Tag: writer

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Coffee and Contemplation: Haunted Nights (Anthology)

For this week’s Coffee and Contemplation segment, we’re discussing an anthology of short stories from different authors. Sixteen stories focused around our favorite holiday, Halloween. Some stories even incorporate aspects of Samhain, All Souls’ Day, Día de los Muertos, and Devil’s Night. These stories include a little of everything including vengeful ghosts, trick or treating, urban legends, and jack-o’-lanterns. This is the best collection of Halloween themed stories I’ve read. Each story is a different tale. Some are suspenseful and dark. A couple have a little humor. It’s a fun collection for any time of year.

I found one story to be anti-climactic, but the rest were wonderful. Many of the stories include traditions that are not associated with the commercial Halloween. What some might call the old ways. I appreciated that some stories included the other holidays that occur around the same time as Halloween such as Día de los Muertos. The anthology felt world encompassing with the tales set in different countries and the different traditions many have never heard of. This was one of my favorite books I read in 2019. This is not light, fun reading. Some of the stories deal with the real darkness living in the human soul.

I highly recommend this book to everyone, but it is not for children.

Spooky Spider Scale (How scary was the book?): 8/10 spiders 🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️

Overall rating: 5 stars ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

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Keys Reef Part 2

Read Part 1

            Larcus sits on the reef trying to remember his past.

            “I know I was feared. I can feel it in my exo-bones. Why can’t I remember? Could my memories have been stolen?”

            “Figure out your master plan yet?”

            “It’s about time you came back, Doris. I’m having trouble focusing.”

            “That’s nothing new.”

            “I’m serious. There are things I can’t remember.”

            “I know, and some of your memories may never come back. I’m sorry.”

            “Was it you?”

            “Was what me?”

            “Did you take them?”

            “I didn’t take your damn worms.”

            “No that. My memories.”

            “What?”

            “Did you take them? Did you steal my memories?”

            “How would anyone steal someone’s memories?”

            “Why don’t you tell me since you obviously did it?”

            “No, I didn’t.”

            “Well, someone did. All the more reason for me to take over the world.”

            “No one stole your memories dear. At least not the way you think.”

            “What does that mean?”

            “I have to re-tell you this story every couple months because you always forget.”

            “What else did I forget?”

            “Many years ago, you had an accident. You got caught in a fishing net. Humans pulled you into their boat. You fought them off and jumped back into the water. You got sucked into the boat’s propellor. You healed but suffered severe head trauma and lost most of your memories.”

            “I don’t remember any of that.”

            “I know.”

            “You saw it happen?”

            “Yes.”

            “So, it’s no longer about world domination and power.”

            “What?”

            “It’s about revenge against the humans!”

            “No. No, it’s about healing.”

            “Vengeance will be mine!”

            “That’s not what I’m trying to say.”

            “Beware humans! You stole my memories, and I will steal your world.”

            “They didn’t steal…”

            “Beware you evolutionary inferior bipeds.”

            “With no memory of the several thousand years you’ve been alive, and you haven’t changed at all.”        

            “I will take your world by force and then take your memories. Hahahaha!”

            “How will you do that?”

            “By melting the…oh that’s what I was doing.”

Read Part 3.

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Flashback Friday Poetry: The Poe Toaster

He came once a year
always bearing a Gift,
a bottle of Cognac and just three Roses.
into the graveyard,
so dark and dreary,
with a wide-brimmed black hat and a white scarf.
slithering in secret
and always alone,
only the Groundskeeper knew it was Him.
He offered a Toast
and drank in the Honor
of the man whom he did Admire.
a sign of Respect
to someone long passed
whose Birth was celebrated even after death.
so many years
this Tradition was followed,
getting public attention close to its end.
two hundred years,
the tradition ended
but spectators wanted it to go on.
now I offer to Him,
wherever He now toasts,
a Bottle of cognac and just Three roses.