Understanding the Darkness Within

So, a while back, I made myself a promise.  At the time, it seemed easy enough to keep.  After all, there’s not a lot about me that isn’t an open book (no pun intended).  I’ve never made a secret of most of the facets of my life, even if I’ve never exactly hung out a billboard for everyone to read…

But then I discovered something… As I did some soul-searching one evening, trying to uncover the source of my general unhappiness with the run of my life, I realized that there’s a great deal about me I don’t ever let out of the bag.

I try very, VERY hard to be a good person.  But, as a writer of dark fiction, I know that even good people have dark secrets, and even good people feel horrible things from time to time.  But I thought I wasn’t allowed to feel those things, or to have any thoughts or feelings that might make other people uncomfortable.  Bad enough I’m a Pagan, which puts many people off… I often feel like I can’t help people if those people think I might have any flaws.  But the truth is, it’s BECAUSE of my flaws that I can most often help people…

Have you ever struggled with self-esteem issues?  I have.  I’ve gone through periods where I hit rock bottom.  Times when I was utterly convinced I was fat, ugly, and a total idiot, unworthy of friendship or love.  The struggle back out of those periods, away from the self-depravation and abuse, was long and hard, and there were many times I felt like giving up.  Am I out of it, now?  No, not entirely.  There are still times I feel majorly insecure.  I often wonder what people think of me, what they see when they look at me… I tell myself it doesn’t matter, but the truth is, it DOES.  Whether I want it to or not.

Being an Empath makes this problem even more difficult, because I’ve literally been subjected to how people perceive me, lots of times.  I sense what they feel, at times – the strength of hate, prejudice, repulsion, or annoyance.  Those things tend to reinforce my insecurities.  I’ve had to deal with that, but it’s not easy.  However, it does make it very easy for me to understand the insecurities and fears in others.

I face a very difficult opposition, within myself.  On one hand, I crave solitude.  I want to be alone, where I’m not faced with the bombardment of all the intense emotions (both good and bad) that exist outside my home.  But, more than anything in the world, I fear being invisible.  I fear complete isolation, being forgotten by all I care about.  I truly fear that, with me, it’s out-of-sight, out-of-mind to others — that they no longer remember I exist when I’m not in their face.  Perhaps that’s part of my confrontational nature, with people I care about.  Maybe that’s why I act as tough as I do.  I don’t like that fear.  And, even more, I hate that the fear of being completely alone and forgotten leads me to close down, to stew in my own fear and jealousy, when I’m ignored.

All of this might seem like a lot of baggage.  Actually, the combination of it helps me to be able to help other people better.  I turn these negative things into a positive thrust forward by confronting them, and battling them.  The energy raised through this battle is then turned toward helping others to fight their way free of negative thoughts and emotions.  I know what these dangers look like only because I have fought them myself.  If I had no experience with the darker sides of life and human nature, I would not be able to see or understand it – in short, I would be unable to help others.

Flash Friday Special: Things That Go Bump In the Night

Since it’s October, and spookiness often abounds, this time of year, I thought I’d ratchet things back just a little bit, and stir up a different kind of energy.

We’re all used to being scared out of our minds by things we don’t understand, but which we have been told are evil or bad for us.  Fear seems to be the universal human reaction to the unknown.  And nowhere is that more underscored than when it comes to the paranormal.

Hollywood has taught us to fear the spirits of the departed.  They’ve taught us that ghosts only come back for revenge, that they’re gruesome and sinister and, above all, dangerous.

Modern society (and Hollywood) have also taught us to fear those things that do not exist on our plane.  They’ve taught us that anything we believe in as children is not real, and is best ignored, and then taught us that what we’ve chosen to blind ourselves to must be evil, and therefore to be feared.

I grew up in an environment very much like that.  As a small child, my senses were fostered as “an active imagination” – which soon turned to “grow up” and “stop telling stories” as I drew nearer to adolescence, and they wanted it all to go away.

It never really did.

I’m here to tell you that ghosts aren’t necessarily evil.  They are the spirits of departed human beings.  Yes, evil people (in life) can return (or never leave) as evil ghosts.  They can do horrible, terrible things from that side – but, then again, they did them from THIS side, too.  However, in much the same way that those evil people are in the minority in our living world, so too are evil spirits of the departed in the minority.  While these are the only ones Hollywood and modern ghost stories usually see fit to tell us about, they make up only a small fraction of the spirit world population.  The vast majority of spiritual presences in this world are benign or even benevolent.  They’re people, just like you and I.  Unless you’re afraid of every person you pass on the street, there’s no reason to be afraid of every ghost who crosses your path.  I’ve shared a number of homes and working establishments quite peacefully with the spirits of the departed.  I treat them as I would wish to be treated (with respect and dignity), and we get along just fine.

I’m also here to tell you that those creatures of myth and legend that you thought weren’t real?  Well, most of them are.

As a child, I lived in England.  And I spent many an afternoon ensconced within the arms of an old oak tree, conversing with creatures – both beautiful and odd – I was later told “didn’t exist.”  I spent nights that I was afraid to go to sleep (not because of what was in the darkness, but because of what haunted my dreams) whispering with the Brownies who lived within the walls of our home.

Many of those creatures and spirits have followed me throughout my life.  They are my friends, and I don’t care if that makes me crazy in the eyes of some people.

However, my very first encounter with a spirit was at the age of two – a young man who’d been killed in combat, and who often came to keep me company while I colored or played – like a watchful older brother or father, intent to keep me safe.  Though it’s been over thirty years since then, and I’ve never encountered him again, those visits formed the foundation for my life, and my understanding that, no matter what others said, there really IS “more to heaven and earth” out there.

Have you ever had an experience with the Other  Side?  If so, and you feel like sharing, I’d be interested to hear.

Flash Friday: “Dark Alliance”

“Dark Alliance” — Excerpted from Project Prometheus: BLOOD DEBT

copyright 2002 by Esther Mitchell

            “This is unacceptable.”  Red Widow seethed with fury as she paced angrily around the small lab.  She hated this goddamned jungle, the heat and humidity.  She hated these people.  She hated everything about this.  She spun toward her gathered minions, ignoring the woman seated at the lab table.  The girl was the one constant reminder of her own failure, and she wasn’t about to acknowledge her existence.

            “Why can none of you numbskulls get anything right?”  She fumed, though her glare fixed directly on Rurik Babin.  She’d loose her ire on Lapinov, as well, except the Tarantula Brigade leader wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of a fight.  Most times, she appreciated his icy demeanor, but she was spoiling for a fight.

            “I did what I was ordered to do!”  Babin shot back, giving her exactly what she wanted – a target.

            “You were supposed to kill her, you incompetent arse!”  She snapped the words out as she stalked the cockroach.  “So, tell me why she’s still breathing.”

            “She has more lives than a damned cat, is why.  And the poison’s effectiveness is wearing off, too.”

            That was news to her.  Red Widow spun on her heel to confront the scientist who sat in one of the room’s only two chairs.  “Is this true?”

            He shrugged.  “It’s possible, at any rate.”

            “How?”  Red Widow demanded.

            “Hard to say.  There are numerous reasons.  Environmental factors, exposure, incorrect dosing…”

            “It is none of those things.”  The room’s other female occupant spoke for the first time, drawing everyone’s attention.  Then, as if she wasn’t the focal point of the room, she made tiny clicking noises as she stroked her fingers over the hairy body of the tarantula crawling slowly across the back of her hand.

            “Magdalena,” Lapinov finally spoke, his tone coaxing and indulgent, as if speaking to a child.

            “There is a reason the poison is failing.”  Her voice was soft and serene, as if she was in a trance.

            Red Widow rolled her eyes with a snort.  Clearly, the centuries had warped the girl’s mind, turning it to sponge.  “Do tell.”

            Magdalena didn’t look up, or give any indication she was aware of the sarcasm.  “The Musir built in a failsafe.”

            Red Widow’s eyes widened, and her gaze whipped to the scientist in the next chair.  “Did you know about this?”

            He nodded.  “But we took care of it.”

            Her eyes narrowed.  “How?”
            A cold grin split his face as his hand raised to the series of long scars that grooved his cheek from eye to jaw.  The bitch had nearly taken his eye out, but he won in the end.  “We introduced our own ingredient, of course.”

            Red Widow leaned back against the table and studied the scientist with interest.  Could she have found the one American capable of actually doing his job?  Rachel hadn’t had the staying power, once Sargon was awakened, and so far, Daniel Cook was proving incompetent beyond compare.

            But this man’s icy lack of emotion made him formidable, and gave her the first burst of confidence in his ability to get the job done.  This wasn’t a man easily distracted by personal vendettas, and he bore the evidence of how far he’d go to sate his brutal desires on his face, like a badge of dishonor.  She heard he left the native woman who gave him those scars for dead, deep in the Peruvian jungle.  A chilly smile tugged at her lips.  Aye, this man wouldn’t let anyone get in his way.

Find out how we got to this point.  Get your copies of the first three Project Prometheus books today at www.aspenmountainpress.com !

Flash Friday: “Dubious Rescue”

“Dubious Rescue” – Excerpted from Guardians, Inc: NIGHT WATCH

copyright 2007 by Esther Mitchell

            Maya Guardian sat half in the shadow of the ballroom, trying to pretend she didn’t see the speculative looks, or hear the cruel whispers of her colleagues.  It was a curse, the Guardian gift she received.  Hearing the unspoken, and the barely whispered, was more of a curse than a gift – as much of a curse to Maya as inheriting the Maxwell genes was.

            Maya winced inwardly.  Her mother called her robust, and she was her father’s princess.  She barely held in her derisive snort.  Like she believed that.  Cinderella never wore a size eighteen ball gown.  Maya knew the truth.  She was fat – it was that simple.  That her bone structure was more dense than her siblings’, or that she spent at least an hour every day in the gym of her building, or even that she obsessed away her teenage years trying to starve herself to normal, didn’t make a lick of difference.  She was apparently doomed to her overabundance of curves, and she saw the looks, heard the thoughts of everyone whenever she entered the courtroom.  How could a woman who’d clearly let herself go make such a formidable attorney?

            Angry with herself, Maya took a healthy slug of wine, and told herself she wouldn’t regret either the calories or the hangover, in the morning.

            “May I remove you from your drink, before you drown in it?”

            Maya’s attention jerked around at the Old World cadence of those words, and her throat stalled mid-swallow, leading to the most unladylike coughing fit.  She winced, aware of what society’s elite, all around them, thought.  Slob.  Cow.  She wished she could just close her ears to them all.

            “What matter are they?”  Those smooth words, touched with the hint of an accent she couldn’t quite place, murmured near enough to her ear that Maya gasped, shaken to the core.  She turned her head, and found herself face-to-face with a man who put her most vivid fantasies to shame.

            This close, she could see the slight imperfections – the scar on his temple, the slight bump that indicated his nose had been broken more than once, the thin lines that feathered his eyes and mouth.  Somehow, though, they all worked.  It just plain wasn’t fair that wrinkles made men distinguished, and women old, she thought perversely.

            He chuckled, as if he could somehow read her thoughts.  Her mental snort of derision at her own whimsical nature was cut short when, without missing a beat, he murmured, “Why worry about wrinkles?  I am certain you will age with as much beauty and grace as your sainted mother.”

            Her eyes narrowed.  “She’s not dead.”

            He inclined his head in apology.  “I know.”

            Dread crawled along her spine.  The only people in this miserable city who would know about Eryn Guardian were Para and… “Are you Crucibani?”

            That earned her a deep, rumbling chuckle, and his oddly teal eyes sparkled with mischief.  “My dear, dear lady!  If I were to cross their threshold, those so-called holy men would see me strung up by my own entrails.”

            Maya winced at the graphic description, but refused to be distracted.  “Which means you’re…”

            One sandy blond brow raised, and his mouth quirked in amusement.  “Indeed.”

            She waited silently, but he never showed so much as a single nerve.  Instead, he merely inclined his head and intoned, “Conner Shaw.”

            Her eyes widened.  She’d heard his name, before.  Her brother, Jason, claimed Shaw was the only blooded, living vampire he’d ever trust at his back.  Still… “What brings you to me, Mr. Shaw?”

            “I need some… very delicate legal advice.”

            Given what that usually meant for vampires, Maya resisted the urge to bury her face in her hands and groan.  The last thing she needed right now was some renegade vampire with a lust for blood, energy, or whatever the hell he lived off of, making a mess of her life.  She was handling that just fine, thanks.

Advertising, Promotion, and the Hopeless

There are some things the average reader doesn’t know about me… And for those who’ve stumbled upon this and didn’t even know I’m an author, this could be very enlightening… You see, I’m totally useless at advertising.

Why?

Let’s see if I can explain this…

It’s always been easier for me to cheer others on than to put myself out there.  It’s not that I have a problem sharing who I am with the world.  I just have a problem with “tooting my own horn,” if you forgive the expression. 

A lot of people are surprised when they learn things about me, even though I’ve been doing those things for years (or most of my life, even).  I know it’s because I don’t put myself out there and go “Look at me!”… I just can’t do that.  It’s awkward and feels wrong, and any time I attempt it because I’m told “That’s the only way you’ll ever have any success in life,” I end up making a hash of it and coming across in ways I’m sure other people view as obnoxious or arrogant. 

Truth is, I’m neither of those things.  What I am is complicated to explain, and probably difficult to understand.  I’m hyper-aware of others – their feelings, their needs, their wants.  It makes getting close to people difficult for me. 

 While my personality is very tactile – I’m all about hugs and demonstrative shows of affection – the other aspects of my life make being in close quarters with people I don’t know well very uncomfortable and illness-inducing.  I can’t bear to be touched unless I either know I can trust the other person, or I’m capable of protecting myself on a psychic level (hospital and doctor’s visits when I’m ill are beyond excruciating, as I have neither trust nor defenses).  Physical contact transfers emotions, energy, and sometimes even thoughts, and I fear invading someone else’s privacy more than anything else. 

This is something I’ve lived with all of my life.  It’s made life difficult for me, and made it very difficult indeed for me to get close to anyone.  Some people see me as quiet or stand-offish, when they first meet me.  Some people take my observational style as aloof or a superiority complex.  It’s none of that.

  I don’t make friends quickly, or easily, because I’m too aware of others’ feelings and thoughts, and I have to get the “lay of the land” and understand my place in the situation before I truly decide how I feel about it. 

This, unfortunately, causes me no end of grief when it comes to advertising or putting myself and my work out there for others to see.  Because I’m so quiet and awkward about getting to know people, others sometimes think I have something to hide.  Truth is, I’m an open book… I’m just not great at turning the pages myself. 

 I’ll talk your ear off about my books, but I won’t be the first person to bring them up – you’ll have to actually show interest (and not just surface – I can tell when people truly aren’t interested in hearing about it, regardless of what they say.  Sometimes, I’ll ignore that feeling when I’m in a snippy mood, but most times, I’ll just clam up).  I also enjoy a long, indepth discussion of the paranormal – but I’m not going to be the one to jump in with both feet, first.

I’m better with written discussion – especially when addressing a large audience.  There’s no direct personal interaction, no chance for me to pick up more than cursory impressions.  In this format I can be more candid, more front-and-center.  But it’s still not easy.  I still have the memories of personal reactions to deal with.

I have a surprisingly long and detailed memory when it comes to emotions, thoughts, and actions.  I’m probably the only person in the world who remembers my screw-ups in the past – things I’ve said or done that others had an emotional reaction to at the time, but probably forgot shortly afterward.  I still remember. 

I’m trying to get better at letting people know who I am and what I do.  I just don’t think it’s part of my soul’s core to be the one in the spotlight, screaming “Look at me!”… The Aries and Leo in me crave the attention of knowing I’m not invisible.  The rest of me, though, just wants everyone else to be happy.  *shrugs* It’s not an easy life… But it’s my lesson to learn.  I’m sure I’ll figure it out at some point.

Flash Friday: “A Dangerous Kind of Help” (Adult Content)

Flash Friday: “A Dangerous King of Help” – excerpted from Guardians, Inc : DOUBLE TAKE

copyright 2007 by Esther Mitchell

Jesse paused in his office doorway, not sure if he was more surprised that Analeise was talking to thin air, or that she was actually there. His wry glance passed over the clutter of books that hadn’t been there when he left, either. Apparently, she raided Jason’s archives. Wonder if Jason knew.

“Damn it!” The sudden oath, punctuated by the sharp sound of flesh striking wood as she slapped the desk – hard – snapped Jesse from his musing. She looked pissed, and the furious light in her eyes shouldn’t turn him on, but damned if it did. Lust surged toward his groin, and he stifled his groan only through sheer force of will. So he had a thing for bad girls. No surprise there; Natalya had been as bad as they come, and he fell head-over-heels for her.

Jesse heaved a silent snort of disgust. Natalya should be all the warning he needed to stay away from Analeise. Tangling with another bad girl was liable to get him killed, even if that was more difficult these days. His eyes fixed back on her, and the rush of heat was instantaneous at the memory of her hot, welcoming body and eager responses. Both heat and memory were expected, though neither was appreciated. Still, it was the tiny twist in his gut at the layer of vulnerability beneath that anger that bothered him most. She looked innocent, and that was such a contradiction he wanted to grin, but his swollen, split lip protested the attempt, and he hissed in pain.

Analeise’s head jerked up, a gasp of surprise flying from her, and she stared at him as if he was a ghost. The irony of it was, without Victor, he would be – twice, now. He uttered a bitter laugh, but it ended on a groan as his bruised ribs protested. Good thing he was a fast healer, these days. A year ago, a beating like that would have laid him out for a good week, if he survived it. Now, a good night’s rest, and he’d be right as rain, as he mother put it; or, as right as a man under a vampire’s curse could be, anyway.

“You’re bleeding!” He didn’t realize she moved, but her hand was suddenly there, a cotton handkerchief in it, pressed against his mouth. He jerked away with a surprised hiss as the thrum of the pulse in her wrist filled his ears.

Goddammit! Jesse clamped down on the impulse that urged him to take her arm, and sink his teeth into her soft, warm flesh. Strong as the urge was, he wasn’t an idiot. He knew the ritual of Turning – he burned it into his brain those first few months after Victor’s impromptu gift, terrified he had no choice but to become a monster. He couldn’t begin to describe his relief when he discovered that wasn’t true.

Turning a living human being into a living vampire was an elaborate ritual, full of ceremony and magic. At least, most of the time. Problem was, there was no recorded precedent, no history for cases like his, where a vampire essentially gave a life-saving transfusion. It just wasn’t done. The closest Jesse could find, in a year of desperate searching, was the mention of a young girl from the fourteenth century who was miraculously restored to health after a terrible fall, by a nameless traveler. Unfortunately, the story didn’t leave him with much hope. By the account, later the same year the girl accidentally swallowed some blood while tending to an injured family member, and became an unnatural creature. She was eventually burned as a witch, for her thirst for human blood. Jesse’s stomach had plummeted after reading that. One taste was all it took to Turn her. One accident. How many bloody scenes did a cop – particularly a homicide detective – see in a week? Too many. So he quit the force, unwilling to take that chance. It didn’t even matter that he knew better, now – that drinking blood was useless to a living vampire.  It didn’t even matter to know that it was the energy in the blood, not the blood itself, that he would really be absorbing. Whenever his adrenaline surged, the urges were there, and they terrified him. He feared it was only a matter of time.

No. He dragged his mind from the thought with a shudder. It wouldn’t happen. Not to him. Jesse Guardian would not become a damned monster. Hell, he was probably damned anyway, but at least he could still make a conscious choice. He could choose to avoid temptation, to not take that first taste. He could choose to avoid the subtle scent, the rich, sweet wine of blood, the siren pulse of energy…

He yanked his mind from the thought with a muttered oath. He wasn’t about to go that route, damn it all. Especially not with this woman; she already fascinated him too much. He blinked, and found her watching him with worried mocha eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he rasped, and focused beyond her, on the desk where she’d been sitting when he came in. “What are you doing here?”

Her brows knit as she backed off a step, and her dark eyes searched his face. “Helping you. I think you should go to the hospital and–”

“I’m fine,” he repeated sharply, with one upraised hand when she would have continued her protest. “Really. And I didn’t expect you to stay here all night.”

That flash of vulnerability was back, and something else that tugged him toward her like an invisible guide wire. She met his gaze, and the smoky quality of her eyes sucked the breath from him. Her tongue darted over those lush lips, and he could barely focus on the words that followed, through the lust roaring in his ears. “I… I wanted to help.”

“Help?” Was that croak really his voice? He swallowed hard, even as a hundred images of how she could help him right this moment cascaded through his mind.

Flash Friday: “Leap of Faith”

What happens when an immortal creature supposed to be nothing more than myth takes human form to escape total annihilation?  … Meet Ryan Jaspar – the last of his kind.  He’ll do anything to stay hidden from the Crucibani, a secret religious order determined to see him dead.  But when he meets up with Guardians, Inc.’s spunky receptionist, he’ll have to do something that’s totally against his nature – he’ll have to learn to trust a human, again.

“Leap of Faith”  — excerpted from Virtual Darkness

copyright 2007 by Esther Mitchell

            “We have to jump.”  He grasped her hand securely and drew energy for the descent.  A few more moments, and the Crucibani would realize where they’d gone.

            “Jump.”

            Her disbelief was emphasized by the way she dug her heels in and refused to move.  For such a waif, she was suddenly a completely immovable object.  And he didn’t have time for her stubbornness.  Already, he could feel the energy dissipating.

            “Yes, jump.”  He glanced toward the stairwell door again.  “And quickly.”

            “We’re twelve stories up!  Are you serious?”

            “Very.  Kylie—”

            “You’re crazy!”  She tugged backward, and they were playing tug-of-war with her arm.  Their eyes met, and he read fear in her grey-green eyes.  And suddenly, he saw the drop through her eyes.  She was afraid of dying. 

            He focused his energy as he stared into her eyes until the crackle of energy rose around them both, and her eyes widened as a small gasp flew from her lips.  His mouth curved up at the edges, seductively persuasive.

            “Trust me, Kylie.”

            Her expression was dubious, and she eyed him warily.  “Who are you?”

            His brow furrowed.  He wanted to avoid this; especially now.  She wouldn’t believe the truth if he told her.  “You already know me.”

            He tugged her hand to get her moving again, but again she resisted him, her narrowed eyes full of accusations.

            “No.  I mean, who are you really?  Why are there Crucibani chasing us?”

            It was his turn to freeze, as surprise gripped him.  How did this waif of a human know about Crucibani? 

            “How—?” he picked up the sound of feet pounding on the stairs, two floors below them.  “Never mind.  Now isn’t the time.”

            “Actually,” she eyed to edge of the building again, and the empty air beyond.  “If you expect me to throw myself off of a twelve-story building, your timing couldn’t be more perfect.”

Flash Friday: “Gatekeeper”

Flash Friday: “Gatekeeper”  – Excerpted from Project Prometheus: BETWEEN WORLDS

copyright 2008 by Esther Mitchell

She was so cold.  The wind here on the shore was bitter, chilled by the storm that raged around her.  Csilla huddled in the cavern, watching as sthe boats were made ready.

“Are you ready, Gatekeeper?”

She turned at the sound of a masculine voice, to find Sargon beside her, tall and strong in his armor, the glow of his charge shining around him even from where it rested, secure in the scabbard at his side.  She shuddered to think that, of them all, only she was a real danger.  Only her charge could bring them all back to this place, and only her charge could be forced from her grasp by any manner besides death.

“Go, Warrior,” she whispered, already aware of what she must do.  And yet, she could not tell these men, her soul-brothers, what she planned.  They would surely halt her plan, if they knew how she meant to protect them all.  “I am weary, and will bide here a while.”

He frowned.  “It is not safe, Csilla.  Already, Arachaena swarm the mountain above us.  They must not find us here.”

She looked out toward the storm-tossed waves whose peace she once found solace in.  Sadness gripped her that she would leave this behind, and she hugged her cloak tighter about her shoulders.  There was no help for it.  This was as it must be.

“I shall follow directly.  Have Mykalos tie me a boat in yon rocks.”

Sargon sighed, but relented.  Truly, he was too tender to a woman’s comfort; she feared that would bring him to ill ends.  “Do not linger too long, Csilla.”

She smiled up at him, careful that he did not read her sorrow.  “I will be gone before they arrive.”

With a nod, his eyes wary, Sargon left her and headed for the boats beyond.  Csilla sighed, and shivered slightly as she rested her back against the cool rocks.  She felt the weight of the knife concealed beneath her cloak.  She would keep her promise.  Only, it would not be as Sargon believed.

Find out more about this series at www.esthermitchell.com/projectmain

Read IN HER NAME, HOPE OF HEAVEN, and SHADOW WALKER today!  Find them at:

www.aspenmountainpress.com/in-her-name/prod_73.html

www.aspenmountainpress.com/hope-of-heaven/prod_128.html

http://www.aspenmountainpress.com/paranormal/romance/shadow-walker/prod_219.html

Flash Friday: “In a Demon’s Wake”

Today’s Flash comes from one of the most unique and unusual books I’ve ever written.  While definitely highly on the paranormal side of fiction, this book is unique even among its series-mates, in that it involves a culture many don’t even realize still exists beneath the fabric of other cultures and religions.  I certainly enjoyed writing it, and I hope you enjoy reading it.  You can find the full novel by visiting www.aspenmountainpress.com

Disclaimer:  This scene contains descriptions of violence of a graphic nature and language some may find offensive.  Reader discretion is advised.

“In a Demon’s Wake” – excerpted from Project Prometheus: IN HER NAME

copyright 2001 by Esther Mitchell

            “We went in there with orders not to kill anyone.  But no one told us the revolutionaries knew anything about bombs or planting mines.  Four of my team got blown to pieces when they tripped some hidden claymores.”

            Manara gasped at those words, every muscle in her body tensed as if he physically struck her.  The memory of the canyon flooded over her.  Blessed Ishtar, she let it happen again!  No wonder he didn’t trust her!  She tried to pull away, sick with her own sins, but his arms were like steel bands around her waist and his gaze, when she turned to look at him, was fixed in another time.

            “I guess I just flipped out or something.  I don’t really remember.  All I remember is turning the teams loose and telling them to waste every goddamned gook they saw.” 

            Manara saw the pain flash across his face, heard the hollow regret in his words.  This, she realized, was but one of his demons, spawned from whatever great evil had torn loose that piece of his soul.  Sadly, she knew his tale wasn’t over.  Covering his hands with her own, she asked, “What happened?”

            His gaze came back to her and Manara wanted to weep at the coldness of his eyes.  This was the man she didn’t know¾the one she saw only a glimpse of when his demons held her prisoner.  “They did exactly what I said.  Afterward, we found out there weren’t any revolutionaries in that village.  Just farmers.  The claymores were leftovers from V.C. plants in the Seventies.  They just weren’t uncovered until my men triggered them.  I ordered an entire village wiped out, for nothing.  Nothing!”

            Tears welled up in Manara’s eyes as she watched him struggle with the evil truth he held silent for so long, a mistake such a good man could only suffer under.

            “Matthew.”  She reached to stroke his cheek.  “You cannot blame yourself when the true fault lies with another.  Who made that madman?  What was her name?”

            He swallowed hard and Manara’s heart broke for him.  To live with such painful secrets…  His eyes met hers; she saw surprise, and then gratitude, light within the depths of his darkness.  He knew she understood; perhaps that would make his tale easier for him to share.  A sigh left him and his eyes closed as he hugged her to him and the words flowed out.

            “Her name was Rachel Murray, and I was all of fourteen years old.”

Flash Friday: “Dead Pirate Walking”

I’ve played in the Fantasy for a while…  Thought you’d like a little something else, this week.  This week’s Flash Friday is a short little piece, and comes from a paranormal series I’m working on, called Guardians, Inc.   I already love this story, because it has everything a good ghost story should have, and a little something surprising, as well…

“Dead Pirate Walking”  — excerpted from Lady’s Lament

copyright 2008 by Esther Mitchell

            There was someone up there.  A  chill of awareness slid through Alie, pulling her gaze to the upstairs window of the old manor, even as her brain called her an idiot for believing Mrs. Tolliver’s stories.  She dealt with Paras every day, and she’d never encountered a ghost.  She didn’t even believe in them.

            She was about to turn away, when the curtains stirred again.  The air left her body in a gasp of disbelief as a shadowy figure passed behind the curtains and disappeared.  There was no one in that wing of the manor; not at this time of night.  But it was exactly where the chatty town historian told her rumor said the pirate appeared, keeping look out for the lover who once betrayed him.

            A new shiver passed through Alie, and nausea gripped her.  There are no such things as ghosts.

            But what if there were?  Were the stories true?  After all this time, had Captain Sawyer come back from the grave?  Or had he simply never left?