Sisters of Fury: Prologue

This is the prologue to a novel I am polishing at the moment.  I have reworked this about ten times now and I would really like some feedback.  Is it too much of an information dump?  Does it catch your attention?  Would you want to read more?  Comments would be greatly appreciated!




My life has been defined by death.

Even before I was old enough to know my own name I knew death. My grandparents died in a plane crash while I was still teething and my parents were gunned down in our home before I had left elementary school. The official story was murder suicide. Official stories are never the real story –that is why they have to make them official. They cannot be anything else. I hold Christian responsible.

My husband, Blake, and my uncle, Daniel, were the next to go. My brother took care of them with a shotgun. The twisted part of Uncle Daniel’s death is that he had been the chief proponent fighting to keep my brother from being charged with my parent’s murder. Christian’s ingratitude knew no bounds.

The night Daniel and Blake were killed I walked into my uncle’s house and found Christian hovering over them with a sick grin on his face. That is right were I shot him, in his smug face. I gave that son of a bitch what he deserved.

That is the last moment I can recall with any clarity. I have been trying for nearly two years to remember exactly what happened after that but for the life of me the memory will not come back. The next thing I knew I had woken up in a compound full of refugee women somewhere in Asia with no idea how I got there. I would try to escape but where do I have to go? Everyone I have ever loved is either dead or despises me.

So I am here; haunted by vivid nightmares, isolated and confused.

Mine is a life damned, and only my pride propels me forward. I will find out why I was brought here and how. There is a reason and until I learn it I will keep fighting.

Death can have me after that.


Amanda’s Story -A Story from 10 Words

Amanda’s Story

These were the 10 words I was given:  Cheez-it’s, pizza, sleep, gym, laughter, music, rain, chocolate, sweatpants, love. In a log cabin

This is the story I wrote:  (Do me a favor and read it in a British accent.  It will help 🙂 )


The rain assails my cage whilst anticipation draws out as endless as the sea.  That a life can wither in such a way I had known not.  Had it come to me by word or by way perhaps I would have been better prepared for such desolation.  Alas, I am beset. 

Woe that a bird such as I could be so imprisoned, abjectly cast into the pit of suffering reserved for creatures of grey and black.  These colours were intended for grander presentation; the music of my life to be played before the masses. 

Whilst not my liberator come for me?  Knowest he not the way?  Hath dangers untold befallen him in the gallant quest to deliver this gem of ages into breaking dawn only to outshine it.  Weep, for truly my plight is unmatched in the annals of man. 

Speed, my love, speed.  Your flower withers evermore. 

Rising from my bed I chance to the window only to find that the downfall will not abate.  Even gods seek to prolong my exile.  I am cast from the eyes of both high and low.  Will my anguish never cease? 

A knock.  The door hath been struck.  Could it be fair prince?  Hath he braved the way to be at the side of his one true love?  Am I to be stolen away, loosed into the sky where I belong.  Oh, I pray it so.

Dashing to the door I fling it wide to bathe in the sight of my hero.  What hath fate rendered? 

The rain cascades off his magnificent form and I behold a creature made from sinew and fine silk, Michelangelo’s David hath come for me. 

“Pray, tell, my brave knight, to what end hath you sought this place?”

Silence fills the night.  His powerful mind spins from the perils he hath overcome to stand before me.

“Are we doing this again?” he asks, and I am less than pleased at his failure to grasp the weight of the situation. 

“Again, my love?  Surely this is the first our eyes have met!” I shout, pleading with mine eyes. 

“Right,” he says, shrugging his massively muscled shoulders.  “So, the first question was something about why I came here, right?” 

“I say,” I say, “thine words are vulgar.  Could it be that thou dost not seek copulation on this fair night?  Perhaps I would be better served to sleep, gods know I love it so.”

The musculature of his face shows that he hath grasped what lies in the balance should he fail in his task. 

“Most assuredly not, my fair princess.  I have traveled far in search of you and I just got finished at the gym so my, I mean ‘mine’, mine mind is not quite caught up to mine ass.” 

“Ass?  Really?” I query, disquietude getting the better of me.

“Yes, fair maiden.  I hath worked it to exhaustion for thine pleasure.  I present it,” he says, turning to produce his derrière.  “Is it not lithesome?  Is it not supple?”

“Your fortunes are turning for the worse I fear and I may have to seek solace in sleep after all.”

“But maiden, I have ridden long on the back of my great stead, Ford Bronco, to be at your side!”

That fate would send me such a creature!  He hath no even the wit or extravagance to choose the Mustang instead.  Miserly halfwit!  Be gone from my sight!

“I have no time for such games.  I shall pine away until my loins are of no use, certainly not to one such as you.”

“No, dearest damsel, do not turn from me.  Do not shut me away from this, the log-iest of cabins, to be cast out of your sight and denied the beauty of you and your finest of faded sweatpants.”

I pray he can see the vexation upon my visage.

“I have come, enduring wandering pathways with terrible reception and a lack of GPS whilst Siri, my ever troublesome companion, lead me to ways unknown.  I have soiled my finest raiments, purchased from the greatest smith in all the land – Dick, of Dick’s Sporting Goods.  He hath crafted this fine chest piece in the style of the very Thomas Edward Patrick Brady, Jr., the noblest of all Patriots, so that I may woo you.  Do not let these efforts be in vain!  I pray you!”

“Seriously, Joe, you suck at this.”

“I can’t be good at everything.” 

His laughter undoes me.  I can’t help but smile, the big dope.

“Okay, so you aren’t prince charming.  How are you going to make up for that?”

“Well, I brought you chocolate, Cheez-it’s, and pizza.  How does that sound?”

I love this man. 

People think that love is complicated.  That it’s a grand gesture that can only be understood on a large stage in breathtaking moments with elegant words.  That isn’t true.  Love is in the little things.  The small gestures.  The minute understandings.  Love is being close enough to someone to know how much leaving the last piece of chocolate in the box for them will mean.  It’s driving out of the way to get to the store that sells their favourite snack just because it’s Tuesday and you love them.

Shakespeare wrote beautiful words and his love always died. 

Real life isn’t always full of beautiful words, but if you look hard enough you will find that it is full of something even better. 

It is full of simple love. 

Simple love is the kind that never leaves you.  It never betrays you.  Simple love is rocking chairs and holding hands even when your hands can’t hold anything else.  Simple love is grandchildren and forever. 

Here is to simple love and the hope that it finds you every day.

Here, too, is to real men who know that loving Tom Brady is never simple. 

Sorry.  I had to ruin it a little there. 

If you would like your own story, please feel free to contact me with 10 words, a theme (it can be a genre, favourite movie or book) and a song and I will write you a story as well.  They are posted every Sunday.  

Next Sunday (16 January) will be Paul’s Story.  Look forward to it please!

Downfall V: Super Heroin

Have to stay awake. 

Eyelids heavy like lead and my bones hurt.  Are they shrinking or growing?  I can’t tell but I’m going to keep scratching until I get them out.  Who the hell needs bones anyway?  Visions of super heroine-ism flash through my tired mind and I love it.  I’m smiling.  I think I’m smiling.  I think I shit myself as well.  That can be the only explanation for that smell.  I did it or the man next to me did it.  My bowels feel heavy and my mouth feels like a salt lick.  If I’m not the one who shit themselves than I am certainly the one responsible for the vomit on the sidewalk.  One way or another, something that was in me came back out and it smells like hell.    

God damn this itch. 

The rain is pissing down.  It’s been raining like this on and off for weeks now.  They say it’s good.  The earth needs water.  When you live in God’s ass crack you don’t care what the scenery is like as long as he wipes every now and then.  He doesn’t.  God is a hands off type.  Real hippy, that rat bastard. 

I’m sorry Lord.

There’s a man looking at me.  He’s thinking about it.  He wants it and I’ll give it to him.  I’m a swallower, sir, step right this way.  Or is it the vomit he’s looking at.  I feel sick.  I need to throw up.  Didn’t I do that already?  No, no, no.  That wasn’t me.  That was Bobby Brown Bag on my right.  He did that.  Vomiting is for supermodels and that is definitely not me.  I am not a runway broad.  I am the back alley bitch all the way.  And, yes, I do that too. 

Need to get up and move.

How can I be this hot?  It’s raining.  I shouldn’t be sweating.  This ain’t Florida.  Dammit all.  Damn this ran and damn this city.  Damn this life.  Right, that part we already had covered.  Shit.  I think I did it again. 

Please, I am begging.

The man’s back.  He’s coming closer.  I need to wipe my mouth, present a pleasant shopping experience for the customer.  He’s crouching down in front of me.  Jesus, the man is black.  His whole essence is black.  Shiny black shoes, black suit pants worth more than my life, black suit jacket, black shirt, black tie, black bowler hat, black gloves, black umbrella.  Wait.  Umbrella.  Something about that is ringing a bell.  I can’t remember.  I’m looking at his face though.  God, he’s beautiful.

Black eyes like death. 

He’s holding something out.  What the hell is that?  I can’t see with all this rain.  I have to sit up.  Oh, God.  Please.  Please tell me it’s what I think it is.  Please tell me this isn’t a dream.  I haven’t even had to prove my skills at the flute yet and he’s giving it to me.  He knows.  I’ve been so low for so long and he’s giving me  the elevator.  The key to the skyrocket.  The booster pack.  The Icarus Wings.  Oh, I’m gonna fly.  I can already feel the warm, happy centre of everything good. 

“For me?” 

I sound like a two dollar tramp.  I don’t even cost a quarter.  Where did I get such a fancy tongue?  He’s nodding so it must be for me.  I’ve never tied off faster.  The booster hits and we have ignition.  Ground control, kick the tires and light the fires, mama is coming home.  I can feel it coming, the heat.  The blanket of love and joy that I’ve been craving for days.  Sitting here in my own piss and shit I dream of all the places I will go when the love finally embraces me again.  I am going to be a super heroine.  Heroine.  I like that word.  I don’t need the ‘e’ though.  You can keep that.  No charge, baby, no charge.  Here we go.

Her heart slowed.  Her heart stopped. 

The man with the black umbrella picked up the syringe and placed it slowly into his pocket.  He leaned closer to the dead woman and whispered in her ear. 

“If you beckon death by spitting in the face of life it is only a matter of time before it finds you.  Wander, o soul, in the pit of damnation and writhe in suffering for a life wasted.  To hell with you.” 

The man with the black umbrella stood and walked away.  Not a single soul noticed the woman had died. She remained there, unmolested, for a month. 

Blogging 101: Day 4 Assignment – My Query Letter

We were asked to write a blog to our target audience.  I was drawn to this specific sentence in the assignment:  Maybe it’s the head of Random House, so she’ll skyrocket you into literary limelight.

I then thought about the query letter I have been preparing to send out to agents pretty soon and it felt like this is what I should post.  This is what I would like my dream reader – an agent or a publisher – to read.  I would also love for all of you to read it as well and tell me what you think.  Is it catchy?  Does it make you want to read the story?  Any and all thoughts are appreciated!

Here it goes:

Dear (insert agent name here),

I have a completed 130,000 word urban fantasy with mythological elements titled Sisters of Fury. {insert research on the agent here}

(start of pitch)

Rachel Kim was dead.

Slain alongside her loved ones she has been chosen to return to life as the host of a Fury named Alecto, a Grecian goddess of vengeance whose every thought is bent on retribution. Rachel is made powerful beyond all imagination, but the Fury does more than lend god-like strength. The goddess also floods Rachel with rage and violence making the struggle to comprehend her fate all the more complicated.

Once a prominent doctor struggling to find a cure for Reaper’s Seed, a pandemic that rendered women worldwide infertile, Rachel must now learn to master the burning madness that threatens to consume her soul. With the help of her sister Furies Rachel sets out on a quest to find the truth behind her death and bring an end to Reaper’s Seed.

Sisters of Fury is a story of betrayal and revenge, of the questions left unasked, and an exploration into what happens when one loses control of the demons that infest the soul. In the ultimate battle for her spirit can Rachel suppress her wrath long enough to understand why she was killed and the connection she has to Reaper’s Seed, or will the Fury engulf the last of what once was Rachel Kim?

This book could either be a standalone project or the start of a new series. If you are interested, I would love to send you the completed manuscript. I am a Magna Cum Laude graduate of the University of California, Los Angeles and I was awarded highest departmental honors for my honors thesis, along with a substantial cash prize and entry into the history department’s annual publication. Thank you for your time and attention and I look forward to hearing from you.




A Story for Anonymous

This was a request that came along with one of my, “Your story from 10 words” submissions.  I didn’t have words to work with but a theme and a basic sketch of what was needed.  I hope this is what you were looking for and my heart goes out to anonymous.  Many of us have been here:


Sitting in a place so full of ghosts how can one not be afraid?  You try to find a quiet place to sort out your thoughts and you are chased by a never ending noise.  Is it pain?  Is it fear?  Is it self doubt?  You can call it what you want but its haunting.  It’s unrelenting.  And it never stops talking.  It won’t, for one damn second, just shut up and let you think.  Now it’s back again and I am digging my fingers into my skull, too tired to cry, too full of thoughts to sleep, and too confused to know how to fight it off.  Why is this happening to me. 

“Why isn’t the question you should be asking yourself.  Why doesn’t matter.  Focusing on that question is what is holding you back.”

The voice.  The demon I am forced to fight.

“I am not here to hurt you.  You have to stop fighting me and listen.” 

I can’t do this.  I can’t turn it off.  Fear and pain are all I have left to defend myself.  They are the shield keeping all the feelings I don’t want to feel out.  If I drop them, I’ll die.  I know it.

“You won’t die.  This isn’t the end.  Please, just for a moment, stop and listen.” 

I can’t listen, I won’t listen.  These ghosts are going to be the end of me.  I feel so alone, so trapped in this confusion.  There has to be a way out.  I did everything right.  Was it me?  Is there something wrong with me?  If I think about it long enough I will find the reason.  If I take all the little pieces of my shattered heart and line them up it will make sense.  I will know why this happened.

“What happened wasn’t about you.  Selfish decisions are just that, about the self.  You didn’t make the decision so how could it have been about you?” 

Because it happened to me.  It hurt me.  It’s killing me.  That’s why it’s about me. That’s why I have to find a way to fix me.  I have to change whatever is wrong and then it will be right.  Then I can fill this hole, this gaping chasm I feel inside of me.

“Torturing yourself will never fill that hole.  Self hate cannot counter unfeeling vanity.  The only thing that is going to fix it is to open your eyes and see.”

There is nothing to see but this.  There is no world but this growing cancer.  Everything was right and good and now it’s all spinning.  I want it to stop.  I want to understand. 

“If you want it to stop, you have to stop it.  This is your life to control, so do it.  Have you still not figured out who I am?”

You’re a damn voice in my head, one of the thousands that won’t just let me be.  You are a demon.  It’s your fault this happened.  You must be that broken part of me that caused this.  You brought me here.

“No.  That isn’t true and you know it.  You know who I am.”

Hate.  Hurt.  Fear.  Regret.  Frailty.  Insecurity.  Sorrow.  Tears.  You are all the feelings I can’t stop feeling.

“No.  I’m not.  I’m you.  I’m all the best parts of you and I can’t stand what you are doing to yourself anymore.”

No, no, no, no, no, no.

“Please stop.  I love you so much.  I don’t want you to hurt anymore.  I want to help you but you have to let me.”

I can’t listen to you.  I won’t.  You are a liar.  You are a deceiver.  Satan, be gone! 

“No.  I will not leave you.  I will never leave you.  I will be with you, rain or shine, sorrow or joy.  I am the one thing that can never, ever turn its back on you.”

Where were you then?  Where were you when this all fell apart?  Why didn’t you warn me?  Why didn’t you save me? 

“No on is capable of that.  The future is made of emotion and it fluctuates like the tides.  Somedays the swells are up and somedays they are down.  It’s anyones guess what tomorrow will bring.  That is what makes love so wonderful.  It’s unpredictable.  If it were safe it would not feel half as good.  It’s like jumping from an airplane or riding a rollercoaster.  The thrill is in the danger of it.  The hope that we all hold on to is that the person we have placed our faith in will never let us down.  The challenge you now face is what to do when that person does let you down?  How do you pick up and move on?  How do you let it go?

I can’t.  It’s impossible.  It’s too hard.  it hurts too much.

“Of course it hurts.  No one is telling you it shouldn’t hurt.  But let me tell you something, something I think you haven’t realised.  Do you know what you are doing every time you let yourself fall apart like this?  You are giving him one more moment of your life that you can never have back.  You gave him so much, none of which he deserved, and now you’re letting him take more of it for free.  Every tear.  Every moment of pain and sorrow.  All of it is a gift to a man who wasn’t worth the world you’ve already sacrificed.  It’s time to stop letting him have you.  It’s time to decide that this is your life and he can’t have it anymore.”

My breathing steadied and I’ve unclenched my fingers.  I can feel it.  The weight that I’ve been shouldering for far too long feels like it’s getting lighter.

“Here’s the secret.  I’m not supposed to tell you this, but I love you too much to hide it from you any longer.  You have to stop being you and start becoming me: the you before he came along.  You have to remember who you are outside of the context of this relationship.  There was a day you were different.  Do you remember? 

“We all change as time goes on.  New jobs, new cities, new relationships, new homes, everything we experience changes us even if we don’t’ want it to.  Stubborn people who can’t see past their pride will say they are the same person everywhere they go and in everything they do, but this is a lie.  We are all chameleons.  We change colours and adapt.  It’s how you protect yourself from the predator known as life.  So you changed when he came along.  The way to move past it is to change again.  Become stronger, become smarter, raise your head up and look forward.” 

I am.  I will.  I can see it now.  I can feel it now.  This wasn’t about me.  This had nothing to do with me.  It was done to me but it wasn’t because of me.  It was about him.  Only him.

“Life is a priceless gift.  Whatever you may believe about the road beyond this world, you have only this one chance to be you.  Every single moment is precious, so don’t waste a single one.  I promise there will come a day that you will be past this and look back, cursing all the time you wasted twisted up over a man and a moment that is so trivial in the grand scheme.” 

It comes down to a question; lay down and die or stand up and walk.  Live or die.  Surrender or fight.  The seconds are ticking away, seconds I can’t have back.  It’s time to face the ghosts.  It’s time to face myself… it’s time to forgive myself.  This is my life and I am going to own it.  Every moment of it, I am going to own it.  Thank you.  Thank you for not giving up on me.

“You are never alone.  How ever abandoned and isolated you may feel, I will always be here.  I am always with you.  You are stronger than you know, now stand up.  It’s time to leave this place.”

Yes.  It’s time.  I am finished here. 

Othersiders: Arts of the Necromancer – Pt.5

Othersiders: Arts of the Necromancer

Alice King’s house was a ten kilometre walk from the train station and it gave Finian plenty of time to think of reasons why they should back out.  Over a long enough time line Finian Kelley found a reason to back out of any decision, however benign. 

“I’m just saying, Evie, what do we have on us to fight a ghost if one appears?  What if one of your spirits actually shows up?”

“I’m sorry, who was it again that was trying to convince me that we had to live in this current moment and to move forward?  I think that was you.”

“I know, but that was back in the nice, safe train station when you were looking all sad and lost and in need of a strong man to set you straight.  I have since given up that role and returned to wise cracking pansy and I feel that I should point out how under prepared we seem to be.”

Evelyn ignored him.  As soon as the line, “strong man” came out of Finian’s mouth it was meant to be describing him she knew that anything else he said would be utter nonsense.  Truthfully the majority of Finian’s words were utter nonsense.  This made gaining any real insight from the things he said very difficult.  You had to wade through a whole sea of absurdities just to fine the one nugget to truth.  For Evelyn that was too much effort at the moment.

They arrived at Alice King’s house and every sense set off alarms that Finian’s nonsense was much more logical than either of them wanted to give it credit for.  The house was ripped out of a forgotten time and thrown slapdash into a well kept neighbourhood like a troll throw into a group shot at the Miss America pageant.  The grass was the yellowish green of cast off ear wax and the paint on the house appeared to be pealing away in an attempt to play no part in what the rest of the structure had become.  For blocks the two friends had enjoyed the songs of the spring birds on a rather warm day but but as soon as they arrived in front of Alice King’s they were met with a chilly, deafening silence. 

Finian’s mind was made up the moment he realised that this was the house they were meant to enter.  The word asinine came to mind.  Asinine is a word you use to describe something that is completely foolish or stupid, like say giving a blind man a chainsaw and asking for a shave would be an asinine idea.  Walking into Alice King’s house was just as asinine to Finian.  He would much rather have taken his chances with the blind man. 

“I’m not going in there.” 

Evelyn, on the other hand, knew that this was the answer she had been waiting for.  This house represented vindication for all the years of stubborn refusal.  She had never given up on Akira and this was her reward.  The battle to get her brother back would begin in earnest the moment she walked into Alice King’s house.

“Then you can go home, Finian.  Thank you for coming this far with me.”

Evelyn walked towards the door with her eyes focused on the house.  She was staring it down, daring it to look away first.  She would not be afraid of a rotten old house.  Even with it’s smell of rot and stale death.  Evelyn Stone would not be afraid.

“Oh, for the love of Christ.  Wait for me.”  Finian said, running to catch up with her.  He would regret that decision for the rest of his life.

Othersiders: Arts of the Necromancer – Pt.4

Othersiders: Art of the Necromancer (tentative title)

Finian stood alone at the train station, watching the endless crowd of people come and go with his imagination running in overdrive.  A mother and her two daughters marched past him with purpose and determination, the small girls pulling character suitcases on wheels, and Finian decided that this was a mother vampire and her two sucklings.  They carried blood packets in their suitcases and they were off to visit Dracula in Transylvania.  A man in a black suit with a black bowler hat was the owner/operator of the world’s largest poodle farm and he was taking a trip to West Whateverville to purchase the largest puce poodle in the Northern Hemisphere.  This prized overgrown cotton ball with eyes was worth more than all the bananas in Antarctica and he would not go living another day without her.  The stories went on and on.  Finian could never get enough of people watching. 

Lost in his own little world Finian never saw Evelyn coming.  She came up from behind him and placed her hand on his shoulder, resulting in a near ear splitting scream.  Finian was not known for his bravery. 

“Finn, it’s me, calm down.” 

Finian turned back to face Evelyn, his chest heaving and his hands on his hips like he had just run a great distance.

“Yeah, I know.  I was just giving off that war cry thing that they do in martial arts.”  Evelyn stared back at him blank faced.  “You know, the shout before they kill you, or while they are killing you.  I was never clear on that part actually.” 

“Are you talking about ‘Kiai’?” 

“Yep, that’s it.  I was letting off my ki thingie..  I hope I didn’t scare you.” 

“You didn’t.”  Evelyn said with a total lack of emotion.

“Right.  Good.  So, what took you so long?”

Evelyn did not respond.  Instead she turned toward the schedule board to begin looking over the train times.  Finian could feel that Evelyn’s mind was somewhere else as he attempted to read her expression.  He usually tried not to make a habit of looking too hard at Evelyn because he knew he ran the risk of being caught staring.  Looking at her was dangerous, like staring into the sun.  As she brushed her short black hair out of her eyes though he could see they were puffy.  She had been crying recently.  Finian also noticed that she did not have the books she had gone to get from home.  He put two and two together and decided it was best not to ask what was wrong.  He knew the answer already. 

“It looks like we only have about five minutes until the train, we should get moving.” 

She turned back and Finian was caught doing just what he had been trying to avoid being caught doing.  He panicked and just kept staring.  Her hazel eyes boring a hole in his face, he could feel his eyes getting wider.  Crippled with indecision he nodded his head quickly. 

“Yeah, I got the tickets already.  No problem.” 

She raised one eyebrow and cocked her head, a strand of red that was streaked through her hair falling back into her eyes.  She looked sad.  If Finian did not know her better he would have said she looked defeated as well.  He really wanted to know what had been said between her and her parents but asking would be bad tact.  The best he could do was smile and pretend he knew nothing.  That was one thing Finian was an expert at.

“Shall we go?” he said, looking around to see if he was leaving anything behind even though he had been standing there holding all his worldly possessions from the moment he came into the station.  Finian never put his belongings down.  He was too paranoid. 

“Yes, let’s,” Evelyn said, taking a deep breath and sounding a bit more like the girl Finian knew but still not quite right.  This made Finian nervous.  They would need her if they were going to get anything useful out of Alice King. 

The train ride was long and uneventful.  Evelyn sat by the window watching the countryside roll by with a stony expression and Finian occupied himself by making up more stories.  He had found the reanimated zombie corpse of Abraham Lincoln, a fairy, two shape shifters and Madonna’s sex slave.  He was also quite sure that the ancient old lady sitting across from them knitting a Christmas sweater was Tupac in disguise. 

When they arrived at their stop Evelyn turned toward Finian and she almost looked surprised to see him.  Avoiding the topic of what had happened back at Evelyn’s house had become impossible.  Finian had to say something now. 

“Evie, are you alright?  Your head seems like it’s somewhere else.  I mean, I know I am one to talk.  My head is usually somewhere else and VP Grant feels that my head spends the majority of it’s time in a place that I am quite certain I am physically incapable of putting it but that is the point, isn’t it?  I am the shifty space cadet.  You are the strong, focused one.  We really can’t switch parts right now, not when we are going in to question someone who really could know something about these ghosts you have us chasing.” 

The whole time Finian was speaking Evelyn looked completely blank.  She did not smile or frown.  The fight with her parents had obviously done some serious damage to make someone as strong as Evelyn turn this stoic. 

“I’m fine, Finn.  Don’t worry about it.”

Finian was torn.  The non-confrontationist in him wanted to run from this discussion like a witch from fire but then he thought again about what would happen if they really did find ghosts at Alice King’s.  He was quite certain they could end up in serious trouble if Evelyn was not focused.   

“Evie, look,” Finian said, putting his hand on her shoulder.  “I know things at home went badly.  I know you fought with your parents.  It’s written all over your face.  If you want to call it quits for today and just wander around out here in the butt end of nowhere, let’s do that.  But let me tell you something my dad always told me when I moped about.  He would say, “Finn, every moment of your life is precious and you will never get a single one of them back.  People spend a lot of their time looking back at moments and wishing they had done one thing or another differently but it’s impossible to go back.  That means you should focus on the moment you are in.  How do you want to spend it?  Whatever you do, don’t you dare spend it looking back at the one you just left.  That is just a waste.”  So here we are, Evie, and you have to decide if you want this moment right now to be about right now or if you want it to be about what happened back at your house.  It was bad, I know.  If it shook you this much it had to have been.  But it’s over.  So you tell me, are you here with me, or are you still back there at home?”

Evelyn blinked and stared down at her hands.  A small laugh escaped her lips and she sighed. 

“Finn, you are a strange boy.” 

“Yes I am.” 

“What I don’t understand is why you insist on playing stupid all the time when you’re not.”

“It keeps the expectations low.  Besides, sarcasm, good sarcasm, takes a lot more intelligence than people give it credit for. 

Evelyn nodded.  Finian used jokes as a kind of armour and she could respect that.  Evelyn did not believe in arming herself and always rushed headlong into danger with her emotions bared.

“I’m here now, Finn.  Thank you.”

“Any time, homie.”




“I know.  Shut it.”

Evelyn and Finian turned and headed off the train to find Alice King’s house. 

Othersiders: Arts of the Necromancer – Pt.3

Evelyn knew there was going to be trouble the moment she walked into the house.  She had gone home to collect a few books she needed before heading off to meet Alice King only to find her father sitting in his chair with his chin resting on his laced fingers.  This was Paul Stone’s introspective pose and it always meant it was time for a talk. 

The last thing Evelyn wanted to do right then was fight with her father.  She loved her father.  She loved him so much that it hurt.  It hurt her to think that the strongest, smartest man she had ever known was denying that his own son had ever existed.  It hurt even more that he was treating Evelyn as if she were abnormal for not doing the same.  The thing that hurt the most though was knowing that he knew the truth and seeing how straight faced he could lie to her.  Evelyn knew in the depth of her heart that the lying was tearing him apart and could never understand why he refused to relent.  Her father was stubborn, just like her, and their prides were about to force them to say more things they would regret. 

“Evelyn,” he began and she could hear the heavy weight he was carrying in his voice.  He was tired.  Fighting with the only person next to his wife who he treasured most in life was taking the fire out of him.  “I need to speak with you for a moment.”

Evelyn stood in the entryway, torn.  She could engage him here and get it over with or try to ignore the seriousness of his face and proceed upstairs.  He would follow her and still say whatever he was going to say, making the attempt to avoid the fight futile, but at least she could change the venue and possibly tip the balance of power.  These little tactics were below her though.  She was not a coward.  Evelyn stepped into the living room and crossed her arms under her breasts.

“Okay, what’s up?” 

“I got a call from your school today.  Your class counsellor is a bit worried about you.”

“Why?  I haven’t gotten in trouble for anything and I am a straight A student.  I am actively involved in social clubs and I have more extra curricular actives than most of the other students.  I also have a lot of friends.  What could she possibly have to be worried about?” 

Paul unlaced his hands and began rubbing his fingertips together. 

“It’s the issue of which friends you are hanging out with, Evelyn, that has us all a little worried.”

This is where he is going to bring up Finian,” flashed through her mind.

Evelyn had been careful never to bring Finian around the house because she knew how her parents would react.  They would look at him and see a crazy kid come to support her in her wild ideas, making her so-called, ‘problem’, worse.  She would not allow her parents to belittle Finian’s pain.  They did that enough to her.

“What is wrong with my friends, dad?” Evelyn said in a tone that was meant to sound innocent but came off entirely too sarcastic.  She had been spending way too much time with Finian. 

“I think you know what the problem is, Evelyn.” 

“No, I don’t, dad.  You were the one that wanted to have a talk, so why don’t you stop beating around the bush and talk.”

Paul sighed.  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

“Who is Finian Kelley?”

Evelyn flexed the muscles in her jaw.  She knew this was coming but it still made her so angry.  Angry at her counsellor for butting into something that was none of her business, angry at her father for what she knew he was about to tell her, and mostly angry at herself for not being more careful about how and when she met up with Finian.  She was sure that Finian would be getting a call to his counsellor as well and Evelyn hated thinking that she put that burden on him. 

“He is a new boy at school.”  Evelyn knew what answer her father wanted and had purposefully avoided giving it to him.  She immediately hated herself being such a coward.  it made her feel like she was playing the same game as her father so she quickly added, “he’s my friend.”

“I see,” her father replied.  His voice sounded completely defeated.  “When did you become friends with this Finian?  Before or after you learned that he has a wild fantasy about a family that never existed?” 

Evelyn herself could not have predicted how furious what her father had just said would make her.  She had been preparing herself for the worst but it was not enough.  Finian was not there to defend himself and she would not let anyone speak that way about her friend.

“How dare you!  You don’t even know him and you have the audacity to say something like that?  How could you possibly know what he’s been through?  What evidence do you have that he’s not telling the truth.  What the hell do you know!”  Evelyn shouted the last sentence so loudly that it brought her mother into the room. 

“Is everything okay in here?” she asked.  Airi, Evelyn’s mother, had a slow, calm way of speaking that always brought tempers down from a flare. 

Evelyn had not realised in her passion that she had moved closer to her father.  She was pointing at him, her finger shaking with rage, and she stepped back quickly when her mother entered the room. 

“Yes, everything is fine.” 

“It’s not fine, Evelyn.  I don’t want you hanging around that boy.”  Paul said in a flat tone as he rose from the chair.  “You are not to see Finian Kelley again.  I will say this only once.”

Evelyn laughed.  That is what she usually did when someone threatened her.  Her father never could get it through his head that she was his daughter.  She was just like him – strong, stubborn and spirited.  They were both mustangs.  The more you tried to control them the more they kicked.  Telling her never to see Finian again was only going to assure she never missed an opportunity to be around him.

“And I will say this only once, Paul.”  Evelyn put all the emphasis she could on his name.  She wanted him to know that he was not being her father just then.  She wanted to make him finally see what he was becoming.  “You are never going to tell me who I can and cannot spend my time with.  What are you going to do?  Pull me out of that school?  Move us to another state?  Another country?  I will find a way back.  I will ride a bike, row a boat, walk if I have to.  Whatever it takes.  I will always find a way back here until I find Akira.”  Evelyn did not remember when she started crying but the tears were racing down her cheeks now.  “I don’t care if you’ve given up.  I won’t!”  She turned to face her mother as well, “Do you hear me!  I won’t!” 

Evelyn turned to leave the house in a rush, all the books she had wanted to collect completely forgotten when her father grabbed her by the arm.  His hands were so strong.  She had almost forgotten. 

“When did we become enemies, Evelyn?”

She could not bear to turn and face him.  She knew he was crying too.

“Do you really need to ask that question?”

“I am trying to understand, Evie.  I want to know what is going on with you.  I want to understand why you won’t let this strange fantasy of yours go, but I can’t do this anymore.  Why can’t you see that I am not trying to hurt you, Evelyn.  I am trying to help you.”

Evelyn was so filled with hurt and fear and anger that she could not find words at first.  He had called it a fantasy again.  He had called it a fantasy so many times that she could feel herself almost starting to question if it just might be.  He was wearing her down.  She had to fight it.  For Akira’s sake, she had to fight it. 

Evelyn spun and faced her father, ripping her arm from his grasp. 

“Let me ask you a question then, dad.” 


“Do you love me?” 

It was a simple question but the implication of it made Paul start.

“Of course I love you, Evelyn.  I love you more than anything in this world.”

“For how long?”

Paul drew his eyebrows together and shook his head.

“I don’t understand what you mean.  How long have I loved you?  Since the moment you were born.” 

“No.  I want to know for how long you would have kept on loving me if it had been me they took instead of Akira.  How long would it take for me to be a stupid fantasy.  How long would you care?” 

The shock in Paul’s face was indescribable.  His mouth hung open and his lip began to quiver.

“These are the thoughts that I have to live with.  Looking in your eyes and knowing you have given up on him.”  Evelyn’s voice caught and she had to swallow before she could finish.  “Knowing that you would give up on me.  Knowing that you wouldn’t fight.” 

“I would tear the world apart to find you, Evie, you have to believe that,” Paul said, grabbing her by both arms and pulling her to his chest. 

She let him hug her for a moment but she felt nothing but sorrow.  Every fight they had brought them one step closer to a completely broken relationship.  Evelyn feared that even if she was able to bring Akira back and put her family right, she and her father would never be the same. 

“I wish I could believe that,” she said, pushing away.  “But I don’t trust you anymore.” 

Evelyn turned away again slowly and walked out the door.  She left Paul standing in the entryway with a look of numb shock on his face.  The silence she left in the house was oppressive enough to be considered painful and Paul was rooted to the spot where Evelyn had cut him down. 

Airi approached him and folded herself into his chest.  She wrapped her arms around him and tried to be what comfort she could. 

“How long must it go on like this?  Will this ever end?” 

Paul said nothing.  He had not words left.  Evelyn had taken more from him with her words than she could ever have imagined. 

Othersiders: Arts of the Necromancer – Pt.2

Libraries are temples of knowledge.  They are palaces of silence and concentration where seekers come with questions and leave with answers.  The books contained within any library represent the life work of the very wise and the very creative.  Children are taught from a young age to respect the silence maintained in the library because, as anyone should know, deep thinking is taking place there.  A person who would raise their voice in a library was surely reared in a barn of some sort and deserves to be punished severely.

“I found something!”  Finian Kelley shouted and the echoes of his voice boomed in that hallowed place. 

“Finn, lower your voice.  We are in the library.”  The look in Evelyn’s eye said there would be pain if he did not comply.    

“Yeah, okay, I’ll whisper,” he said in a slightly lower tone but nowhere near an actual whisper.  “This is really great though, Evie.  I found just the person we have been looking for!”

Over the course of the past several weeks Finian and Evelyn had been digging around to find a link to the spirits Evelyn held responsible for the disappearances of their loved ones.  When they began their search they looked for any and all traces of supernatural occurrences.  Their initial research brought back results that were so widespread and numerous that Evelyn was spending nights on end reading through books.  It was Finian that came up with a solution.

“We don’t need any old ghost story or rumours of hauntings.  What we need are cases of delusional people who believe someone has been abducted that no one can account for.  If we try and hunt down every single ghost story on Earth we will be reading books forever.  Any by we I mean you,”  he said offhandedly.  “That is not to say that I don’t like reading but I like sleeping a lot more and reading what you want me to read would prevent me from doing so.” 

“Let me guess, too many big words.”  Evelyn had said with tired look.

“No, actually.  I like big words.  It’s the abundance of master level ghost stories that often leave me in need of a nightlight I cannot stand.  Did you know that they make clap on, clap off nightlights now?  Who knew nighttime could be so fun?” 

Finian had thus set them on a more manageable course and the two of them began tackling the odd world of delusional abduction cases.  Neither were surprised to find that the largest number of cases fitting this description originated in Nevada.  They both quickly agreed that those cases were not worth looking into.  As willing as Evelyn was to believe in spirit abduction she wanted nothing to do with the, ‘little green men poked me in the no-no zone,’ crowd.

Finian passed Evelyn some newspaper clippings and began to read over the notes he had made. 

“According to the report this woman…”

“Alice King.”

“Yeah, her.  She claims to have had a son that was abducted years ago by what she described as…” Finian began flipping through pages, “… a blue spectral being who radiated heat like the sun and smelled of elderberries.”  Finian stopped and looked up at Evelyn.  “What the hell is an elderberry?”

“They look like blackberries and the grow in the warm parts of North America and Great Britain.  I wouldn’t worry about that part though.  So she claims her son was abducted and she is definitely a bit off, how does this make her perfect?” 

“Ah, right,” Finian continued, his voice still carrying all about the library.  “I forgot about the best part.  So she has this photo album set, right?  She has pictures of her with this child over a whole decade.  The kid was ten when he disappeared, if you believe he existed, and she has all these pictures of her with him.  Pictures of him as a baby, pictures of him at the zoo, probably a few of those choice pictures that all parents take of their children just to show other people when they grow up so that we have a full appreciation of the word, ‘shame,’ as well.” 

Evelyn had an introspective look on her face and Finian decided to elaborate. 

“You know what I’m talking about, right?  The bathtub pictures where mom and dad get the full butt shot that they feel obliged to show the first boyfriend who ever shows up at the house to?  Boys usually have the old hot dog sale pictures as well but I didn’t mind so much when mom and dad showed that one off.  I’ve been selling foot longs for a while, if you know what I mean.”   

Evelyn sighed and went back to her reading. 

“Pictures can be faked Finn.” 

“If you don’t want to believe the pictures lady I can unleash the fury right here!”

“Finn, you drop your pants and I drop you.  I am not talking about your childhood pornography.  I am talking about Alice King.  She could easily have faked those photos.  We can look into it if you want to but I don’t think this is worth getting this excited about.” 

“Evie, listen.”  Finian gave up any pretence of whispering and began speaking in his usual hysterical half scream.  “This woman has over thirty albums full of pictures.  Photoshopping one picture takes time.  Photoshopping an entire lifetime of pictures would be an enormous venture and this woman does not have a scrap of computing experience.  She’s a seamstress.  The way I see it we have found someone that is either, A: the lead we have been looking for, or B: a world class nutcase.  Either way I think she sounds like someone you would want to talk to.” 

“I am not going to tell you again about lowering your voice.  Now, why would I want to speak with a nutcase?”

Finian looked incredulous. 

“Because you think there is a secret ring of spirits out there abducting people?  Because you have tasked us with hunting ghosts?  Because everything about who we are is totally freaking nutty?”

Evelyn did not look convinced.  In fact she looked angry and Finian knew this was going to end in bruises of some sort.

“Or maybe just because you need some fresh air.  You have been in the library for too long and you know what they say about God’s special little flowers, they need sunshine!”  Finian put on his best fake smile and threw his arms out wide.  “I could take you out and buy you some nice frozen yogurt, or whatever it is that cheerleaders consume so as to remain at the top of the food chain.  I assume whatever it is has a cool abbreviation like ‘froyo’ or ‘spasm.’”

“What is ‘spasm?’”

“It’s a Spam sandwich.  I don’t know why that popped into my head.  I don’t even like Spam, and I’m a bottom feeder.” 

“Finn,”  Evelyn paused and Finian knew what was coming.  “Shut it.” 

This was something he heard at least five times a day.  His constant running off at the mouth usually ended in him being told to, ‘shut it,’ but he never could manage to do what he was told.

“Yeah, no problem.  I’ll just be quiet.”

Evelyn looked down at the papers that Finian had brought and she was hit by a flash of deja vu.  She knew Alice King.  The woman staring back at her in the paper was someone she had met before.  Evelyn had seen her somewhere before but she could not remember where.  It had been at some kind of party and the woman had looked much happier then.  Who was she? 

Finian began drumming out a beat into the desk and Evelyn gave him a death stare that sent his hands into the air like a surrendering criminal.  He made it so impossibly hard to concentrate.  Evelyn needed to focus to remember where she had seen this woman before and Finian had just chased off the loose thread she was grasping for. 

“Hey, what’s it gonna hurt if we go out and give old batty five minutes to spew her crazy all over us?  It’s not like we’re going to catch it from her.  We already have it.  Besides, maybe she can hem some of the rips you have put in my clothes.” 

Evelyn sat up straight and her eyes shot open.  That was it.  Alice King was a seamstress.  She fixed clothes for a living.  Evelyn’s parents had hosted a party in celebration of her mother completing her doctoral dissertation and they had needed a seamstress to fix her dress.  Alice King had been in Evelyn’s house. 

“My parents know this woman.” 

Finian looked as if he had been slapped. 

“What are you talking about?” 

“She has been in my house.  I have met this woman.  She’s a friend of my father’s from University, if my memory serves me right.”

Evelyn’s memory was impeccable and she knew it was not tricking her now.  Alice King had come to her house to fix the dress as a favour to Evelyn’s father.  Alice had spoken with Evelyn about Alice’s son and said that she wanted to bring him by sometime so that they could become friends. 

“She wanted me to be friends with her son.  I remember her!”

“Okay.  I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that your family befriends whack jobs but this jumps ole Alice here up a few notches on the list of people I don’t want to have hiding in my closet eating ice cream.” 

“Who would you want hiding in your closet eating ice cream?”

“Scarlett Johansen, for starters.  I have a whole list.  Would you like it alphabetically or…”

“Finn,” Evelyn growled.  “Shut it.”


Alice King was the perfect place to start and Finian had found a way in all his rambling to help Evelyn remember why she was important.  He had also been the one to come up with the plan for narrowing their search.  As much as Evelyn hated to admit it, Finian was a good companion.  He served as a counterweight to her because he was definitely opposite of her in almost every way.  Finian was loud, sarcastic, ridiculous in every way imaginable and completely lacking in the backbone department but Evelyn knew then, just as she had known when she first met him, that this boy was going to help her find her brother. 

He was a part of her world now, whether he liked it or not. 

Othersiders: Arts of the Necromancer – Pt.1

I grew up in a wonderful place with a loving family.  I had a brother and a sister that I loved with all my heart and a mother and father who were caring an supportive of me in every way.  I went to a nice school, had many friends, and got to experience all that life has to offer a young man still learning about the world.  I had a perfect life. 

At least, I think I did. 

I have learned over the last year that what you think you know and what is true are not always the same thing.  What I believe of my past is all strawberries and sunshine.  The truth is more like haggis and hurricane betty.  Neither of which are good for digestion, for different reasons of course. 

My life now is a walking nightmare.  That much I am absolutely certain of.  My parents are gone and so are my brother and sister.  There is a long tale that goes along with that but for now let is suffice to say that my psychiatrist tells me they never existed.  Señorita Rosquilla, as I have affectionally styled my shrink, should be the poster girl for processed sugar products.  Little Debbie needs to step aside.  I wish I could disappear her in that same magic la-la land my family supposedly has been lost to but unfortunately I think she is far too fat to be sucked into the blackest of black holes.  Such is the sad fate of my life. 

I am told that I have created a fantasy world where I had the ideal family to compensate for the crappy life I have now.  I don’t disagree with the ‘crappy life now’ part, but the rest is absolute rubbish.  I did not make up my family.  They existed and I am dead set on proving it.  That is my goal now.  It is my only goal.  Homework be damned!  Okay, that last part serves a dual purpose but let’s not focus on that right now.

For the longest time I had no vent for my frustration, no place to put all my confusion and anger over the entire world’s insistence on telling me that my family was just a dream.  Then I met Evie.  The day I saw her my whole world turned upside down.  That was mainly because I was staring at her with my mouth open like she was a box full of Big Macs and I was a recent parolee from fat camp.  The drool was probably not helping my cause, but that is still neither her nor there. 

Either way, Evie flipped my bony frame over and gave me a rather gentle lecture, for her at least, on why staring is considered rude.  I say ‘for her’ because I have come to learn how extremely painful Evie’s lectures can be.  Evie, or Evelyn if you are a teacher, or her dad, or some other official sounding person who does not like abbreviating names, or you are God and have thus decreed that be thine creature’s name and thou shalt callest thine creature thus or thou shalt be struck by the holiest of lightning… I lost my train of thought.  Oh, yes, Evelyn.  She is a Jiu Jitsu master and the head of the cheerleading squad.  An odd combination to say the least but being the most popular girl in school and someone who could wipe the floor with any member of the student body, male or female, no one has ever thought to comment outside of, “Wow, you’re pretty.”  Even that can get you punched at times. 

On the same day that Evie decided I needed a small lesson in manners she came to find me after school.  I was ready for her this time and whipped out my brass knuckles.  I was going to lay her out, Mike Tyson style, when compassion overtook me and I let her live.  I swear that is what happened.  Whatever else you may hear I did not see her and start running for my life like a zebra who somehow escaped the most terrifying lioness the Sahara had ever spat out only to be tracked back down by the same said lioness.  There may have been urine.  Again, stop focusing on the unimportant parts. 

Evie finally caught me and threw me to the ground in a heap of bones an futility… I mean, I put my brass knuckles back in my bag and… either way  I could tell that she did not want to hurt me this time.  She helped me up and explained that her thrashing of me earlier in the day was a show she had to put on from time to time.  You see, Evie is playing the ‘it’ girl for a reason.  She says it has its uses.  Outside of parting the hallways like Moses I do not know what this really means but she says I do not need to worry my pretty little head about it.  She really did say my head is pretty.  I did not make that part up.  Some of the other stuff I did but I can guarantee you one hundred percent she said my head is pretty.  I totally agree. 

I am sure you are wondering though how it was that Evie came to help me, besides picking me up from the concrete after having turned me into a human asphalt stamp.  I had transferred to Pacific High nearly five months previous and had become a bit of a legend.  The official story that came along with my transfer was that I was an orphan who’s foster parents had died.  I do not know where this story came from or who made it up but it is not true.  I woke up one day in a house that was not the one I grew up in with police officers in my face asking me questions I could not answer.  Yes, two adults were dead in that house.  No, they were not my parents. 

I told Evie this.  She was the first person my own age I had told the true story to because every adult I told gave me the nod and smile that said, “Sure, sure, you broken little thing.  Any story you want to make up to make the boo boos go away is just fine.”  Adults make me want to punch something, which ultimately would not really do any damage so I should probably start saying something like, “adults make me want to make Evie punch something.”  Now that would wreak some havoc.  We are talking max level warrior with a wicked fire mace of righteous fury, attack +20.  Total destruction.  But I digress.

I looked into Evie’s hazel eyes and told her the truth.  She looked back into my blue ones and believed me.  The shock was such that I put on that same face she so disliked from earlier on in the day and I was nearly given a refresher course.  Thankfully I got my mouth shut quick enough for her to huff it off.  Evie explained to me then that she had experienced something similar.  She had had a little brother who she loved intensely.  Then one day she woke up and he was gone.  Everyone tried to pretend like he had never existed but Evie knew better.  She would not be lied to.

Sadly Evie had suffered an almost never-ending series of set backs in her attempts at discovering the truth about her brother.  Her parents had started off gently with her, trying their best to understand why she was making up such a wild fantasy.  When she persisted they made her go and see Señorita Rosquilla as well and that has oddly become another in the long list of things that tie Evie and my fates together.  Who knew the skinny, brainy boy who most people think is some kind of poltergeist and/or foster parent killer would have so much in common with the Amazonian Princess of the total hotness?  Life can be funny.  Life is funny.  Almost every moment of the day life is a gas if you choose to see it that way.  Most people do not not, however, and that is really sad. 

Talking with Evie I learned that she had traveled much further down the track of finding an answer than I would have even thought to go and she believes she has found the key to finding her brother.  She is also convinced that, if she is correct, it will lead to finding my family too.

Evie says it was sprits that took our families. 




She says it with much more convincing style.  I could not convince a starving man to eat the most delicious apple on earth.  This is another reason why Evie and I make such a great pair. 

Evie has done a lot of research and says that there are ghosts everywhere.  She claims that all humans have a spirit and that when we die our spirits move on to fulfil some other role in the world.  Reincarnation is the term for it I guess but she also believes that, just like there are bad humans, there are bad spirits and they come back as all the negative things that exist in the world.  Evie thinks that there is a place between living and dying and that the good spirits and the bad spirits are fighting there over the balance of the world and if the bad spirits take enough of the good spirits into their own little prison then humanity will plummet into total chaos and darkness.  Evie claims that this is why humanity is continuing to lose its spark.  She says this is why people can seem so mean and heartless at times.    

So my family was taken because we were too bright.  We were a happy family and the darkness needed to put us out.  I just cannot figure out why they left me behind though.  Oh, wait, yes I can.  Again, you really need to lay off the unimportant details and let me tell the story.

Evie’s brother was taken because, according to Evie, he was the final piece in her family’s puzzle.  As a whole they were the perfect family.  Mom, dad, Evie and little brother.  Four wonderful, beautiful people.  Taking one out made the puzzle incomplete.  The question that burns Evie and I both is why are we the only ones that remember?  How is it that everyone else has simply forgotten?  Evie believes we have to answer that question first and then everything else will fall into place. 

Her plan of attack is, well, insane. 

We go ghost hunting in our free time.  That, interestingly enough, is one of the few times I have not been joking since I started this rant.  We hunt ghosts.  Like the Ghostbusters.  Only we do not have fancy suits or laser gun things.  We have backpacks with pencil cases in them, a lot of books and some courage.  Okay, Evie has a lot of courage and I have none so that balances out to ‘some’ in my book.  It is a terrifying job but Evie thinks it is going to help us find our lost loved ones.  I just hope it does not take us off to be with them in the boogieman land that Evie describes as, ‘happy purgatory.’  She added the happy when I started to cry the first time. 

Evie has become my hero.  She is my light at the end of the tunnel, my guardian angel, my guru, and the person who constantly beats me senseless.  Please do not pity me.  I had no sense to begin with.  We are travelling about hunting ghosts or rumours of ghosts and I spend most nights pretending to sleep because I cannot turn the lights off anymore, and who can sleep with the lights on? 

So that is my life.  Or I should say, that is my life up to now.  I can only imagine how much worse it is going to get from here.  At least there is a hot girl to share it with.

Please do not tell her I said that.  I like all my parts where they are.