeing time was nearly over.

“Are you willing?" At Chris’s nod, he smiled more broadly. “Very good. I do not force anyone." He watched as Chris made for the door. “And do keep drawing. You have an eye for the shadows." He crooked a finger.

“Thank you, I-” the words died on Chris’s lips as he saw the beckoning. His stomach fluttered when he stepped close to the red velvet sofa.

Morgenstern’s kiss was light, gentle. Chris closed his eyes and sighed into it. When he opened them again, Morgenstern was at the door, opening it. Confusion wrote itself large on Chris’s features and he picked up the portfolio he’d dropped.

“After dinner then,” he managed.

“Indeed." Professor Morgenstern vanished out the door.

Zombie Day

Pic of the Day




Vid of the Day


From "Meanwhile Back at the Ranch," in Adventuresses

I yanked the paint’s mane as we came close to the paddock. He slowed and stopped. I saw the problem right away.

 We’d been hearing weird tales outta Louisiana for a long time now, about slave-holders who couldn’t give up free labor after the War and had just killed all their slaves and had voodoo men bring them back. Hadn’t thought much of the stories and never quite believed them.

 But I’d seen drawings in the newspapers and in the penny-dreadfuls that Jack and Billy liked to read. I knew what the slow-moving thing was. It used to be a man; now it was a zombie. It sorta dragged itself along, like a bear with a broken leg. The skin was nasty rotten gray except where there was blood on it. In a couple places, the flesh was gone completely and bone showed through.

 It was headed to the barn. I felt kinda bad for the man who'd been in that shell. He'd been an Indian by the look of the thing's long black hair. I shot him in the chest and he never even stopped. He just kept coming. I saw him closer than I wanted to. Oh, this was bad. I gave him the other barrel between the eyes.

 I reloaded and took aim at the other big ugly critter that was eating one of my sheep. That one had been a Negro. Amanda and the big girls had the sense to hole up in the barn and bolt the door. I blew that dead gray head right off. The body toppled over.

 A third shambled out of the shadows and I saw the half-eaten carcass of Sorrel, Amanda’s gelding. I blew that zombie’s head off too.

 Eli made it back about then, carrying the one fool thing my husband had built that worked. He drew back the pump and fired a ball of burning kerosene onto the stinking corpses.

 “Eli, you make sure that fire doesn’t spread.”

 “Right, Ma Cat.” He tried to keep my boys away from it. At sixteen, Eli fancied himself the man of the house. He knew better than to sass me though, since I could still dust his britches and outshoot him.

 I went to check on Amanda and the girls. They were fine. Sweating some, but fine. Amanda had armed them with chunks of wood and grabbed the pitchfork for herself. “Why were you out without your Remington anyway, Amanda?” I asked.

 “It’s jamming,” she said. “I cleaned it good, but Eli insisted on working on it,” she mumbled, looking at the ground.

 I rolled my eyes. By the time Eli got done, the gun would either be unusable or it’d spit fire along with the bullets. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the boy was my Luke’s son. “They got Sorrel. I’m sorry.”

 Melissa and Hannah sniffled at that, but there wasn’t anything to be done. After Eli had burned the bodies, I got him and my boys to haul Sorrel and the dead sheep well away from the barn and burn them too, so the coyotes and buzzards wouldn’t come to the carrion. I wasn't gonna let my people eat after those things. I didn't know how that zombie thing could be caught and I wasn't taking any chances on my folk or the local critters getting it.

We didn't talk at dinner. The boys didn't go on about the stock and the fields. Hannah wasn't all agog at an airship she'd seen passing over. The table was quiet as a graveyard, except for somebody's spoon making the occasional noise. All of us were too upset to eat much. I expected there'd be nightmares tonight, too.

Wanna do bad things with you

Pic of the Day


Vid of the Day



Excerpt of the day
From "Hot Load" available for a limited time in Howl At The Mistletoe

I stared at the dispatch a little more, then got out my atlas and started trip-planning during the last hour of my break before I left the terminal. Once I did get on the road, I followed the directions very carefully. I did not want to get lost in the wilds of the Arkansas-Louisiana border. Bobtails are easier to turn than a full rig, but still. I turned off the main state highway onto a numbered county road. My directions said it was fine.

It hadn't been used in a long time. The yellow stripe was faded to near invisibility and the grass grew over the broken edges of the road. No houses, no farms, nothing but trees and meadows lined the road. Every now and then, a bridge would take me over a broad cypress swamp. I could smell the murky, stagnant water even over the air conditioning and the Spanish moss hung nearly to the eerie knees that poked through the scummy water. One patch of swamp was so thick and dense, and ran so long, that it was dark before I got out.

I was almost out of hours when I saw the lights of the Nesperanza truck stop. I parked my bobtail next to five others and went inside. The other drivers were sitting at the counter, and I gave the tired-looking waitress my order.

I was halfway into my chicken-fried steak when a sharp-faced little man came in. “All right, drivers, I have your bills and trailer assignments. And your routing. Fill the new guy in on the rules. Since you're all out of hours, the clock resets at seven a.m.” He handed out the paperwork and left without another word. I finished my supper and glanced at the bills.

The guys stared at me, then introduced themselves. I listened as they explained the rules: no fraternizing with the cargo, no detours, no leaving the cab at the dock. I was in way over my head. The best way to cope would be after a good night's sleep. I left a tip and went to my sleeper. It seemed to be some sort of signal, because everyone headed for bed.

At six o'clock, I sat in the truck stop drinking stale coffee and listening to the guys bitch about the run. They knew what we were doing. Every one of them had taken this job of his own free will. But it's a truism that when two or more truckers are together, they're talking about one of three things: women, their lousy job or how fast their rig goes...or doesn't go.

We were all loaded up, except me. I had one more item on the manifest before I could hook the trailer.

“Got you loaded heavy today,” Cody said glancing over my bills.

“Yeah. I guess that's what happens when they give you the sodomites.” I flinched inwardly as I read the hateful word. “Lot more of them around these days. Two hundred fifty-one, but it says capacity is two-fifty. The extra can ride in the cab. Be nice to have company.”

The other guys laughed and headed to their trucks. I was getting up, when I saw the kid standing by the rear of my trailer. Mister Two-fifty-one, I expected. I went out and did a walk around.

He sure was cute, all blond hair and big gray eyes. He couldn't have been more than twenty-two, and wearing a t-shirt with a cartoon medieval foot pad and the words “Thieves slip in and out unnoticed.” His tan jeans hugged his body and the leather sandals were the final hippie touch. I wanted to kiss him, just to see if his lips were as soft as they looked. I grinned at the irony instead. Someday, I was going to be in the trailer of this rig myself, I suspected.

“You get special accommodations,” I said to him. “The passenger seat.”

He smiled. “Better than the trailer with the rest of the damned. I thought it was supposed to be a train.”

I shrugged. “Trains went out years ago. I guess rail rates affect everyone.” I paid my tab and stood up to go.

He sighed. “Yeah, so now they get packed into cattle cars and hauled to Hell behind Freightliners.”

There it lay, the ugly truth of the run. We couldn't escape the fact I was taking him down to Hell.

“Get in,” I said, and climbed up myself.

October Carnivals are best avoided

Pic of the Day:

Vid of the Day:

 

Excerpt of the day

From Alive on the Inside

The Phantasmagoria by twilight felt different than it had by day. It had been creepy by day. Now it felt downright sinister. Cyn laughed at herself. Just virgin jitters. She didn’t plan on going
home a virgin. In the back of her mind, a small voice asked if she really planned to go home at all.

Maybe, it suggested, you could get a job with the carnival. They could use a tall, pretty girl either in the hoochie show or selling candy. Cyn dismissed the thought. She had her life planned.

She’d already sent her college applications. She was going to breeze through her senior year, graduate with honors, spend most of the summer with her dad and get the hell out of Peculiar. Then it was just a matter of how far and fast she wanted to go. Traveling carnivals, no matter how appealing, didn’t figure into her future.

She coasted down YY by the duplexes. She and her mom had lived on Shari Lane for a while, before Lee. The Phantasmagoria gleamed topaz and ruby ahead. She parked her bike, locking it to the rack near the gate, ignoring her better judgment which told her to keep on riding, spend the night at her grandparents’ house and call Mom when she got there.

For a brief instant, the lights all went out. The soft breeze stirred the flaps of canvas and whistled among the metal skeletons of the stopped rides. No people moved in the dead stillness. She looked down the Midway and saw only empty booths and rides. She shivered, remembering the way Fairyland had been so dead on her last visit right before the amusement park had closed. She shut her eyes at the sight of a skeleton propped against the side of a booth, still dressed in a ragged striped shirt and crumbling straw boater.

When she opened them, she saw the lights had come back up and she wondered how she could have missed the throng. The skeleton was the cute duck pickup guy, who flirted shamelessly with Suzie. Atop the Ferris wheel, Debbie and Michelle screamed in their high, squeaky cheerleader voices to start it back up. People she knew roamed everywhere, shooting at targets, picking up ducks, spinning around on the rides, and lined up for attractions. At least now she had an alibi.

She hurried over and joined Suzie at the booth, putting the thought of the man’s bright blue eyes burning from empty sockets in a bare skull out of her mind. “Hiya,” she said. “Look, Suzie, I’m out illegal-like. I left a note saying I was staying at your place. Can you cover for me?”

They headed to the snow cone stand. Suzie pumped her with questions and Cyn gave evasive answers.

“It’s a guy, isn’t it? One you don’t want the folks to know about.” Suzie smiled and gave her a wink. “Your secret is safe with me. Just come on over after you see him. We never lock the side door. You aren’t doing anything goofy like eloping, are you?”

Cyn laughed and squeezed Suzie around the waist. “Darling girl, why would I elope with a mere man, when you know you hold sole and only possession of my heart?” Suzie giggled and Cyn went on. “Hark, what dark in yonder window grows? It is the east and Suze the approaching night.”

“All right, all right already. Sheesh. Someone’s gonna snitch if you keep acting like that.”

Cyn nodded and let go of her. “The last thing I need is for Mom to find out I like girls, too.” She gave Suzie a wicked grin. “I have a free pass. You want to crash the adult show? I’ll go halvsies if you come along for immoral support.”

Suzie giggled. “I have the car. Sure.”

“I have to go by the piercing booth beforehand, though. Meet me at the tent when it’s time.” Cyn hurried off to see Torturo.

October goodies

Your pic of the day:


Vid of the day:


Excerpt of the day:
This is from FirstFruits which will be up all week for your free downloaing enjoyment.

There was no cake or pie or even cookies to offer her guest. She was out of tea, too. She couldn't remember the last time she'd shopped. Or eaten for that matter. She found a lone can of
soda in the back of the fridge and took it to the front room. “Can I off you a drink, Miss Oholah?”

The old woman shook her head. “Looks like you need it more, daughter. I came because you need something more.” She untied the bundle, spreading it over the sofa. “You need to grieve and continue instead of being stuck in your shock like a fat turtle in a garbage pail. That's why I'm here.”

Clarindy sat down on the other end of the sofa and looked into the bundle. Cloth, lots of cloth, most of it black or gray, lay in neatly folded smaller bundles. She didn't understand.

“We're going to make a graveyard quilt. It's an old mountain mourning custom, been out of fashion for a hundred and fifty years, but my family always made them. Seemed to help the womenfolk move along life's path. You got no mother or aunty or grandmother or sister to teach you and help you do this. So, get your sewing box and some paper, Clarindy, and we'll start this.”

“A quilt?” Clarindy's laugh shocked her with its bitter anger. “You think a quilt will help anything?”

“Tain't just a quilt, daughter. It's a record of your people. It's a way for you to feel the pain and let it go instead of cuddling it close in like it was a teddy bear. Pain is a bear, right enough, but it will eat your heart and your life and you as well, like a grizzly bear.”

Oholah took out an old-fashioned snapshot book. She offered it over. “These are graveyard quilts. Take a look. Think. Is there a pattern you wanted to make but never did?”

Clarindy looked at the pictures. All the quilts had a central square fenced off from the rest of the pattern and a path that ran to the border. Little black six-sided coffins bearing embroidered names and dates lay within the center and more coffins with names but no dates were tacked to the border of each quilt, all awaiting more deaths.

She shivered and handed the book back to Oholah. “That's morbid.”

“And you sitting here in the dark, not eating, waiting for children who aren't coming home from school ever again, ain't?” Oholah snapped, her famous temper peeking through. Clarindy just looked at her, blank and aching. “Well-a-day.” Oholah sorted the fabric into stacks by color and size of print. “We'll get you through this, Clarindy, just you watch.”

Sunday Treats

Sorry for the gap in coverage. Y'all know what went down.
But we're back on track.

And every Sunday, I'm giving away a paranormal in .pdf form. These will be older things, where the copyright has reverted to me.

 

 

This week, your treat is Firstfruits.
This is straight-up paranormal/horror, in the vein of Ray Bradbury.

You can read it online or right click and save as.

Clarindy Wishom's grief over her dead family is not abating, so old Oholibah Jenkins takes a notion to help her out. So they quilt, all the long summer, until Clarindy has a really bad idea...

Enjoy!

 

 

Pic of the day


Video of the day:

Passionate Cooks - All Romance Ebooks

Passionate Cooks - All Romance Ebooks

A free cookbook. And I'm in it.