Fortune Teller Blog Hop: Gothic Cavalcade

I've jumped back on the Blog Hop train, and this time I've packed a crystal ball...

Today, we visit a fortune teller, thanks to my novella, Gothic Cavalcade. In this excerpt, the main character, Althea has arrived at the Masquerade Carnivale, and is being shown around by the mysterious Byron and Mother. Mother then whisks her away to see the carnival's resident gypsy.

An Excerpt from Gothic Cavalcade

After breakfast, Mother and Byron escorted Althea on a leisurely stroll around the encampment, to show her the carnival. Byron linked arms with her and mother’s hand rested on her shoulder as they walked.
“It is not a large carnival, as you can see,” Mother’s soft voice chimed in Althea’s ear, “but we are a close group and we take care of each other. Soon, it will feel like home.”
Althea frowned. Odd, but she did feel strangely comfortable here, as if she belonged. She gazed out at the multi-coloured array of tents and caravans, at the dazzling stripes and spangles decorating their world, and at the sound of laughter and affection. Life thrived around her with shouts and chatter, barking dogs, and tethered horses munching hay. To her right the jugglers tossed bright orange balls high into the air, to the left she gawked as jesters with painted faces strutted about on stilts. Althea softly giggled. She wanted to lose herself in the gaiety and the colours, and submerge everything in the ornate vibrancy of her surroundings.
“It’s so beautiful here. So uncomplicated and spirited. I think I could be happy here.” She cast a quick glance at Mother. “If you still want me to stay?”
“Of course we do, child.”
“It’s a wonderful place, Althea.” Byron threaded his fingers through hers and squeezed her hand. “I’m glad you’re going to join us.”
“We are all pleased.” Mother put her arm around Althea’s shoulders and gently pulled her away from Byron. “But I am afraid I must steal her away for a moment. There is somewhere special I want to take our Althea.” Mother stepped between the pair. “You will excuse us, Byron?”
“Yes, Mother.” Byron tilted his head with a grin. “I’ll find you later, Althea.”
Althea found herself being ushered along, winding between caravans and rehearsing performers until they entered into a violet coloured tent, dyed with images of silver moons and festooned with miniature golden bells.
Pale light from an oil lamp lit the dim interior. It was a delicate and inviting place, the furniture adorned with amethyst silks and plush velvet cushions of mauve, embroidered in gold.
“This is Drusilla, our gypsy fortune teller.” Mother introduced Althea to a dark-haired, dark eyed beauty seated behind a round wooden table with a crystal ball sitting atop it.
“Hello.” Drusilla replied softly, ducking her head and avoiding Althea’s eyes.
“You must forgive Drusilla, she’s a bit shy.”
“That’s understandable.” Althea smiled and tried to make conversation. “Can you really tell someone’s fortune, Miss Drusilla?”
The girl looked up. “Oh, yes. I can see a person’s fate.”
“In this?” Althea touched the cold glass of the crystal ball.
Drusilla giggled. “Oh no. That’s simply for display. Sit down, I’ll show you what I do.” She waved her hand at the chair opposite her and Althea sunk into its purple softness. Drusilla reached out and grasped her hand, turning it palm up. Drusilla lightly traced her finger over Althea’s skin, making her shiver.
“You have a troubled life, tragedy and pain fill you. You are afraid and you blame yourself for making a terrible choice in years past. That choice has cost you something.” Drusilla paused and Althea caught her gaze, staring into her deep violet eyes. She felt ensnared for a moment, as if she had fallen into a cavernous pool and might drown. Then Drusilla broke their connection and continued her reading.
“I see safety ahead, and resolution." Drusilla paused again and frowned. “But not without conflict. Something is coming, something unfinished...” She abruptly stopped talking and let go of Althea’s hand.
“Is there a difficulty, Drusilla?" Mother’s voice broke the strain in the air.
“No, no, it’s simply, well, events will be bumpy for you, Althea." She smiled, attempting a half-hearted grin.
Althea felt a quiver of dread, but tried to laugh it away. “I’m used to bumpy.”
“But it will all work out in the end, won’t it Drusilla?" Mother asked softly. “It will all be agreeable when it is done?”
“Yes, Mother. All will conclude as it should.”
Althea looked at them both, confused, but Mother gave her no time to question Drusilla. Mother pulled her to her feet and shepherded her out of the tent.
“I think it is time we found Byron again. Don’t you agree, Althea?”
Althea smiled at the thought and let herself be led away; all uncertainties were lost by her desire to see Byron once more.

The Masquerade Carnivale is coming to call...

A woman escaping her wretched past stumbles into the strange world of a supernatural carnival.  Does her fate lie there, or with the captive life she left behind?

The Masquerade Carnivale is beckoning... will she answer?

Gothic Cavalcade is available on Amazon.com, Amazon.ca, Smashwords, Kobo, Barnes and Noble and other online retailers.

This Fortune Teller Blog Hop was organized by Kayla Curry.

Don't forget to check out the other blogs involved, who knows what they'll foretell.

Participants:
Kayla Curry (Host)
Alyssa Auch
S. M. Boyce
N.R. Wick
Steve Vernon
A. F. Stewart
Linda Taylor
Tami Von Zalez
Quanie Miller
Ellen Harger
Deborah Nam-Krane
Erin Cawood
Danielle-Claude Ngontang Mba
Wendy Ely
Laure Reminick
Jen McConnel

Snowy Reading Blog Hop: Meet Althea from Gothic Cavalcade

Welcome to my post for the Snowy Reading Blog Hop!

So pick up that hot chocolate, snuggle down in that comforter and cozy up to an interview with my main character from Gothic Cavalcade, Althea...

Tell us a little about yourself.
I grew up in a picturesque small town in the English countryside, in the later part of the 19th century. My father was an attorney, and we were quite well-off financially. We were a close family, with just my parents, myself and my sister, Jenny.  I married at eighteen, to Thomas, a land-owner of substantial means. He seemed quite charming and I thought myself to be a fortunate woman, but I found out his true nature after we were wed. Only then did I realize what an unhappy and horrid mistake I had made. To make matters worse, my parents died a few years after I married leaving me no place to run. My only solace was Jenny found a home with the family of a distant cousin.

Do you enjoy or dislike winter? Tell us why. 
I love winter, it's as if everything is quiet, waiting for something. I have fond memories of my family sitting by the fireplace, with Father reading to us in the evenings, or Sunday outings after Church. There is nothing nicer than a winter carriage ride. And of course there is the Christmas season, which is always so festive, especially if it snows. There is something quite special about snow on Christmas.
 
What would you do on a date (or with close friends) on a snowy evening?
"Dating" in my day was very strict and any encounters at dances or suitors coming to call were chaperoned. There were one or two evening dances where young gentlemen made my heart flutter, and I remember one handsome fellow who stole a kiss under the mistletoe.
 
When it's cold and dreary outside, what makes you laugh out loud?
My sister Jenny could always make me laugh, no matter my mood. She was always so happy, so full of mischief. Memories of her can still make me smile. 
 
If you were sitting around a fire, playing truth or dare, what would you choose and why?
That game sounds a bit scandalous, but I suppose I would chose truth. After all I've been through, the truth doesn't frighten me anymore. 
 
Tell us about a winter memory from your childhood?
My best memory from my childhood is the Christmas Ball when I was sixteen. Mother took me to the dressmaker for a special gown, made from blue satin brocade with dark velvet trim and lace ruffles on the sleeves. I felt quite the lady in that dress, with my hair in an up-swept fashion, wearing my white gloves and fluttering my lace fan. I smiled my best coquette smile as I entered that ballroom and felt my heart beat faster as the male eyes turned towards me. My dance card filled rapidly, and I dare say I flirted shamelessly, and I had a magnificent evening.

What is the most creative gift you would put under the tree?
I suppose that would be the watercolour I painted for my mother, the Christmas before I married. It was an especially fine landscape and I was quite proud of it.  It was also the last painting I created. My husband did not encourage artistic pursuits.

Would you start a snowball fight? 
Oh dear, I fear someone has been tattling. Jenny and I used to throw snowballs whenever it snowed, much to our Mother's dismay. She said it was not ladylike behaviour.
 
Tell us about your favourite winter movie or book?
I'm terribly fond of Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. My childhood copy is quite dogeared I'm afraid.  I loved to read it every year in the Christmas season.
 
How do you celebrate the holidays? Be it Christmas or Hanukkah or the Winter Solstice.
A traditional Christmas was quite important with my family, and even when I married Thomas insisted on keeping up appearances at Christmas, inviting family or friends to stay with us. I was grateful for that. He behaved well when we had guests.
I loved to festoon the house with greenery, and decorate the tree and on Christmas Eve we would hang the stockings and sing carols.  The next day, after Church, we would sit down to veritable feast for Christmas dinner.  My favourite parts were always the Christmas pudding with brandy sauce and opening the Christmas crackers.   After dinner we would exchange our gifts, and perhaps partake in some sherry and a bit of Christmas cake, and wish everyone a Happy Christmas. 

Gothic Cavalcade

Gothic romance meets Gothic horror inside a paranormal carnival and beyond...

Meet Althea, a desperate woman running from a secretive and miserable past. She encounters Byron, a mysterious and handsome man with secrets of his own. He brings her to his home, the Masquerade Carnivale, and into the midst of his family. There Althea begins to feel safe, to trust, and to love. She finds friends, laughter and with Byron, romance. She thinks she has found a home, trusts she is protected, until the night Byron and his Family betray her.

But do they? There is more beneath the surface at the Masquerade Carnivale, more to Althea’s past and to her future than she believes. One event put Althea on a path for her reckoning, a path full of pain, fear and ultimately, revenge. A choice is coming for her, one that will change everything.

The Masquerade Carnivale is beckoning... will she answer?

Available at Smashwords, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, iTunes, and Kobo 

And one lucky commentor will win a free e-copy of Gothic Cavalcade, via a Smashwords coupon.  And to check out more blogs participating in the Snowy Reading Blog Hop scroll way, way down to the bottom of this blog for the Linky List.

 

Coffin Hop: The Aftermath

The Coffin Hop is through and we little monsters have crawled back to our writing holes. But there are still a few orders of business, namely the contest winners:

   
Winner of the signed copy of The Cult of Me by Michael Brookes: Katy S.
Winner of the Death by Drive-In sampler:  wwe11
Winner of my three ebook package of Gothic Cavalcade, Ruined City and Killers and Demons (via free Smashwords coupon codes): K. N. Porter

And if you entered The Karen Dales contest be sure to check in with her Facebook page.

Congratulations to all the winners!

I'll be passing the the winner's names along to Michael Brookes and to Axel Howerton (who's in charge of the Death by Drive-In sampler) and contacting the winner of my contest.  So keep a eye on your email.


And thanks to all the visitors, and participants it was a great Hop. Don’t forget to return tomorrow for an All Soul’s Day post, when A. M. Harte brings you an excerpt from her new book, Above Ground.

Excerpts, Stories and Poems for CoffinHop

I’m away today at the Hal-Con Sci-fi Convention (happening in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada) so I’m leaving you with some creepy stories, excerpts and poems to keep you amused. I’ll be back later this evening to check out any comments.

Here’s a scary story for you:

Margot Wants To Play

Margot tugged her mother’s skirt.  “Come play with me, Mommy.”

“I can’t right now dear, I’m making dinner.  Why don’t you go read a book or watch the TV.”

“Cause I don’t wanna watch the dumb old TV or read a dumb, stupid book.” Margot whispered, safely out of earshot of her mother.  She sighed and took her ball outside.

Across the street Mr McNally waved at her.  “Hi, Margot.”

“Would you like to play with me, Mr. McNally?”  She held up her ball.

“Sorry sweetie, I can’t.  Got to water my lawn.”

Margot pouted as she watched him stroll over to his garden hose and turn on the water.  She was distracted for a few minutes by the pretty spray of water, before she moved on down the street, idly bouncing her ball.

A few minutes later she saw her friend Dave with his bicycle.

“Dave, do you want to play-”

“Can’t, going down to the arcade!”  His shout flew past as he whizzed by on his bike.

Margot stamped her foot.  “Nobody wants to play with me!”

Just then she saw a shiny thing.  It stuck up from the ground, just behind Dave’s back fence.  Strange, she didn’t see it there a minute ago.  But still, it needed to be investigated.  She tucked her ball under arm and raced to see her treasure.

When she got there, Margot stood over it and frowned.  It didn’t look like much, just a silver stick, stuck in the dirt.  Yet, it was her stick, she knew it.  Margot bent and wrapped her chubby fingers around it.  Her hand tingled and she felt giddy as she pulled her shiny prize from the earth.  For a moment she was happy, just for a moment the object was hers, and she held it tight.

Your name is Margot, isn’t it?

Margot blinked and looked down at the polished item in her hand. It sounded like it talked to her.

I did talk to you, Margot. I want to play with you.

“You can talk? You’re a talking-” She hesitated a moment as she wondered what to call her new toy until she remembered something her father read to her in a story. “A talking sep-step-stepter. That’s right, a royal stepter, and you can talk.”

Yes, Margot, I can talk, but I’m not a sceptre. I’m inside the rod you’re holding.

“Inside?” Margot held up her treasure and took a closer look. There did seem to be a top that might open.

That’s right Margot, open the rod and let me out. Then we can play together.

“You’ll play with me if I let you out?”

Yes, I’ll play with you. I like to play with little girls.

The thought of a new friend made Margot happy. “Okay.” She twisted the lid with her little plump fingers until it popped off with a snap. A shimmer of light flooded outward, followed by a thick, crimson smoke. Margot dropped the rod in surprise as this cloud of colour hovered around her.

Thank you, Margot. Now we can play.

The smoke whirled in the air, a translucent, intangible acrobat and Margot laughed. With her pretty voice still drifting on the air, this vaporous creature lunged, filling her open mouth, swelling down her throat, pouring into her nose and blinding her eyes. Her laughter stopped and Margot fell to her knees, her arms flailing, her now sightless eyes filling with tears. She choked on her own breath and fear, her only screams the ones that echoed in her mind. As the last of the strange mist invaded her body, her thoughts, her world became an empty nothing...

Margot walked down an empty street, the only sound the bouncing of her red, rubber ball.  The bright sunshine of the day had given way to the dusky gloom of nightfall, the time when all children should be at home with their parents.

So why was this little child playing in the lane, all alone?  And why was her neighbourhood so quiet?  Where were all the adults?

Margot paused in her game, and stopped under a streetlamp; the glow of the bulb illuminated her features. She smiled, a satisfied grin full of secrets.  It was a grin of razor-sharp teeth, and it reached towards wide, yellow eyes and the barbed horns on her forehead.  She giggled and bounced her ball, staring down the street into the night.

“Come play with me.”

Here’s an excerpt from Gothic Cavalcade:

The men carrying her lifted her and then deposited her body into a glass tank resting within the stone circle. Althea didn’t resist, couldn’t resist; her body still wouldn’t move. The cover slid into place, enclosing her in the tank. Slowly her prison began to fill with a curious liquid, inexplicably materialising from within the glass container. It churned around her, not water, but a black, icy fluid, thick and sticky.

Bitter, aching cold invaded her bones as the sluice seeped over her skin and her clothes. It oozed into her nose, mouth, and eyes until she submerged in the viscous substance. Althea felt panic, feared she would drown, but she found she could breathe. She inhaled sharp gasps of frigid wash as the emulsion flowed down her throat, expanding into her lungs. It crawled into the very fibre of her, shutting out sight and sound. It engorged every sense in darkness and frost, marinating through her body as it permeated into tissue and blood. She wanted to shriek, but her throat was full of fluid. She could only jerk in the throes of frozen suffering, as her body floated in glacial, silent isolation.

Images flickered under her eyelids, colours of deep crimson, indigo, and amethyst, and flashes of cruel brown eyes. A voice whispered in her memory, the words distant and indistinct, carrying the emotions of fear, anger, and sorrow on its breath. A scream, primal and furious, howled inside her raging for expulsion, but she stayed silent, the ferocity still locked against the world. Her body shuddered in powerful spasms and the tank vibrated violently. It rocked in the throes of her body’s reactions for- an eternity, minutes, hours? She did not know.

And for last, a Halloween Poem:

All Hallows

Moon

Ascends high

Time ticks midnight

Storms

Crackle arcane

Bearing odd whispers

Wisps

Of malice

Rouse in shadows

Hunters

Haunt nightfall

Worlds stand quiet

Silent

No breath

Like a crypt

Until

A shriek

Breaks the hush

Panic

In confusion

A hopeless flight

Blood

Flows scarlet

Staining the kill

And in honour of today's short story and poem I'm including some freebie links from Smashwords:

Even the Paranormal Play Sports (a flash fiction story)
Existence (a flash fiction story)
Twisted Shorties (an anthology of stories and poems)

These three books are also available free from B&N Nook, iTunes, Kobo and Sony


And remember to visit the other CoffinHoppers, for more fun horror happenings.  Check out the list and the bottom of my blog for the participants.  And be sure to check out the Coffin Hop Store for more creepy goodies. 

CoffinHop Begins: Introducing Gothic Cavalcade

Coffin Hop has Landed!

Here are the Gory Details:

1) HAVE A SPOOKY FUN TIME!
2) INVITE YOUR FRIENDS AND SPREAD THE WORD!
3) THIS TOUR STARTS: October 24 at Midnight (PST)
    THIS TOUR ENDS: October 31 at Midnight (PST)
    Winners will be drawn and posted November 1, 2012
4) MEET AND MINGLE WITH THE AUTHORS! EXPERIENCE A NEW DESTINATION AT EVERY STOP! PARTICIPATE IN EVERY SITE'S CONTEST AND BE ENTERED FOR CHANCES TO WIN MULTIPLE PRIZES! EVERY BLOG VISITED IS ANOTHER OPPORTUNITY TO WIN!
5) PARTICIPATION AT ALL SITES IS RECOMMENDED, BUT NOT REQUIRED. THE MORE SITES YOU HOP, THE BETTER YOUR CHANCES OF WINNING PRIZES.
6) DID I MENTION TO HAVE A SPOOKY FUN TIME?

Now that you have an overview, let's get on with the festivities, shall we.  My CoffinHop begins with some shameless self-promotion, and a look inside the creation of my new book, Gothic Cavalcade.

Introducing Gothic Cavalcade

Once upon a time, I wrote a haibun poem for one of my online poetry groups, Mindful Poetry, called Gothic Cavalcade. Now it was a nice poem, well received, and that should have been the end, move on to the next story or poem. But there was something about the poem that kept swirling around in my brain...

Gothic Cavalcade

A leaf spirals through the air, her eyes following its path to the ground. She feels a twinge along her spine as she scurries through the darkening woods. Escaping memories tossed aside and left behind, she can’t stop, she needs to keep moving forward. She needs to run.

Brown-eyed girl astray
still waiting to be rescued
drowning in her doubt

Across the distance, strains of calliope music haunt the trees, the sounds wafting in from the carnival tent she left behind. The music chases her steps, rattling the branches above her head. It is the beckoning lure of the family, to call their wayward daughter home.

Refrains collide, break
under pressure, seep outward
A fractured tune spent

I kept wondering, why was the girl running through the woods, who was she running from and where was she headed? What mysterious event happened and what lurked under that carnival tent? So I took my niggling questions and my itchy fingers and started to write a story about what happened inside the tent.
I started out creating a horror tale set in the early twentieth century about a girl named Althea and a creepy bunch of carnival folks, but it did not want remain just a horror story. The carnival had more secrets to share, Althea wanted to tell her whole story and it turned out that horror tale wasn’t all it seemed. What’s more, romance (gasp) started to creep in as I wrote. In the end, what started out as a poem became a hybrid novella of gothic horror and romance, complete with slightly graphic violence and a sex scene (although not together). There’s even music involved.

So that’s how the book got started, and here’s a sneak peek at the finished product:

Gothic Cavalcade

Gothic romance meets Gothic horror inside a paranormal carnival and beyond...

Meet Althea, a desperate woman running from a secretive and miserable past. She encounters Byron, a mysterious and handsome man with secrets of his own. He brings her to his home, the Masquerade Carnivale, and into the midst of his family. There Althea begins to feel safe, to trust, and to love. She finds friends, laughter and with Byron, romance. She thinks she has found a home, trusts she is protected, until the night Byron and his Family betray her.
But do they? There is more beneath the surface at the Masquerade Carnivale, more to Althea’s past and to her future than she believes. One event puts Althea on a path for her reckoning, a path full of pain, fear and ultimately, revenge. A choice is coming for her, one that will change everything.

The Masquerade Carnivale is beckoning... will she answer?

Opening Night

~

The stars sparkled above the mist shrouded tents and caravans of the carnival. The night crackled with an odd vibration, as if a veil of peculiarity settled over the company. The Family gathered in the main tent, the surrounding canvas rippled lightly and the smell of old dirt and memories were in the air. Voices murmured in subdued tones, wariness was felt among the assembled.
Mother had called.
She stood watching them, and absently pushed a white tinged lock of hair from her face, to tuck it back into her mass of upswept grey hair. She seemed a docile older woman with a few of life’s lines etched on her face, but like much with Mother, her appearance hid secrets.
“Come into the circle, children.” She spoke with a soft, commanding tone, and beckoned her brood into the band of strange rune stones that existed in lieu of a centre ring. One by one, they obeyed, and the family crowded around her, whispering among themselves until a gesture from her drew silence.
“I had a dream last night. A visitor is coming, a new member of the family. We will receive her and welcome her into our fold.”
Gasps of joyfulness rose in the air and excited voices chattered in a cacophony of sound.
“A new family member!”
“How exciting, we haven’t had one for ages.”
“Wondrous news.”
“New blood, excellent.”
“Marvellous, a new member for the family.”
“Oh, just stupendous.”
Mother smiled, indulgent of her brood’s enthusiasm. She waited until the din subsided before speaking again. “She will be here soon and we must prepare for her arrival. But first I must choose her companion, the one who will complete the rites.”
Mother looked over her now silent children. Her practised eye examined each one for the signs and fell at last upon a tall young man with dark hair.
“Byron. You will be the one. You will bring her into the circle and make her one of us.”
The young man bowed his head. “Thank you, Mother, for the honour.”
“It is your time. I know you will do well.” Mother laughed and clapped her hands. “Away with you all. We have work to do. The Masquerade Carnivale must welcome another apprentice.”

You can find Gothic Cavalcade at:

Smashwords (Until Oct. 31st use the coupon code GG32U at the checkout and get it free!)

Amazon

iTunes

Sony

Don't forget to visit the other blogs involved in CoffinHop.  For the full list, scroll way, way down to the bottom of my blog  and check everyone out.  And be sure to check out the Coffin Hop Store for a grab bag of creepy goodies. 

Coffin Hop Part Three: Halloween in Prose and Poetry

To start off the hauntingly good weekend leading into Halloween (and for another excuse to post for Coffin Hop) I'm sharing a few dark Halloween themed poems and a short excerpt from my Gothic horror mishmash WIP, Gothic Cavalcade.

All commenters will have a chance to win an free copy (via Smashwords) of my ebook, Once Upon a Dark and Eerie... 
And don't forget to check out the rest of the hoppers by scrolling down to the List at the end of this blog or popping over to the Author List at the Coffin Hop main page.

The Poems:

Night of the Hunter’s Moon 

They come by the moonlight
off the mountain, from the mist,
riding in the darkened night.
They come by the moonlight,
for their eve of haunting flight.
Hear the horn, by Death be kissed
They come by the moonlight
off the mountain from the mist



Darkness, under a full moon 

Once, under a full moon
a shadow grew.
Just a spot by the yew tree

where blood soiled the ground.
Where anger ended a soul
and bones still lie unmourned.
The earth fed on flesh and fury,
haunted screams and marrow,
until unholy life was born.

Once, under a full moon
a shadow hated.
From its grave by the yew tree,

it waits, it seethes, it hungers.

Drawn from this earth too soon,
it wants to come back, to roam.
To spew its venom and revenge
to shriek its pain and horror,
until blood is spilled for blood.

Once, under a full moon
Darkness,

Death,

clawed into the world.


Celestial Season

Blood Moon, Hunter’s Moon.

Ghosts wail to you in the night,

Queen of the Harvest.

The moon of white turns to red

with the coming of the frost.

Through the barren trees

voices beyond call to you,

Sovereign of the Wood.

Luminous fingers entwine

that first and last icy breath.

Halloween

Dark is the night of fear, still of all sound.
This haunted eve, the silver Moon is queen;
in the shadows, the undead ghouls come ’round.
They dance, they play, with souls on Halloween.

You can hear them whisper behind your ear;
shiver when the cold chills run down your spine.
Aren’t you thankful it comes but once a year,

this time to hunt, to roam, so they can dine?

Close tight your doors when the goblins do creep

and the knocking shall echo through the dim hall.

Eerie ghosts stray, know there’s plunder to reap,

alarming chills, bats, howls and things that crawl.

So fill your bowls high with candy to eat

For those scary children that trick or treat.

Excerpt from Gothic Cavalcade:

Althea stood in the center of the circle. The family surrounded her, those strange denizens of the carnival she trusted in blind faith. The palpitating tin sound of the calliope electrified her skin and pushed through her pores to infest her flesh and bones. The notes snaked their way into her mind, twining around her will until the pulsing rhythm controlled her rational thought.

Her consciousness drifted, suspended in the melodic spell and her body swayed with the tune. She tumbled in mental freefall -a lingering pawn aimless in focus and influence- as her sanity danced with the song of the calliope and a feeling of euphoria engulfed her senses. But somewhere, locked away in a deep recess of her brain, fear crawled.

The music grew louder, more insistent, opposing other sound from reaching her ears. Every vibration of the melody shredded into her body unravelling her being. Althea cried out as the notes of the song coursed through her nerves and pain sang its way through her body to consume the essence of her inner self. She screamed, defiant, as she felt hands touch her, pull at her, the family’s voices mingling with the sound of the music...