The Tale of the TP Princess

The world has gone completely crazy. Most of the United States is at some level of quarantine, and supplies of some things are either low or non-existant. Especially toilet paper.

Toilet paper.

We have a pandemic that is largely a respiratory illness, and people are hoarding toilet paper.

Besides not being able to find Charmin, Scott, Angel Soft, or any other brand on the shelves, I’m also going crazy having two teenage boys and my husband at home, since school and work are closed for all of us. I was hoping to dedicate this time to working on Book 5, but I’m still suffering the effects of writers block on that front.

I did, however, sit down this morning and scribble down a scene from a possible future novel featuring Kyr and Spook’s teenage children (yeah, yeah, spoiler alert, they’re going to get married somewhere along the line). In this little scene, the family is in quarantine because of some unnamed future plague, and Spook is reminiscing about something that may or may not have happened during the Great Toilet Paper Shortage of 2020.



Teague sat with his chin propped on his fist, pouting as he slapped his cereal with his spoon. Kyr noticed her youngest child’s actions and brushed his hair out of his face to lay a hand on his forehead. “You’re not coming down with something, are you, Teague? You usually put away two bowls of Cocoa Puffs before I finish my coffee, but you’ve hardly eaten anything.”

Teague’s brown eyes flashed as he jerked away. “Mom! I’m not sick, and I’m not a baby. I’m just sick of this frickin’ quarantine.”

“Watch your language, please,” Kyr admonished gently as she sat down with her coffee. “I know you’re tired of this ‘social distancing;’ we all are.”

Declan poured another glass of orange juice and brought it to the table. “We’re all in the same boat, T. Might as well just deal with it.”

“That’s easy for you to say.” Chocolate milk splattered on the tablecloth as seeped in as Teague let his spoon drop into his bowl. “Your birthday wasn’t ruined, and your party wasn’t cancelled. Mom couldn’t even pick up my cake.”

“Would you stop acting like the baby you just said you’re not?” Declan glared at his brother. “You’re thirteen now; you’re old enough to deal with a little disappointment. People are dying from this outbreak, so I hardly think a birthday party matters in the grand scheme of things.”

“Oh, shut up, Declan,” Teague shouted.

“Yeah, shut up, Declan,” Raven repeated, smacking the back of his head as she walked past on the way to the fridge. “Just because no one would even come to one of your lame parties.”

“Who asked you, Ray?” Declan swung around, trying to seize her hand, but he wasn’t quick enough.

“All right, enough.” Kyr set her mug down and rubbed her temples wearily. A glance at the calendar reminded her that they were barely two weeks into the quarantine, with no end in sight. “Could you get along for just one day?”

Always the peacemaker, Rhodora jumped in. “Hey, Teague, since your birthday got ruined, you can have mine and do your party then. This whole mess should be over by then.”

“But then he’ll have to share my…our party,” Raven argued, sitting down next to their mother. “How is that going to work?”

“Oh, yeah. I guess you’re right.” Rhodora lowered her head and sat back, chagrined. She and Raven were ‘pseudo-twins,’ born on different days and different months. Raven had made her entrance just before midnight on October 31st, and Rhodora was born a few minutes into November 1st.

“I’m not waiting four months for my party,” Teague said. “And I’m not sharing a party with my sister.”

“I’m sorry, Teague,” Rhodora responded, almost in a whisper. “I was just trying to help.”

“It’s all right, Rhodora,” Kyr assured her. “Your heart is in the right place, and that’s what counts. “Now, Teague—“

“What’s all the hubbub out here?” Spook came into the kitchen and gave each of his children a stern look before meeting Kyr’s eyes.

“Cabin fever,” was all Kyr said as she sighed and got up to go to the coffeepot.

Spook chuckled grimly, knowing that his wife was at her wits end with four teenagers who couldn’t get out of the house as usual. “Well, at least this time there’s toilet paper,” he said. “Not like back in the Spring of 2020, when the whole world shut down over COVID-19, and folks hoarded toilet paper like it was a dysentery epidemic instead of a respiratory virus.”

“We know about COVID-19, Dad,” Declan said, getting up to take his glass to the sink. “Mom made us study it in history last year.

Spook’s eyes gleamed wickedly as he met Kyr’s gaze. “Well, I’ll bet she didn’t tell you about the overthrow of Duchess Drusilla Ptarmigan of Pendleton.”

All four teens shook their heads, and even Kyr shot him a questioning look as she poured his coffee. “What are you talking about? I don’t remember that.”

“How could you forget that, Kyr m’dear? Don’t you remember, her wedding to Prince Jean-Luc of Maltese was postponed because of the pandemic, and she threw a royal fit over it?” When Kyr continued to stare blankly at him, he went on, “She decided that Coronavirus or no Coronavirus, her show was going to go on, and if nothing else, she was going to live-stream from the palace grand hall.”

By this time, Kyr had figured out that he was spinning some grand yarn, so she played along. “Oh, yeah. I remember Drusilla. Entitled little brat.”

Spook crossed the kitchen and took the mug of coffee from his wife. “Well, her fiancé wasn’t thrilled about the plan, but he went along with it in the end, probably because he knew he’d hear it forever if he refused. The dressmaker’s shop, however, was closed down, just like every other business, and because the shop owner was in one of the high-risk groups, she refused to open, even for the Duchess.”

“So what happened?” Teague asked through a mouthful of Cocoa Puffs.

“The Duchess, entitled little brat that she was, took matters into her own hands and whipped up her own fancy wedding gown.”

Kyr knew the punch line was coming, so she quickly turned to the sink so the kids wouldn’t see her choking with suppressed laughter.

“See, the Duchess, like so many other people the world over, had been hoarding toilet paper, so she spent two whole days turning bathroom tissue into a ball gown. When she was finished, instead of an elegant dress made of chiffon and satin, she had this voluminous, frilly, ruffly mess made from Charmin and Scott.”

All four teens stared at him, mouths agape, not sure if he was telling the truth or not. Finally, Raven ventured to ask, “So what happened?”

“She kept her promise to live-stream her wedding ceremony. So with just herself, Prince Jean-Luc, her mother and his father, and the Archbishop, she started the show. To say the least, with the worldwide toilet paper shortage, that dress didn’t go over well with the Pendletonians at all. Within minutes, hundreds of people broke quarantine and stormed the palace. They broke down the main door, charged into the grand hall, and tore that gown right off her, piece by two-ply piece. Soon the cops came, and the U.S. had to send troops in to contain the ensuing riots. Drusilla was overthrown, and Pendleton was annexed by Luxembourg. It was all over the news and on YouTube.” He took a long sip of coffee. “You should check it out.”

Four sets of eyes stared incredulously at him for a moment as the story sank in. When at last Kyr couldn’t hold in her laughter any longer, Raven rolled her eyes almost audibly and declared, “Dad, serioiusly, that did not happen.”

“Sure, it did,” he said, going to the table and taking a donut from the open box. “Pendleton isn’t on the map anymore, is it?”

Raven let out a huff and flounced out of the room, followed closely by Rhodora. Declan narrowed his eyes at his father and then laughed at the joke on all of them before heading out the back door. Teague said nothing, but turned his attention to his now-soggy Cocoa Puffs.

Still laughing, Kyr slipped an arm around Spook and asked, “Why do you do these things?”

Spook grinned down at her and took a bite of his donut before responding, “Keeps me sane, Kyr m’dear. Keeps me sane.”

October Frights Blog Hop – The Scariest Scarecrow, Part 2


The following Saturday, Mr. and Mrs. Appleby loaded up their pickup truck and headed off to a local farmers market to peddle their wares. As they often did, they left Kevin at home to tend the farm and keep an eye on his younger brother.

Soon after their parents had left, Keith brought out the remains of Sammy and laid them out on the porch. He sighed as he gazed sadly at the flattened and torn burlap face. The grinning poop emoji on Sammy’s shirt seemed to mock his sorrow, and he gave it a little kick before walking over to sit on the steps.

Not long afterwards, Kevin came to the front door and stood watching Keith for a moment. He took a bite of the apple he held and asked, “Whatcha doing, Keith?”

“Waiting for Damon,” he said matter-of-factly. “He said he was coming to help me build the scariest scarecrow ever.”

Kevin raised his eyes to the dirt-and-stone lane that led from the road to the house and chewed thoughtfully. He highly doubted that his friend would show up. “Don’t get your hopes up. I’m sure Damon has better things to do than help a seven year old build a scarecrow.”

“He’ll come. He said he would, so he will.” Keith turned indignant eyes on his brother.

Kevin said nothing in response, but bit another chunk out of his apple as he stared out toward the road. I swear, Damon, if you upset my brother…

“There he is!” Keith stood up and pointed at a figure riding up the road on a bicycle, hunched under a bulging backpack and wobbling crazily as he raced up the road. “I told you he’d come!”

“Yeah, I see.” Kevin came outside and chucked his apple core over the railing to one of the wandering goats. He stood next to Keith on the top step, watching Damon pedal furiously up the drive as though the devil himself was after him.

As Damon neared the house, Keith leapt down from the porch and ran to him. “You came! You came! Kevin said you wouldn’t, but you did!”

“Hey, K-bot,” Damon huffed, all out of breath. He glanced up at Kevin as he spoke. “I said I’d help you build the scariest scarecrow, and here I am.”

Something in Damon’s demeanor—a strange glassiness in his eyes—suggested that something wasn’t quite right. If Kevin didn’t know any better, he’d say his friend seemed…afraid. He immediately dismissed the thought. The only things that frightened Damon was his Scotch-Irish grandmother and the prospect of summer school. “So what’s the plan, Stan?”

Damon spared Kevin the briefest of glances as leaned his bike against the porch and slid the backpack ff his shoulders. “The plan is to build a scarecrow,” he repeated in what Kevin thought was a strained voice. To Keith, he said, “Wait till you see the cool stuff I found.”

Kevin was certain that his friend’s strange tone had something to do with the acquisition of some of that cool stuff, but he wouldn’t say so in front of his brother. Instead, he watched as the unlikely pair of his best friend and his little brother knelt on the ground taking things from the backpack.

“Here’s a couple old bike reflectors we can use for eyes. They’ll look wicked creepy shining in the dark.”

Kevin chuckled as Keith took the reflectors and held them up to his eyes.

“And this is one of my mom’s old banana hair clips.” The hot pink clip was missing a few teeth, which despite its whimsical hue gave it a somewhat menacing appearance as Damon opened and closed it a couple times before handing it to Keith. “We can use this for the mouth.”

Keith gave the banana clip a doubtful glance and tossed it aside; apparently anything hot pink didn’t register very high on his list of scary things.

Next, Damon pulled out a pair of plastic skeleton hands and a Styrofoam wig head. Keith squealed with delight and eagerly snatched the head from Damon’s hands. “Way cool! This will make him really creepy!”

At the sight of the pocked and slightly-dirty object, a tremor of terror raced down Kevin’s spine. Just in time, he stopped himself from crying out and backing away. He had long been frightened of mannequins and wig heads, but he had managed to keep his fear hidden, and he had no intention of making his fear known now.

“This stuff is just to drape over the hands and the head.” Damon took out several rolls of gauze and a large canister of Modge Podge. “We can use this to add details to the face and make it look realistic and scary.”

It’s scary enough the way it is, Kevin thought, staring at the wig head as though he expected it to turn and look at him. “What did you do, raid your grandparents’ attic?”

Thankfully, Damon didn’t notice the tremor in Kevin’s voice. “My grandparents’ attic, our garage…and other places.”

“But what’s the scarecrow going to wear?” Keith asked, his brows furrowed with worry. “He can’t wear my mom’s old pajamas; they aren’t scary enough.”

“Already thought of that, K-bot.” Kevin thought Damon’s grin seemed a bit too wide, not to mention forced. He reached into the backpack one last time to pull out a pair of patched and faded blue jeans and an equally-worn black-and-blue plaid flannel shirt. “I present to you the ultimate in creepy scarecrow fashion.”

“Ew! It smells like death!” Keith exclaimed, covering his nose and mouth as he scuttled backwards.

Kevin’s nose twitched as the musty smell rose to meet him. Nothing about the clothes seemed in any way frightening. However, his brother’s words unnerved him and made him more uneasy than he otherwise would have been. “They don’t smell like death, Keith. They just smell old.”

“Old people die,” Keith insisted.

Kevin couldn’t argue with that logic, and in any case, he didn’t want to belabor the point. He just wanted to get on with it and get the task completed. “Whatever. Let’s get this done before Mom and Dad get home.”

…to be continued

Remember to hop on over to check out the other participants offerings as well.

Are You Afraid of the Dark?

The Word Whisperer

Hawk’s Happenings

Carmilla Voiez Blog



Frighten Me

Winnie Jean Howard

Always Another Chapter

Balancing Act

James P. McDonald



October Frights – The Scariest Scarecrow, Part 1


Welcome to October Frights Blog Hop, 2019 Edition. During these six days, you’ll be able to check out some cool, spooky stories, blog posts, and giveaways. Check out the links to the other blogs below.

Kevin Appleby stirred and opened his eyes, then immediately groaned and squeezed them shut again. He had forgotten to pull the shade down last night, and now the early morning sun was streaming through the window and right into his eyes like a laser. He rolled over, determined to get back to sleep. It was Sunday, the one day of the week that he didn’t have to get up at the butt crack of dawn, and he intended to make the most of it.

The universe, however, had other plans.

A cacophony of caws rose from somewhere outside, from a distance at first, and then coming closer. Stupid crows. He burrowed deeper into his pillow and covered his ear with his fist, trying to block out the sound.

Just as he got comfortable again, from down the hall, he heard a distinct thud that told him Keith was awake. Hopefully he’ll go downstairs and turn on Cartoon Network.

Again, the universe had other plans.

Thump-thump-thump-thump. Footsteps came down the hall. A moment later, the bedroom door flew open. “Kevin! Kevin, help! The crows are hurting Sammy!”

Kevin opened one eye to glare at his brother. “Go back to bed, Keith. The crows are not hurting Sammy.”

“Yes, they are,” he insisted, swinging the door back and forth in his distress. “They’re pecking his eyes. They’re ripping his face.”

“I don’t care, Keith.” Seven year olds could be so annoying. Kevin pulled the covers over his head and squeezed his eyes shut again, trying to ignore the squeak-squeak-squeak of the door and the incessant caw-caw-caw of the crows, both punctuated by Keith’s distraught whimpers. He’d get back to sleep, or die trying.

A moment later, Keith dashed into the room and pounced on the bed. “Kevin, you have to help! I love Sammy! Sammy’s my friend!”

After a single, surprised “Oof,” Kevin sat up abruptly, knocking Keith onto the floor. “Gosh darn it, Keith! It’s just a stupid scarecrow! You’re the one who was dumb enough to stuff his head with corn. It’s your fault they’re pecking his face off.”

Keith’s eyes widened with the realization that he was to blame for his beloved Sammy’s imminent demise. Suddenly, he let out a sob and leapt to his feet. “Mo-o-o-o-om!” His wail of anguish echoed through the house as he bolted from the room and ran down the stairs.

Kevin swore under his breath and threw back the covers. There would be no going back to sleep when his parents found out he’d made his brother cry.




Later that afternoon, Kevin sat on the front porch peeling potatoes for dinner–part of his punishment for upsetting his brother. His best friend Damon sat on the steps absentmindedly scrolling on his phone. Every so often, Mrs. Appleby came to the door to check on them. She was sure that Kevin could be trusted, but she couldn’t say the same for Damon. She agreed with her husband’s assertion that Damon was about as Eddie Haskell as they come.

Once, after Mrs. Appleby had gone back to the kitchen, the screen door opened, and Keith came outside. He paused long enough to glare at Kevin and then pushed past Damon to stomp down the steps.

“What’s his problem?” Damon asked as Keith ran off in the direction of what remained of the garden.

Kevin raised his eyes to glare after his brother. “The big, bad crows are after his precious Sammy.”

“How’s that your problem?”

“Because I told him it’s his fault.” Kevin tossed a peeled potato into the pot next to him and grabbed another from the bag. “Dipwad stuffed the head with corn.”

Damon snorted and then laughed aloud. “What a dumb kid.”

Both boys watched as Keith approached the drooping scarecrow. As he flailed his arms and shouted, a dozen crows rose cawing from the scarecrow and circled the garden before settling on the fence.

Keith wrestled the limp scarecrow from its perch and started toward the house. Kernels of corn fell from a hole in Sammy’s burlap head, leaving a Hansel and Gretel trail behind him. Seeing the chance for a free meal, the waiting crows flew from their perches and gobbled up the corn. Realizing what was happening, Keith whirled around to chase them away, but in doing so, he scattered more corn, which in turn attracted more crows.

“This is great! This is epic!” Damon leaned against the railing, laughing so hard he could barely hold his phone as he shot video of the spectacle. He began doing his own comical narration. “Ru-u-un! Zombie crows! They’re after your scarecrow brains!”

“Shut up, you idiot! I’m in enough trouble,” Kevin hissed, dropping both potato peeler and potato as he jumped off the porch to help his brother.

Still laughing, Damon set down his phone and followed Kevin. He kept the thieving crows at bay while Kevin helped Keith get the scarecrow back to the house.

Once the scarecrow was safely on the porch, Keith sat staring at it for several minutes, lovingly fingering the holes in its face. Then in a fit of grief and rage, he tore one of the holes wide open and emptied the remaining corn from Sammy’s burlap head. When every last kernel had been dumped out, he threw handfuls of corn from the porch, all the while shouting, “Stupid crows! Stupid crows!” The crows, of course, were only too happy to accept the corn offering, no matter the spirit in which it was given.

When every last kernel had been hurled from the porch, Keith picked up his beloved scarecrow and cradled it in his arms. Large tears formed in his eyes and spilled onto Sammy’s poor, deflated, crow-pecked head.

Even though Kevin thought his brother was making a fuss over nothing, he couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. He stopped peeling once more and turned his eyes to his friend.

Damon, too, had corralled his mirth and sat regarding the young lad with what could only be described as sympathy. In an uncharacteristic display of compassion, he reached out to touch the boy’s arm. “Hey, K-bot.”

“Don’t…call me…K-bot,” Keith snuffled, pulling away from him.

“Come on, little dude,” Damon said. “I just want to help.”

“You can’t help,” Keith replied, throwing Sammy’s remains on the porch and getting to his feet. “My scarecrow sucks. He isn’t scary at all, and the crows just want to eat him.”

“True dat.” Damon nodded, looking down at the decapitated scarecrow.

When Keith stomped his foot and scrunched his face at Damon, Kevin intervened. “Damon, lay off will ya?”

“Dude, I’m just trying to help. Keith, come here.” Keith stayed where he was, but met Damon’s gaze. Damon picked up the limp scarecrow and studied it as he spoke. “Look, you’re right about Sammy not being very scary. I mean, seriously. A poop emoji sweatshirt, smiley face pajama pants, black button eyes, and a painted-on grin? That’s not scary at all; that’s cute.”

“Not to mention the corn you stuffed his head with,” Kevin muttered, not quite loud enough for his brother to hear.

Keith swiped at a renegade tear running down his cheek as he considered Damon’s words. “So how do I make a scary scarecrow?”

“You have to give him creepy eyes and sharp teeth, and maybe even some claws. Make it something you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark cornfield.” He lunged at Keith with a toothy leer and a swipe of his fingers that made Keith gasp and take a step toward Kevin.

Kevin immediately jumped to his brother’s defense. “Chill out, Damon. He’s just a little kid; don’t put your horror movie ideas into his head.”

Insulted by his brother’s words, Keith stood as tall as he could. “I am not a little kid, and I’m not scared of Damon’s scarecrow. I want to make a scary scarecrow, a really scary scarecrow!” He gave Sammy’s remains a disdainful kick. “I don’t like this stupid baby scarecrow anymore.”

Damon grinned, and Kevin knew his friend had something up his sleeve, but he was afraid to ask what. “Tell you what, kid. I’ll get the stuff together and come over next Saturday, and we’ll make the scariest scarecrow you’ve ever seen.”

…to be continued.


Remember to hop on over to check out the other participants offerings as well.


Are You Afraid of the Dark?

The Word Whisperer

Hawk’s Happenings

Carmilla Voiez Blog



Frighten Me

Winnie Jean Howard

Always Another Chapter

Balancing Act

James P. McDonald



A Tale of Two Parties

In the past week, I have attended two birthday parties. That’s something of a rarity for me; in recent years, family parties have become a thing of the past, and my friends, it seems, are of an age where they forgo actual parties in favor of small, informal, sometimes spontaneous adventures. Still, these milestone markers, whatever form they may take, remain an important part of the fabric of our lives.


Last Thursday, I got a last-minute invite to an informal get-together/supper party for Aunt Annabelle, who turned 95. The Schlegel/Crabb side of the family is known for such longevity. Grandma Crabb passed away four days shy of her 97th birthday, and Mammy Crabb was also 96 when she died. I was surprised to be reminded that Aunt Kass, who made the trek to Mechanicsburg for the party, had just turned 86 last month. She certainly doesn’t look or sound like she’s that old.


As one would expect for a 95th-birthday party, this was a somewhat quiet affair. It was held at Country Meadows Retirement Home, where Aunt Annabelle has lived for the past several years. Panera Bread provided the food—sandwiches, salad, chips, and cookies—and one of the cousins brought several bottles of wine and a pan of brownies with “Happy 95th Birthday” written in purple icing.


The time was spent catching up with my much-older cousins whom I rarely see; one lives over on the East Shore, and another recently moved to Florida. One conversation we had sticks in my mind, that of the need to preserve family history. Cousin Robin, who is continuing Aunt Annabelle’s hobby of genealogy, shared her desire to write a book of various family members’ recollections of living through the Depression and two World Wars. My Uncle Merle had had quite a military career, even participating in the think tanks for the first flight simulators. His wife, Aunt Janie, was a WAC during WWII and had stories of her own to tell. Likewise, Uncle Bob, Aunt Annabelle’s late husband, was a decorated war hero.

The conversation raised a twinge of regret over the fact that my own father had taken his stories of the Korean War with him to the grave. One of my brothers had kept all of Dad’s military medals and ribbons, awards for which none of us knows the stories. Why had he received them? What had he done to earn them? We’ll never know.


The other party I attended was on Saturday of the same week, a 1st birthday party for Myles and Aubrey, my niece’s twins. As one would expect, this party was much livelier, full of the laughter and antics of babies, children, and young parents, not to mention the mess and fun of those 1st birthday cupcakes.


Conversations at this party were much different, but no less precious. Parents shared the antics—some funny, some crazy, and some concerning—of their offspring, and everyone looked forward, with both hope and trepidation, to what the coming days, weeks, and months might bring. There was the usual nostalgic wish that the kids wouldn’t grow up so quickly. The oft-repeated saying, “The days are long, but the years are short,” was never far from anyone’s thoughts.

Everyone present enjoyed watching Myles and Aubrey, comparing and contrasting them, noting the ways in which they resembled each other as siblings and twins, and how they exhibited traits of their family, and marveling over the ways they were already unique individuals. Even watching them dig into their birthday cupcakes was an exercise in contrasts, as Myles eventually dug right into his cake and destroyed it, while Aubrey was a bit less enthusiastic about getting too messy; in fact, the family dog inevitably consumed more cake than Aubrey did.

Throughout the party, I couldn’t help watching my own two boys—Wesley, now 15 and already making plans for life after high school, and Wayde, 12, as sassy as any teenager and barely an inch shorter than my husband—as they interacted with both adults and youngers. It both amused me and brought me close to tears seeing them speaking with aunts, uncles, and grown cousins as easily as the other adults, and the next moment taking turns on the tree swing like the younger children.

As I watched three-year-old Hudson talking back to his mother and pushing limit after limit as preschoolers will, I was reminded of the challenges Wesley presented in his younger days, and I remembered worrying how on earth I’d ever handle him when he grew bigger than me. Wesley himself commented how much Huddy reminded him of his three-year-old self.

Of course, the challenges we face now are much different, as we plan for Wesley’s impending scoliosis surgery. The timing, it seems, couldn’t be more unfortunate, as his recovery will ultimately impact driving privileges, summer jobs, and possibly even college preparations.

Huddy’s little brother Holden has similar challenges of his own to face. Because of an infection he contracted before birth, he was left with some eye issues and profound deafness. He is scheduled for a cochlear implant in the coming months that his doctor hopes will restore at least some of his hearing.


As I reflect on these two parties, one celebrating a long life, and one celebrating lives just beginning, the one thing that stands out most is the importance of story, the sharing of family anecdotes and memories that make up our everyday lives. Some of the tales told—such as the discovery of a new favorite food or toy, or a child’s tumble down the deck stairs—mean little, if anything, to those outside the family. Other stories, such as the Depression-era and Wartime memories my cousin wishes to preserve, have a much wider appeal and are important in a historical context.

But no matter what the nature of the stories, it is important—crucial—that we keep telling them, for it is story that ultimately defines our human experience.

Monachopsis, Part I


lost beach ball

monachopsis: the subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place, lumbering, clumsy, easily distracted.



I’ve been living on the outside looking in,

Never quite feeling like I belong.

How can I feel comfortable in my own skin

When I feel like my own skin is wrong?


I see the world through different eyes

Than everyone else around me.

It never takes long for folks to realize

That a cloak of weirdness surrounds me.


It’s not that I’ve never been invited

To come in and partake of the fun.

But it’s soon obvious everyone else is united,

While I stand apart, a party of one.


I don’t like what they like; I do my own thing,

When I do, then the whispers begin.

I want so much to belong, but I’m left with the sting

Of playing a game I know I can’t win.


You see, I’ve lived so long in the fringes,

And I know they think I’m somewhat askew.

When I share my thoughts, my likes, everyone cringes,

And I know there’s just one thing I can do…


Playlist for an As-Yet-Unstarted YA Novel

After what seemed like forever, I finally released An Uneasy Inheritance, Book 4 of the Kyrie Carter: Supernatural Sleuth series in August of this year. My original intention was to end Kyr’s series with Book 4 and then move on to other things for awhile.

But you know what they say about our best-laid plans.

As it turns out, even though Uneasy was and is quite the beast of a book (626 pages), it did not end where I wanted it to end, necessitating a fifth book. I know, some of you are cheering, while others are probably groaning.

In any event…

This post is actually in reference to what comes after the KC:SS series–a YA series that follows the adventures of Spook and Kyr’s teenage children (yeah, there’s a spoiler for you), and Drac’s and Gabe’s offspring as well. The first story in that series will follow Spook and Kyr’s oldest son Declan as he travels to Pawley’s Island, South Carolina in search of the Gray Man. If you know anything about the Gray Man legend, you can probably guess that a hurricane will play a significant part of the story.

That being said, as this story is beginning to take shape in my mind, if not on paper yet, I’ve been listening to some songs that at least mention hurricanes, tornadoes, or storms in general. So just for fun, here are some of those songs.

  1. Hurricane in the USA – I came across this song quite by accident when I was looking for something else. “Party in the USA” was on one of my playlists some time ago, but I had forgotten about Bridgit Mendler’s “Hurricane.” I absolutely love this mashup! It’s a lot of fun, and it gets me up and dancing around, even when I’m tired.
  2. Adalaida – This is one from my country music days. I’m not a particular fan of George Strait, but this is just a fun song to listen to and sing.
  3. Down at the Twist and Shout – Another one from my country music days. Actually, the first time I heard this was on a country cover album by the Chipmunks (don’t judge me, huh?), so I looked up the original and really liked it.
  4. Bad Moon Rising – Probably the most classic natural disaster song in existence. It’s a bit more foreboding than the others, so it really hints at how dangerous Declan’s adventure becomes, and not necessarily on the paranormal side of things. (This video is a treat too!)
  5. Rock You Like a Hurricane – Of course, Declan being Spook’s son, he’s going to have a run-in with a feisty young lady while on his adventure. I won’t say much about her, except that she’s a storm chaser on an adventure of her own, and they have quite the clash when the storm comes ashore.

I’m sure there are other songs out there with a similar theme, and I’ll be adding more songs as the story takes shape. What’s your favorite song that mentions bad weather? Let me know in the comments!

Immortal Hearts – Author Raven Moon


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~ Rainelle Sterling grew up in the Smoky Mountains, so when she returned home, she made plans to visit the place where she spent her childhood.
What was supposed to be a fun relaxing weekend away with her brother, and friends changes as she learns her grandmother’s tales weren’t tales at all, but a warning as she faces a devastating loss, a fight for her life against the unimaginable.
When faced with telling her parents, she learns things that she never knew. Will the broken trust, betrayal, and deceit from loved ones break her? Can she remain strong to survive?
If only she knew then, what she knew now, maybe, just maybe, things would be different. But for now, she must fight to stay alive while she plans her revenge against the unthinkable. ~


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October Frights — Grimm’s Woods, Part 2


A short time later, Curt sat on a log just off the narrow path, his lantern at his feet, questioning his decision to bring the tour group into the woods. With a shaking hand, he brought a cigarette to his lips and took a long drag. As he slowly exhaled a cloud of smoke, he listened to the voices coming from all directions.

“Hello? My name is Tina. Is there anyone here with us?”

“Did you live in this cabin? What happened the night you disappeared?”

“Did you see that? That was an EMF spike, right there!”

“If you’re one of the Grimm family, make this flashlight turn on.”

Curt shook his head at the stupidity. What were they playing at? What was he playing at? Who knew what kind of spirit would respond to their questions? He didn’t know any more than they did what had really happened here. The only one who seemed to know anything was…


Evelyn sat on her own log a short distance away, hunched down in her coat, arms crossed tightly in front of her. What had started as a fun night out with Sean to celebrate their six-month anniversary had turned into a nightmare. After dinner at her favorite restaurant, he had surprised her with tickets to tonight’s ghost tour. Even after learning that they would be going to Grimm’s Woods, she had swallowed her objections and gamely agreed to go. However, she had drawn the line at accompanying the rest of the group into the woods for a ghost hunt, thinking Sean would give in and take her back to town. Instead, they’d gotten into a heated argument, during which he’d called her a wuss and then issued an ultimatum: either suck it up and stay with the group, or walk back to town by herself.

Now here she sat in the heart of Grimm’s Woods, cold and miserable and afraid, while Sean investigated with Brody and another young couple somewhere near the Carpenters’ cabin. In the silent darkness, her heart pounded in her chest as her eyes darted in all directions, watching for the unsettled souls that she could sense, but not see. Can’t they feel it? she wondered. Aren’t they afraid of what they might awaken?

Suddenly, her gaze landed on the tour guide. In the dim light of his lantern, it was hard to read his expression, but she was sure he was pleased with himself. Hoping for another five-star rating, Mr. Tour Guide? She watched the tip of his cigarette glow a brighter orange as he took a drag. The wraithlike ribbon of smoke he blew out hid his face for a moment; when it cleared, he was looking directly at her. With a curl of her lip, she turned away.


Seeing the young woman’s animosity directed at him, Curt made his move. He dropped his cigarette butt on the ground and crushed it with his heel, then got up and crunched through the leaves toward her.

Evelyn was on her feet before he even reached her, now more angry than afraid, and ready for a confrontation. “Why did you have to bring us out here? You could have just taken us back to town and let them investigate somewhere”—she was going to say safer—“else.”

“Yeah, right, and miss out on leading the first ghost hunt in these woods?” He let out a short laugh, trying to convince himself, if not her, that he’d been justified in bringing the group here. “Listen to them. They’re having a blast.”

Her face contorted with disgust and disbelief. She’d certainly read him right, hadn’t she? “Anything for a five-star review, right Curt?” She reached out to flick his nametag. “This should read Curt the Creep.”

Just in time, he stopped himself from slapping her hand away. It wouldn’t do to have it on record that he’d struck a customer, especially a female, even if it was justified. “What is with you anyway? Are you just a wuss, like your boyfriend said, or do you know something about this place that I don’t?”

As soon as the words left his lips, her demeanor went from combative to apprehensive, as though he’d just reminded her where she was. She took a step back and began looking around wildly, as though she’d heard something. Meeting his eyes again, she asked low, “You mean, you really don’t know?”

“Know what?” Curt exploded, throwing his arms wide. “For God’s sake, woman, if you know something about this place, then tell me! What happened out her that has you so scared?”

“No one really knows,” she said, mocking his earlier line. When he glared at her, she elaborated. “No, Curt, no one knows what happened to the Grimm family, but it’s well documented that the Carpenters found more than an abandoned homestead that morning.”

The sensation of ice water being poured down his back made Curt shiver. “What…what did they—”

A scream from the direction of the Carpenters’ cabin cut him off. “What was that? Did you see that?”

“That wasn’t human,” another voice answered. “I don’t know what it was.”

Curt had just snatched up his lantern and bolted into the trees toward the first scream when another cry came from a different direction, further off. Then a third voice cried out from the vicinity of the Grimm’s homestead. “Something scratched me!” Soon, screams—both human and non-human—came from every direction, along with the sound of crashing trees, snapping branches, and bodies being struck by…by what?

With the light from Curt’s lantern gone, Evelyn was left alone in the pitch black woods. She stood frozen, listening to the horrific sounds all around her, too frightened to even switch on her flashlight. Is that a wise thing to do anyway? I don’t really want to draw attention to myself—she swallowed hard—or see what’s out there.

As she stood contemplating whether she should stay where she was or strike out on her own to find Sean, she realized that everything had gone eerily, deathly silent. The screams and shouts had ceased, along with the sounds of death and destruction. Not even a breath of wind stirred the leaves that still clung to the branches.

“H-hello?” Though her voice came out as little more than a whisper, it was loud in her ears, and she shrank back, startled.

There was no answer.

Just as she opened her mouth to call out again, something in the trees caught her eye. She took a step forward and squinted to see what it was. A tiny, yellow point of light winked on and then off. A moment later, it winked again, a few feet further away, and then again.

A firefly, Evelyn realized. It’s a firefly.

Forgetting her fear and whatever had just happened in the woods, she hurried after it, hoping against hope that maybe it would make its way out of the woods and into the field beyond. Then she could run back to Boos in the Burg and call for help, even though she was certain that Sean, Curt, and all the others were beyond help.

Unused to running through thickly-wooded deer paths in the dark, Evelyn was soon winded, and her face and hands bore scratches from branches and thorns she’d encountered, but still she doggedly followed the tiny beacon that continued to flash every few seconds. At times she’d lose sight of it, and then stand looking around wildly, uttering tearful prayers under her breath. When at last it appeared again, she’d resume the chase, seemingly always getting closer, but never able to catch up to it.

After what seemed like hours, she saw what appeared to be moonlight shining through a break in the trees up ahead. With renewed strength, she ran ahead even faster, heedless of the branches that snagged her clothes and her hair as though trying to keep her from reaching her destination. When at last she shoved her way through the remaining brush, she found herself not in the field close to town, but instead in a place where the trees had thinned just enough to allow the moon to shine through the branches.

As she looked around to get her bearings, she had the distinct feeling that she wasn’t alone. For the first time since she’d burst into the clearing, she saw the flashing yellow point of light that had led her here. Something about the light didn’t seem quite right, and she took a step back as her thoughts cleared. It suddenly occurred to her that it was the end of September, and the weather was too cold for fireflies. Then what is it?

Fear rose into her throat, threatening to choke her, as she sensed some sinister force gathering around her like a storm. All at once, the yellow light vanished, and in its place stood a dark, faceless form. It slipped out of the trees on the opposite side of the clearing and started toward her at an impossible speed.

She screamed and turned to run back into the trees. The moon suddenly disappeared behind a cloud, as though it couldn’t bear to watch the fate of the young woman who tried desperately to escape an unspeakable horror.


Curt thundered through the trees, heedless of the searing pain in his twisted ankle and the blood that kept trickling into his eye from a gash on his forehead. His mind was singularly focused on getting out of these demon-infested woods and finding the others. A glimpse of moonlight through the trees up ahead renewed his strength, and he pushed forward toward his goal. As he burst out of the woods and into the field, he came to an abrupt halt, bewildered, unable for a moment to get his bearings.

“There he is! Curt! Over here!”

Relief surged through his veins as he spotted his group in the middle of the field. Some lay sprawled on their backs, while others sat half-upright in the grass. All were breathing heavily, as though they’d been running for their lives, just as Curt had. It was obvious, even at first glance, that none had come out of their ordeal completely unscathed, but from what he could gather, no one was seriously injured.

Curt barely made it to the others before collapsing in a heap, his lungs burning, and his ankle throbbing unbearably. For a moment, he lay with his eyes squeezed shut, clutching his ankle and replaying in his mind the horrific events he’d just endured. When he could bear the memories no longer, he rolled onto his back and opened his eyes to stare up at the harvest moon, which had just peeked through the clouds almost directly overhead. He blinked in disbelief, recalling that the moon had just risen when they’d arrived at the edge of Grimm’s Woods. Dear God, how long were we in there?

Sitting up, he turned his attention to the others. He shuddered as he listened to their broken narratives of the terrors they’d experienced—glowing red eyes in the trees, the growls of some unknown beast, inhuman screams and tortured human cries, shadows roaming in and around the ruined foundation of the Grimm’s cabin…

He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut once more, trying to banish the remembered image of the tall, hooded figure that had pursued him as he tried to escape the woods. Time and time again, it had fallen behind him only to reappear again in front of him, forcing him to change direction again and again until he was utterly lost and had given up hope of ever finding his way out.

“Where’s Evelyn?”

It took a moment for the voice to break through his mental torment. “Wha…what?”

“Where is she? Where’s my girlfriend?” Sean had made his way on hands and knees over to Curt.

“I…I don’t know. I left her…by the log on the path…” Curt gestured helplessly toward the woods. He hadn’t given the timid young woman a thought since grabbing the lantern and running toward the ghost hunters’ screams.

“What do you mean you left her?” His glassy eyes blazed with worry, fear, and anger as he seized Curt by the throat and brought his face dangerously close. “You said you’d stay with her. You were supposed to keep her safe!

Too exhausted and weak to even raise his hands to defend himself, Curt choked out, “I…I’m…sorry. I…”

Evelyn!” Sean released the tour guide, letting him drop to the ground like a sack of potatoes. With a grief-stricken howl, he got to his feet and began half-staggering, half-sprinting toward the woods. Before he could make it ten yards, Brody and two other men had raced after him and wrestled him to the ground. Still struggling to free himself, Sean extended a hand toward the trees, screaming his girlfriend’s name over and over.

Curt lay on the ground in a daze, watching the scene before him, yet feeling it was all a dream, a horrible, far-away dream. The only thing that was real at that moment was the young woman’s voice echoing in his head. I…told…you…you’d…be…sorry…

October Frights — Grimm’s Woods, Part 1


A solitary man, tall and imposing in his heavy coat, separated from the group and turned to face the others. Their low, murmured conversations and nervous titters faded into silence as he stepped up onto the root of a gnarled, old oak tree. Leaning against the trunk for support, he raised his lantern to survey the faces before him, his eyes glittering in the yellow-orange light. Eighteen, he thought with satisfaction. My biggest tour yet. However, getting a head count wasn’t the only thing on the man’s agenda. As his gaze landed on a fresh-faced coed, his lips parted in a sneer. Bingo!

Curt Hampton had been a tour guide with Boos in the Burg for only a few months, but in that short time, he had gained a reputation of showing customers “a spooky good time.” In addition to possessing a deep, resonant voice and natural storytelling ability, he prided himself on his powers of observation. He had quickly learned that every tour group was made up of three types of people: skeptics, scaredy-cats, and those who were just there for a good time. Those who were in it for fun were usually easy to please; as long as they got a good story, they were happy, and any unexplained noises or shadows they might experience along the way were just an added bonus.

The skeptics were an entirely different story. That lot was difficult, if not impossible, to please. He had learned almost immediately not to tangle with them or to attempt to sway their beliefs; nothing short of a flaming demon from hell would ever penetrate the walls of their cynicism and make them believe in the supernatural. It was best to give polite answers to their questions and to ignore their heckling.

It was the third group that was his bread-and-butter. Curt had built the bulk of his reputation by targeting the scaredy-cats. He had learned to pinpoint the most gullible attendees and play upon their obvious fear of the supernatural. By watching their facial expressions and body language, he could determine how to play upon their fears and phobias until their nervousness spilled over into the rest of the group, making them ripe and ready to be deliciously frightened. Judging by the too-wide eyes and hunched shoulders of the young woman clinging to her boyfriend near the front of the group, he had found his target for this evening’s scare.


Evelyn Martin pressed closer to her boyfriend Sean, making it nearly impossible for either to walk without stumbling. When some fearsome creature with enormous wings appeared out of the darkness and fluttered past right in front of her face, she let out a loud squeal and jumped back, causing Sean to stagger and drop his flashlight. With a huff, he glared at his girlfriend as he bent down to snatch it up. “Evelyn, would you chill?” he hissed, swatting at the insect that had sought the warmth of his flashlight beam. “It’s a freakin’ moth, not the Mothman.”

“Sorry,” Evelyn mumbled as she took a step away from him, embarrassed by the snickers that erupted around them. She couldn’t help feeling jittery; for as long as she could remember, she’d heard her grandmother’s stories about Grimm’s Woods and the things that had happened there—things that still happened there. If she’d known before tonight that Grimm’s Woods was on the itinerary, she never would have agreed to this, but it was too late to back out now.

As the group approached the edge of the woods, her eyes darted this way and that, trying to see—but hoping she wouldn’t—what it was that had set her teeth on edge and made her insides turn to a quivering mass as soon as the trees had come into view. Was it just her own trepidation, fueled by her grandmother’s stories, that was making her tense, or was there indeed something waiting in the woods?

She pressed close to Sean once more, scrunching down into her coat to make herself smaller, less visible to whatever might be lurking deep within the dense copse of trees. Despite keeping herself as close to the center of the group as possible to avoid lagging behind, she still felt exposed and conspicuous, as though someone—or something—had fixed evil eyes on her and was watching, waiting to catch her alone.

Trying to dispel the unsettling notion, Evelyn swallowed hard and turned her attention back to the tour guide, who had begun speaking.


“This is Grimm’s Woods.” Curt extinguished his lantern, and the rest of the group likewise switched off flashlights and cell phones, plunging them into an inky darkness that the dim glow of the harvest moon on the horizon could barely penetrate. “The site gets its name not only from the Grimm family, who staked the first claim here in these woods”—He directed a laser pointer off into the woods behind him—“but also from the settlement’s grim ending.”

“So what happened to them?”

Curt’s eyes zeroed in on the silhouette of Brody, one of several skeptics in tonight’s group. Even though darkness masked the older man’s features, Curt could hear the smirk in his tone. Trying to keep his voice low and steady, he responded, “No one really knows.”

Scoffing laughter and derisive murmurs rose like a cloud of biting mosquitoes from the crowd, shaking his confidence and making him curse his decision to throw out such a trite line. Glad for the shadows that hid the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed hard, Curt paused–he hoped—dramatically. Just give it a minute, he coached himself. Don’t get defensive, or you’ll lose ‘em.

As he waited for the group to settle, his gaze rested once more on the young woman. In the dim light, he could just make out her mouth, darker against the fair skin of her face, set in a straight line that suggested that Brody’s comment and the crowd’s resulting cynicism had alleviated some of her anxiety.

However, before he gave in to the fear that tonight’s tour was in danger of falling flat, he noticed that despite her outward expression of bravado, her eyes were still wide with apprehension. Certain he could bring her fear to the forefront once more and turn this crowd in his favor, he drew himself up taller and focused his attention on her as he continued his tale.

“No one really knows what happened to the Grimm family. Legend has it that the Carpenters, another family who’d settled nearby, about a quarter mile that way”—He directed his laser pointer behind him and off to his right—“came to call one morning and found the place abandoned. The cabin door stood wide open, and the ashes in the hearth were still warm as though a fire had been left to burn overnight. None of the family’s belongings were missing, including their wagon and a pair of spooked horses in the barn, but there was no trace of the family.”


Soft gasps and murmurs rose up around Evelyn, and a shiver of fear raced down her spine, displacing her moment of skeptical disbelief. Her gaze once again drifted behind the tour guide, to the trees that hid…what? Again she sensed some presence that watched and listened, waiting for someone foolish enough to enter the woods.

With some difficulty, she tore her gaze away from the woods and focused again on the tour guide’s face…and immediately wished she hadn’t. Milky moonlight shone on his visage, and she imagined for a moment that it was no longer the tour guide from Boos in the Burg who spoke, but rather one of the ill-fated members of the Grimm family come back from the grave to tell of his fate.

She gave her head a shake to banish both the image of a spectral storyteller and her urge to turn and run back toward town. Her scalp prickled as the tour guide glossed over the Carpenters’ findings, leaving out the grisly details she’d overheard her grandmother sharing when she thought the children were asleep. Either he didn’t know or he simply chose not to share reports of the strange markings gouged into the door of the cabin, or the way the barn doors hung askew, as though someone or something had attempted to enter.

A woman in the back interrupted the narrative to ask sensibly, “Well, what did the Carpenters do? Did they go looking for the family?”

“Indeed, they did,” the tour guide acknowledged, fixing his gaze once more on Evelyn. “They spent the better part of the day combing these woods, looking for any trace of the missing family, any clues to their whereabouts, but they found nothing.”

Nothing but some blood-stained shreds of clothing and a single child’s shoe, Evelyn thought, her eyes trained once more on the dark thicket behind the tour guide, where she was certain she had just seen a darker shadow pacing back and forth.


“Come nightfall, the Carpenter family locked themselves inside their own cabin, barricading the door and securing the shutters over their windows, fearful of whatever unseen evil had befallen their neighbors.” As he spoke, the back of his neck began prickling as though he felt someone watching him, unseen, from the cover of the trees. His eyes sought the young woman whose fears he’d been provoking all evening, and he once again found her attention focused on the woods behind him, as though she saw something there. Beads of cold sweat formed on his forehead as it occurred to him that this didn’t look like the run-of-the-mill, scared-by-a-ghost-story fear he was used to seeing. Running his tongue across lips that had gone suddenly dry, he rationalized that he’d done so good a job of scaring her that he’d made himself jumpy in the process…Or else she knows something I don’t.

A jolt went through him as he recalled his boss’ initial hesitation in allowing him to add Grimm’s Woods to his rotation. In fact, he was well aware that the only reason she’d agreed at all was because he’d hinted, maybe a little less than truthfully, that their biggest competitor was already considering the location for Halloween. Eager to get the jump on her rival, she’d reluctantly given him the go-ahead. I just hope this doesn’t come back to bite me, she’d said, giving him a pointed look. Or you.

Swallowing hard, he realized that in his haste to seal the deal and be the first guide to lead a ghost tour into Grimm’s Woods, he had neglected to do his usual research on the location. What if there was more to the story than he’d heard from the local teens? What if the timid young woman in the tour group knew something about the family’s fate that he didn’t?

Suddenly feeling threatened by the darkness, he picked up his lantern and relit it with trembling fingers. Tearing his eyes away from the nervous young woman before him, he rushed to conclude his story with a shaky voice. “The story goes that many times that night, the Carpenters heard blood-curdling shrieks from deep within the woods. More than once, the doors and shutters banged and shook as though something was trying to get in. When morning came, the family scrambled to throw together their belongings and supplies, and they abandoned their cabin. When they stopped in the nearest town a couple hours east and related what had happened, many of the old-timers crossed themselves against the evil that inhabited Grimm’s Woods. To this day, on a crisp, cold, autumn night, when the harvest moon is full, you can still hear the tortured cries of the Grimm family deep within this very wood.”

Chancing a brief glance over his shoulder, Curt stepped down from the tree root and gave a tight smile to his audience. “I hope you’ve all enjoyed tonight’s Boos in the Burg ghost tour. Please stay together as we make our way back to town.”


That’s it? As the tour guide held up his lantern and made his way back through the group, Evelyn’s knees went weak with relief. She’d been certain that he’d take them into the woods to investigate whatever remained of the small settlement, but she’d been wrong, wonderfully wrong. The tour was over, and no evil had befallen them. She beamed up at Sean, about to tell him how much she’d enjoyed their spooky date night, but froze at his expression.

“That’s it?” Sean’s words might have echoed her thoughts, but his attitude was decidedly different.

“I thought we were going to investigate in the woods,” a woman behind Evelyn whined. “I bought a new voice recorder especially for tonight.”

“This is bogus.”

“What a rip-off!”

“I told you we should have gone with Gary’s Ghost Tours. They guarantee a ghost hunt.”

As protests flew all around her, Evelyn met the tour guide’s eyes. For the briefest instant, she was certain she saw a bit of her own dread reflected on his face, as though he, too, had sensed something sinister lurking just beyond the tree line. She held his gaze for a moment, silently pleading with him to ignore the jeers and take the group back to the safety of town. Just when she thought she’d convinced him, another voice spoke above the others.

“What’d I tell you?” Brody sneered. “All these ghost tour places are fake, and this guy and his company are the fakest of the fake. At least they got the name right—Boos in the Burg. Boo! BOO!

When Evelyn saw the tour guide’s jaw tighten amid the chorus of boos, she knew it was hopeless. With one final, apologetic glance in her direction, he forced out a laugh and turned back toward the woods. “Gotcha! Of course we’re going to investigate the settlement. Follow me, but watch your step. The site is for the most part overgrown and hasn’t been kept up or improved. There are roots, rocks, and branches everywhere.”

Evelyn narrowed her eyes reproachfully as he pushed past her. “If you take this group into Grimm’s Woods, you’ll be sorry,” she hissed. “We’ll all be sorry.”

….to be continued.