A New Start

 

Chapter 1 – Fear

 

“But, why?”

At four, she knew enough to tense when she said it, because the result could be only one of two things: her mother would sigh and get a faraway look in her eyes while she crafted the perfect answer, or she’d reached her limit and her mother would roll her eyes, muttering something about her “answer well” having dried up for the day. Or worse, giving Shya that look – the one that meant stop.

Thankfully, this time her mother took her onto her lap and wrapped her arms around her, and Shya nearly swooned in the warmth of her embrace. But then came to attention, remembering to that faraway look in her mother’s eyes and straining to see it. It made her mother laugh. She kissed the top of Shya’s head.

“Daddy believes in what he can see,” she said.

“But -”

Her mother shook her head, her lips on Shya’s crown so that she would sense the movement. “It’s just how some people are, sweetheart.”

“But I know there’s someone in here,” Shya whispered, her eyes flicking to the dark corner, the closet door, the foot of the bed.

Her mother was quiet for a time. Shya moved against her chest with the rhythmic movement of her breath. She perceived her mother’s heartbeat against the back of her head and her eyes drooped, some past, pervasive sense of comfort threatening to overtake her completely.

“I know,” her mother finally said, her tone as hushed as Shya’s had been and the words tangling in her hair like extensions of the faint moonlight that filtered through her bedroom curtains.

Shya twisted around, needing to meet her eyes, and her mother loosened her arms, straining, too. Connecting. Understanding her need. “You do?” Shya asked and then held her breath, already having experienced enough interaction with people to know that they teased and sometimes even lied in order to smooth the truth. Mother hadn’t ever done that – it was why she trusted her so completely! – but she needed reassurance, anyway.

This was important.

Her mother nodded. “I do,” she said. Her eyes were luminous in the darkened room, somehow picking up the glow of the night sky and gathering it there. Shya thought her mother's gaze was very nearly magical.

“How?”

Her mother smiled. “My mother knew, too. And my grandmother. There is a long line of ancestors that knew, Shya. But we know something else, too: you don’t have to be scared.”

Shya hiccoughed suddenly as her eyes filled with tears. Her chest had filled so quickly that it shocked her, and the sound escaped her on its own, making her mother giggle. Shya didn’t mind; it was a funny sound. Besides, the fullness of her chest was what mattered. The fact that others knew. Others like her.

“I believe there are many things that exist outside of our perception, most of the time,” her mother said, her eyes going to the window dreamily. Shya would remember that statement for the remainder of her life, repeating it in the early years until she understood it fully, and then coming back to it when she needed the solidity of it.

Shya frowned.

“What?”

“I hear them, but I don’t see them.”

Her mother pursed her lips, nodding.

“Is - was it like that for you and Grandma, too?”

“It was,” she tucked a lock of hair behind Shya’s ear, her face unreadable, “but then it changed, and we could see them, too.”

Shya gasped, but her mother shook her head again.

“I was afraid too, at first, but then it became part of who I was and it stopped being scary.”

“Really?”

Her mother nodded solemnly.

“So, will I see them, too?” Shya felt her eyes widen at the thought and shivered a little.

Her mother paused again, rubbing Shya’s upper arm with an absently-moving thumb.

“Mommy?”

Her mother met her eyes again. “Probably, darling. But hopefully, it won’t be for a long while, and we can talk about it before then, so you’ll be ready.”

It was so simple, but so fulsome. So perfect. Her mother had a way with words.

“OK?”

Shya relaxed into the warmth of her mother again, confident enough to let go of the nagging sense of urgency that had nipped at her earlier.

Her mother kissed her forehead, the scent of her lingering in Shya’s nostrils intoxicatingly as she lay her down and tucked her in. Whispered, “I love you, sweet girl” into her hair and kissed her again.

Sweet orange, lavender and rosemary. Her mother’s nighttime oils were as much a part of her as her voice. Her touch.

Shya would catch them on the air long after her mother stopped gathering her into her lap. And remember her words – the ones that ended up being a lie, after all – “you’ll be ready.”

 

Love, Genny xo

In honor of reaching 300 followers of the FB Rose's Ghost page, I'm pleased to offer my latest finished manuscript for free: a novella called Love, Genny xo. 

Told in the form of letters rather than chapters, this often sad but overall triumphant story of a woman who decides to live in her camper through the harshest of Canadian seasons is a foray into something a bit different for yours truly, and written as a gift to myself and to the readers that support me on this beautiful journey of becoming a career writer. 

Please note that because this is not published for profit, you may find errors within! For that I must beg your forgiveness; during this crazy time, money is short and I confess to being flawed where editing my own stuff is concerned. 

Thank you, dear readers. You'll always be able to find the link to the story on the right-hand toolbar, and if you're so compelled to comment or inquire, please leave your input on the Rose's Ghost page linked above, or contact me by email. 

With love,

Theresa xo

Constance & Enzo's Tea Time With Peyton

 Out for edit, and shaping up for a September Release: a standalone that has familiar connections! 

The blurb: 

Peyton’s come a long way from the awkward twelve-year-old girl we met in That Summer, but her incredible gift is still wreaking havoc with her life.

In her ongoing quest to find others like her, she’s unknowingly left a trail of breadcrumbs to her front door – for commiserating friends and desperate souls, alike. But she couldn’t have predicted the lengths one visiting stranger would go to take advantage of her ability to talk to the dead.

She’s never been good at reading people, dead or alive, But this time her shortcomings - combined with the all-encompassing need of her captor - result in her disappearance.

Her advantage is that those who love her will do everything they can to find her and bring her home, including the recruitment of two uniquely qualified women. Will Margot - a pioneer in the world of science and the supernatural - and Charis - a sometimes reluctant, but incredibly gifted psychic - succeed in using their own special talents to see clues the police simply can't?

Coming Soon:

On Criticism - Constructive or Otherwise

First: tell me what you don't like. 

Please.

I appreciate those comments as much as the positives! Well...almost. ;)

I had a very talented, trusted reader (who also edits my stuff and is my Dad) drop a couple hints at criticism, then come right back and apologize, wishing he could take it all back.

But,..I NEED THAT SHIT. 

OK, if I'm honest, even the slightest hint at a negative remark caused me pangs of anxiety in the beginning. And suggestions - well, they nearly ended this career I'm trying to build, over here. Stuff like, I think you should start the chapter like this, or, I prefer this tense - sheer panic. Because all I heard was you did it wrong. But it's amazing what a year of rejection will do to toughen you up...and a year of self-publishing, including ARC results and honest reviews. There's a lot of self-doubt involved in this line of work, but there's a lot of triumph, too.

In short, your "criticism" was useful, Daddy, when some others cut deep, with no redeeming qualities to help the blood coagulate.

I need to know what I'm doing wrong, just as much as I need feedback on what hits you right, or else how will I change and grow? 

Second: I just said it. Tell me what you do like, too!

I think negative criticism is louder because it seems more important to point out the errors than to tout the scores. A positive review is usually short: vague sentiments and five stars, and they're done. But despite the affirmation of my chosen line of work that comes from any positive review, I'm often left wondering what I'd done to strike the right chord in the reviewer, too. 

I know I need to build my own team of beta-readers, and I'm trying! I really am - but it's challenging. 

I guess all I'm trying for something that will give back in value for both sides, and having a hard time figuring out the semantics. 

So in the meantime, whether you like my book or not, tell me. And for the love of God, tell me why. I love you. Thank you!

I'm Just Having Too Much Fun

Tom's Apocalypse is finished, cleaned up, and in the hands of my most trusted reader, input-giver, and grammar/spelling stickler. The fact that he's my Dad is just a gigantic bonus.

So, what's next?

I need to figure out what to DO with Tom now that it's finished. The pandemic I've created is maybe a little too similar to current-day circumstances for a quick release, though it's far more swift to devastate, and boasts a macabre host of symptoms COVID could never match. So, clearly fiction, but maybe a bit too much while we're still watching and waiting for answers during our own crisis.

In other words, maybe I should wait until we're sure our results aren't scarier than the fiction the virus inspired?

In any case, I'll get it ready (with my all-star team, of course) and see what happens. in the meantime, here are the cover contenders:

 

Now, on to what's coming:

 - I've submitted Dark Mirror to a press I admire; I should know mid - late fall whether it'll be selected. If not, I'll publish it in October.

- Stumble remains an enigma for me - more demon than ghost in some ways, and still hasn't be read by another soul. But I think some of my best writing is within its pages. Likely, it's another one that will have to wait for its time...

- Constance & Enzo's Tea Time With Peyton - Oh my God I cannot wait to put this out...but I haven't a clue when! It features characters from That Summer, Bird With A Broken Wing and the Rose's Ghost Trilogy, which made it a blast to write, but do I release it now, when the Trilogy is still gaining new readership, or wait until readers want more? Which brings me to my next project that's been percolating:

- A second Trilogy in the Rose series. Yep. Some time has passed, and we get to know the children of our past protagonists as they deal with experiences of their own. I see Dmitry, Greyson and Roisin in my mind so clearly, and their stories are begging to be told. But, first:

- I am going to finish a long-time in the works project this summer. It's called Dear Daddy and features a mentally unstable woman who is living in denial of what she's lost - and she's doing it in a camper in the woods, through a bitter Quebec winter. It's written as a series of letters, mostly to her father (hence the title).

- Totally new projects include a story called Wisp, which is told from the perspective of a ghost, and a thriller/fantasy mashup featuring a parallel world of elf-type folk. That one's called Fable, after the town in which it is set.

Can you feel how excited I am? Because I think I'm oozing it. I love this writing stuff.

I'll keep writing, and you keep reading. OK?

Deal.

Asylum Snippets...

Guys, I don't know if I can wait to get this one out...here's a taste, but let me give you some context: the majority of the story is told from our protagonist's (Bailey's) point of view. An intelligent young woman who was knocked off an ambitious course to doctorhood by the shocking end to a long-term relationship, Bailey still has a passion for helping those less fortunate than herself.

Which might explain the first time she saw the ghost. But it wasn't the last, not by far.

What seems like an epic adventure across the border to photograph long-abandoned Briarhurst before it is demolished turns into something very different when Bailey is entreated to stay, even after her group of friends must leave. But she's not alone in her quest to solve the mysteries of the lingering ghost children; she just happens to be the only one still living.

I've sprinkled historic newspaper articles throughout so readers are afforded a look into the history of the Briarhurst Asylum for Handicapped Children. The following is a portion of one of them, and I've stuck a bit from our Bailey in, afterward:

Chapter 8 – Article #2: Brambleton Times

BRIARHAVEN INSTITUTION: ANGRY FAMILIES UP IN ARMS AS POLICE INVESTIGATION CONTINUES AND SHOCKING REVELATIONS EMERGE.

September 25, 1978

Brambleton Times

By Jenson Carter

Reeling in the wake of the announcement that Briarhaven is under official Police investigation, former residents and their families are demanding answers. And one of their questions is “Should we sue now or wait until the investigation is complete?”

Perhaps I can help.

Let me tell you first that concerned families and those residents directly impacted by the downfall and delinquency of the failing institution – and let’s keep in mind that this is an institution that has been entrusted with disabled children for three-quarters of a century – aren’t the only stakeholders reacting in outrage. The City Council has announced an investigation of its own, stating,

“We are appalled to learn that a local organization trusted with the most vulnerable of souls from around the country has not only failed to meet standards, but appears to have abused this organization’s trust in it for far too long. In solidarity with the families and friends affected, we pledge to scrutinize the situation carefully, and ensure that safeguards are put in place in the future so that no one else suffers at the hands of such neglect and outright abuse.”

Strong words, especially considering there has been little released officially. Makes you wonder if the Council has heard the rumors, too? Makes you wonder if they know more already…

Mayor Jim Barney appears genuinely shocked, but is refusing to comment on the matter until results of the investigation are official and/or charges have been laid.

And then there’s the statement put forward by Briarhaven, itself. Yes! They’ve released a statement, and though it says very little, the fact that they’ve already acknowledged the investigation is rather a surprise. Here’s what we at the Times found most relevant amidst assurances of “effective processes” and “the prioritized care and comfort of our patients,”

“While we are aware that continuing staff shortages, as well as the impact of recently loosened regulations on qualified caregivers has had some detrimental effect on our organization as a whole, we want to reassure concerned citizens that we continue to hold ourselves to high internal standards. The health and safety of our children is first and foremost in our minds at all time, by mission and mandate.”

Excuse me while I vomit into my trashcan.

Apologies to the more sensitive of my readers, but as the lead undercover investigator for this publication, and someone who spent more than two months within Briarhaven Institution, pretty words from their legal team insight more nausea than comfort. They may succeed in turning the attention of some away, but not one who’s seen what occurs on a day-to-day basis inside their secluded walls.

~~~~~~~~~

A bit from Bailey:

...I looked backward at her and saw the door open inward at the opposite end of the hall. “Shit; they’re coming!”

Moshi’s face hardened and she was suddenly zipping past me. A bare foot - pale, but dirty - stepped through the door and I let out a shocked screech.

“What?” Moshi screamed in answer.

A shot of adrenaline coursed through me. I tore my eyes from the foot as it elongated into a leg, a knee, a filthy hem of a white dress – but when I whipped my head back around, Moshi was skidding to a stop and reaching for the door and I was on track to knock her over for the second time that day. Acting instead of thinking, I veered to the left at the last second, crashing spectacularly through the section of wall that came out into the hallway. My head slammed into the opposite wall and I crumpled instantly, stars bursting before my eyes and then fading, only to bloom into explosions of pain in my neck, head and – well, everywhere, really.

“Bailey!” Moshi yelled, then was looking down at me through the ruined drywall. I worked to get my bearings, but every movement was awarded with stabs of pain behind my eyes. And my awkward position was disorienting in itself; my right leg hung through the drywall, still, and I was half on my back/half on my side at the foot of a very narrow staircase.

I groaned, then remembered our pursuer. “Where are they?” I gasped as I tried to sit, but my head protested enough to knock me back. “Shit,” I muttered, no longer caring who we’d been running from as stars filled my vision once more.

“They’re gone!” Moshi’s voice echoed up the stairs beside me and I worked to regain my vision.

Vertigo rolled over me. “Oh, God,” I moaned. “I might puke.”

“I’m calling Cal,” Moshi muttered.

I stayed as still as possible, my arm over my face to block the light. “Did you see who was following us?”

“No; I only heard them! Cal? Oh, thank God. You’re not going to believe this: we found the false wall to the attic!”

I managed a laugh.

“Bailey crashed right through it! And I think she’s got a concussion; can you come?”

A sound, small but definite, echoed down to me. I held my breath and peered around my arm. Something moved in the shadows at the top of the stairs. I sucked in a breath. “Mosh?”

Moshi was telling Cal about the footsteps that had been following us. The sound came again from above me. It sounded like footsteps, too. Just like the ones from before. But, how -?  My stomach did a sick somersault as the shadows moved again.

“Moshi? I heard the pitch of my voice and tensed. “I know who was following us,” I called out, tears filling my eyes.

“What? Just a sec, Cal.” Moshi peered through the hole in the wall. “What, honey?” Her face changed. “Oh, you’re pale.”

I pointed weakly toward the top of the stairs. “She’s up there,” I cried, tears spilling onto my cheeks. “It was her.”

~~~~~~~~

Coming soon:

Free Rose's Ghost

I am doing a little promo today to celebrate reaching 200 followers on the Rose's Ghost FB page: free Rose's Ghost eBook: