What would you do? – “Don’t go down into that dark cellar alone!”

Another in the "What would you do?" questions.

As the scene opens a young wife in Mid-Victorian New England has recieved a letter and a plea - coupled with a warning from her husband. He is on a desparate mission to recover an object of great and terrible power that has been stolen from his keeping. The thief has also murdered a companion and robbed the young man of all of the funds with which he had been entrusted to persue the criminal.
So now he is forced to ask his teenage wife to secure the remainder of the money and bring it to him.
But he also must give her a warning. There is something else besides the money in the dark cellar. Something that does not like being disturbed.




Excerpt from The Scrimshaw: Coming in the Fall of 2008

"This brings me to what I must ask of you my loyal wife. Were there some other way - but there is not. I am now bereft of all of my funds as the thief Tanner left me not a single coin. I have been forced to borrow the price of a train ticket to New Bedford from innkeeper Hows. I swore to him that I would repay him but he would have none of it. He said to just bring the thieving black dog back to Sudbury to stand trial for the murder of John Twin-Hawks. I promised to do all in my power to bring him to justice. And that is where I need your help my dear one. You must go into the room in the cellar where I keep the scrimshaws, which I know you despise, as please believe me - so do I! There, go to the northwest corner of the room and pull up the third floorboard from the right-hand wall. You will find a strong box containing a portion of the gold eagles. You must bring them to me in New Bedford so that I may continue my pursuit of Tanner.
Once you reach New Bedford, take a goodly room at the Bristol Hotel down by the harbor. It is there I will come to you.
One final instruction. Nay – a plea from one who loves you more than his own life. Leave today my love. Do not linger another hour in the house on Skaket creek.
Upon finishing the reading of this letter, go straight to the house. Pack your valise. Then while the sun still shines through the cellar window upon the scrimshaws, go to that room and retrieve the gold. But I implore you. Do not tarry! You must be out of that house and away before sunset. I fear that in his selfish and cruel greed, Tanner has set something in motion that only the hand of God with my poor help, can set right.
Come to me with all speed, my own dear wife.

Your devoted and loving husband
Jeptha


Fiona's hands trembled again. But this time she was afraid that no amount of willpower could stop them.
The pages fluttered from her fingers into the sand. She reached down absently and gathered them up. Then stuffing them into the damp pocket of her still wet dress, she started up the path to the house. She looked up at her home, but for the first time with fear. A dark cloud passed over the sun, plunging the house into wavering shadows. It looked somehow - sinister. As though there was a dark and brooding presence waiting there. Something evil. Waiting. Waiting for her.
She thought about the noises she'd been hearing at night recently. A shuffling and a creaking sound. But now they no longer seemed like the normal, friendly sounds of a new house settling on its foundation. They seemed dark and - evil.

Calling on the last remains of her Scotts/Irish courage, she walked quickly into the house. She threw clothes into her old carpetbag and hurriedly rushed down the stairs without even bothering to change her sea-stained dress. The worst part was entering the cellar room.
Clutching her tiny gold crucifix in one hand and reciting the Lord's prayer in a continuing litany, she quickly found and pulled up the floorboard. She grabbed the strongbox, tore it open and up-ended its contents of gold coins into her carpetbag walked to the door. She had just reached the threshold when a wind from nowhere blew it shut - right in her face. She reached out her hand, slippery with the sweat of cold fear and turned the handle. It wouldn't budge.
No. Oh no!
Once again a spiteful cloud passed over the sun and the room was thrown into shadows. The creaking noise began.
"Oh sweet merciful Mary - Mother of God," she prayed, "Please help me. Don't let me die here - in this awful place, I pray you. My husband needs me. I must go to him. He needs me. And you know sweet Mary, that I - I – am, and will be - needed. Oh please - help me!"
The tears poured down her face as the sounds of creaking timbers and rising wind became louder. "No! Please!" She gave one last desperate tug on the door handle it. And it turned.
Still blinded by tears and goaded by terror, she fled blindly up the stairs, out the back door of the house and into the carriage shed. She threw the carpetbag into the surrey, dragged their old mare into the harness traces and frantically urged the poor old horse into a trot.
"Come-on old Bess. Please girl. Run, yes run! That's a good old girl,” she sobbed gratefully as the horse picked up speed.
She didn't look back as the ocean wind blew the sandy dust away from the surreys tracks. But all the way down the dirt road, she could feel the stare of something evil. Watching her leave. And waiting.





**************


Ric

Ric Wasley
Author
Shadow of Innocence
Kunati - April 2007

http://EzineArticles.com/?expert=Ric_Wasley
http://www.kunati.com/shadow-of-innocence-hip-myster/

Ric Wasley has spent almost forty years wandering through corporate board - rooms and honky-tonk bars. He now divides his time between writing mystery novels – Shadow of Innocence & Acid Test - McCarthy Family Mysteries – and observing the really ‘juicy parts’ of the human condition

New from Kunati Publishing: SHADOW OF INNOCENCE - The Newport Folk Festival provides a groovy backdrop for this fun and exciting mystery set in the music and drug soaked sixties. The Baby Boomers and everyone else are sure to enjoy this appealing mystery featuring a pair of musician partners in love and danger. Don't miss Shadow of Innocence From Kunati Publishing. Available now on; Amazon ,Barnes & Noble and at bookstores everywhere.

Last day of Cheryl Kaye Tardif's virtual book tour: read chapter 2 of Children of the Fog

Today marks the end of my month long virtual book tour, and I will confess, I am exhausted! It's been a long time since I've written these many articles and answered these many interviews. :) But I had so much fun visiting all of my hosts' wonderful sites, getting to know them and answering questions from visitors via email or comments.

Thank you! You have all made my 'Touring the World' virtual book tour a success! And I look forward to doing it again.

For today's stop, and because I had so many email requests, I have given you chapter 2 of my new unpublished novel, Children of the Fog.

You will notice a "book cover". This is something I designed to inspire me and it is not intended to be the actual cover. In fact, I'm hoping my publisher will come up with something even more eerie and creepy and foggy. :) On the back of my mock up cover is the following text:

Would you let a monster take your child?

A mother's descent into alcoholism and madness leads to strange apparitions and a face-to-face encounter with the monster who abducted her son--a man known only as...

The Fog.

Sadie O'Connell is a bestselling author and a proud mother. But her life is about to spiral out of control.

After her six-year-old son Sam is kidnapped by a serial abductor known as The Fog, she nearly goes insane. But it isn't just the fear and grief that is ripping her apart. It's the guilt.

She is the only person who knows what The Fog looks like. And she can't tell a soul. For if she does, her son will be sent back to her in "little bloody pieces".

When her unfaithful husband stumbles across a drawing of The Fog, he sets into play a series of horrific events that sends Sadie hurtling over the edge. Unable to deal with her pain, she drowns her sorrow the only way she knows.

"Tardif specializes in mile-a-minute pot-boiler mysteries." --Edmonton Sun

Read chapter 2 of Children of the Fog by Cheryl Kaye Tardif

Read the prologue and chapter 1 first!

Day 30 of Cheryl's VBT: contest reminder and racial acceptance interview

Two days to go on my 'Touring the World' virtual book tour. Today, I have to remind those of you who ordered Whale Song on August 12th as part of my 44 Prizes contest to remember to email me with your Amazon shipping confirmation. The first 44 emails I receive will WIN FREE BOOKS! For more info, please check my contests page.

And now...for today's stop. Today I am visiting Newspaper Rock, an interesting blog that discusses native topics and pop culture. I have read many of Rob Schmidt's posts and find them very thought-provoking. Today he interviews me in a 2-part post.

Part 1 deals with the native element in my novel Whale Song.

Part 2 deals with the theme of bullying and racism, particularly among our children.

Murder Mystery Event

If you live in the Invermere BC area and would enjoy a little murder and mayhem with your Moroccan meal - get yourself to the Pynelogs Cultural Centre on September 29. The Columbia Valley Arts Council is staging a murder mystery fundraising dinner 'CasaPynelogs' - loosely based on CasaBlanca of Bogey fame and mix-up with a little local history. For information and tickets call 250-342-4423.

Dress is forties style and there will be a variety of prizes for costume and other contests as well as solving the mystery.

Day 25 of virtual book tour: Picture Perfect by Cheryl Kaye Tardif

The following is a sinister Amazon Short

by Cheryl Kaye Tardif…

Picture Perfect

© 2006 Cheryl Kaye Tardif

When my sister, Belle, vanished back in 1956, I lost more than you could possibly imagine. And in the last fifty years, I've never told anyone what I saw. That summer day, I lost a part of my family, a piece of my heart…and I think I lost my soul as well.

In 1956, on the morning of the Calgary Summer Carnival, my baby sister and I were so giddy with excitement that our mother threatened to ground us for bad behavior. There's no worse punishment on the face of this earth than being left behind on Summer Carnival day.

Well, maybe there's one worse thing.

That morning, in the front seat of my father's pickup truck, we were crammed together like cattle at an auction. Some of the stuffing in the seat had escaped, but my father made a half-hearted attempt at fixing it by placing strips of black tape across its gaping wounds. Black tape, however, couldn't fix the broken windshield. It had rock chips in it the size of plum pits. A long spidery crack ran across the passenger side in front of me, cutting the trees and road in half. I had visions of the windshield breaking and driving sharp pieces of glass into us.

"Caroline, you have such an awful imagination," my mother scolded me when I told her my fear. "Why can't ya be more like Belle? She's not worryin'. Are ya, baby?"

Belle, in her new blue dress, patted my arm and then smiled up at our mother. "It's gonna be a perfect day."

I glared at my sister. Traitor!

Pouting all the way to town, I refused to even look at Belle. I plotted all the terrible things I would do to her―like make her eat candy until she puked. I'd make Belle pay. Somehow.

Upon reaching the Summer Carnival grounds, the truck lurched to a stop and dropped us in the middle of the parking lot. The scorching sun beamed down on us, and I swear we could have fried eggs and sausages on that road.

My father's heavy hand clamped down upon the top of my head. In his other hand, he held out three dollars.

"You watch your sister now," he said sternly. "Me an' your ma have to talk to somebody about some hay, so Belle's your responsibility. You hear me, girl?"

Belle’s always my responsibility, I wanted to say. But being only eleven years old, I didn't have the courage.

So I nodded and snatched the money before he changed his mind. And then I spent the entire morning following my sister around the carnival grounds. She picked the rides we went on and the treats we ate. Everything was about Belle, and by lunch, I was tired of it.

Midway through the afternoon, I had a strange feeling. It felt like hungry eyes were watching us―devouring us. Every now and then, I made Belle stop walking, just so I could peer into the crowd. Faces came and went, but I saw nothing out of the ordinary. No one was paying any attention to us.

Or so I thought.

By suppertime, the feeling that we were being watched was so intense that I was sure I'd be sick. I tried to ignore the strange uneasiness tugging at the pit of my stomach. But it was impossible. I could feel a storm brewing. Yet, when I looked up at the sky, there wasn't a cloud in sight.

Belle's easy laughter caught my attention and I turned to watch her while she rode the Spinning Tops. After the ride was over, I followed her to the candy store, unable to take my gaze off her sparkling eyes and cherry-pink smile.

I had always been envious of Belle―with her long, blond, sun-kissed hair and sky-blue eyes. At five years old, my sister was the apple of my father's eye. And according to my mother, you could have made a whole pie out of her. I, on the other hand, was a 'plain Jane’, as my father often reminded me. I was cursed with dirt-brown hair and my eyes were the color of ripe manure sizzling on the pavement. I'd never be the apple of anyone's eye.

When we reached the candy store, a woman behind the counter gave Belle a lollipop. I had to pay for mine, but my sister's was free.

"Because you're just so pretty and sweet," the woman told Belle. "An angel from Heaven, if I ever did see one."

She squinted at me, shook her head slowly and then looked back at Belle. I could almost hear the woman's thoughts. That poor, plain child. How could she possibly be related to this little beauty?

Barely concealing my jealousy, I pulled Belle out of the store. Outside, I plucked sticky cotton candy from her hair. Then I gave her an angry shove and watched her trip in the tall grass. When she picked herself off the ground, her brand-new dress was ripped and stained.

I almost laughed.

"Follow me," I said, heading down the wood-planked sidewalk.

I don't know why, but I felt such an irrepressible desire to hurry. Years later, I made myself believe that Destiny had called us. I told myself it was Fate―laughing and mocking me―that had thrown us like windblown corn seed into an old building at the end of the street.

Grandpa’s Tymeless Fotos.

Inside the wooden framed building, brass oil lanterns cast eerie shadows on the rough pine walls. Deep burgundy and sapphire-blue curtains hung heavily on two walls, while black and white pictures lined the third. Some of the pictures were charcoal drawings. But most were somber, yellowed photographs of another time―another era. In every photograph, the women all wore fancy dresses that dragged on the ground. In the foreground of each picture, a bearded black-eyed man leaned in the doorway or against a post outside the buildings. Not one person smiled.

"Picture…perfect," a gravely voice said behind us.

I whipped around, startled.

An old white-haired man stepped from behind the burgundy curtain. He wore clothes like the people in the photographs and looked like no Grandpa I'd ever seen. He patted my sister on the head, and before I could say a word, he handed her an Orange Twist―my favorite candy―and Belle greedily plopped it in her mouth.

"Belle!" I protested. "We're not supposed to take anything from strangers."

Holding my head high and proud, I scowled at the old man. "Mister, you shouldn't be givin' candy to children when you don't know 'em."

His black, beady eyes twisted my heart with their intensity and turned it into ice.

I nudged Belle. "Let's get out—"

"Caroline!" the old man interrupted. "Dontcha want yer picture taken?"

I wondered for a moment how he knew my name. I was going to ask him, but Belle slipped her gooey hand into mine.

"Please, Caroline?" she begged. "A perfect day, remember?"

Sighing with resignation, I realized that we weren't leaving until my sister had her picture taken. After all, what Belle wanted, Belle always got.

I snuck a peek at the old man.

He nodded. Then he smiled―if you could call it a smile…

Read the entire Amazon Short.

Please check my virtual book tour schedule at:

http://www.blogger.com/virtual-tour-2007/

Please note: This tour is to promote my latest release Whale Song, an Amazon bestseller. A portion of my royalties for Whale Song is going to 3 nonprofit organizations to help combat poverty, homelessness and addictions. To order Whale Song, please order from Amazon.com, Chapters.ca or from your favorite bookstore or other online retailers.

And if you read Whale Song plus two other Kunati titles, you can qualify to enter Kunati’s Great Summer Reads Contest.