First Magyc

Meet The Authors

Hello everyone – happy Friday!

The Ink Slingers Guild are officially at Tampa Bay Megacon this weekend – we have a table in Artist Alley, and lots of fantastic books for you!!!

Let’s take a moment to get acquainted, shall we?

Lisa Barry:

“Writing and reading every minute she can, Lisa counts on her cats to keep her keyboard warm and on the countless gargoyles who stand guard throughout her house to ensure the safety of all those who enter with good intent. The gargoyles, even more importantly, listen carefully when Lisa reads to them aloud.

On a person note…besides having a deep admiration of gargoyles (who says they’re not real?), I love to read and write.  I collect gargoyles, I love music and can be heard driving up before I am seen, I’m a very picky eater (just ask my friends -eyes rolling-), I enjoy fishing and will catch them, clean them, cook them but won’t eat them or anything else out of the ocean.  I also believe in many fairy tale creatures, just haven’t knowingly met any yet.”

And she has a really cool tattoo.

  and coming soon…

Dalia Lance:

Dalia says “I have had a very interesting upbringing starting with growing up in Hollywood, CA. Never shy, I learned that if you are not willing to try something new you may let life simply pass you by. I love meeting people from all walks of life and these experiences inspire me on a daily basis. As a true friend once pointed out “You are never a complete waste, you can always be used as a bad example”. So what’s the worst that can happen?”

 

J. M. Pacquete:

JM Paquette writes cheesy vampire romance novels filled with action, adventure, intrigue, and sometimes slightly steamy sex scenes. She enjoys alliteration and puns of all kinds.

   

Alanna J. Rubin:

Miss Rubin says “I’m originally from Massachusetts. As a northerner, I never missed an opportunity to pick apples, carve pumpkins, or visit Salem to see the witches and haunted happenings. Now that I’m in Florida, not a day goes by when I don’t miss the changing colors of leaves, but I would never go back to having to shovel snow. As a fan of science fiction, paranormal, and romance…I find that individually they are fun,  however, I love them more when they’re mashed together. Often, when I am not writing my next adventure you’ll find me torn between watching a Jane Austen adaptation or hopping on the Tardis for an adventure in time and space.”

  

And yours truly, Nicole Dragonbeck:

I was born on the first day of a year-long eclipse of the sun, the thirteenth child of the Prince of Elves and an enchantress. As a small child I fell into a poisoned well and was horribly transformed by the toxic sludge seething in the deep darkness. I was fished out by a band of gypsies, who promised to feed and clothe me if I cooked and cleaned for them. They taught me to ride bareback and read palms, but I royally pissed off the leader by setting his wagon on fire and he cursed me with a great imagination and an equally great inability to tell the truth…and the rest is history.

  

I hope to see you at Megacon this weekend and get the chance to meet you in person!

❤ DragonBeck (and friends)

 

 

 

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Alibi

The last ISG meeting was quite productive of dastardly schemes to rule the universe, including (but not limited to) an audio book of Guardians of the Path: First Magyc, promotional activities and world-building. More details will follow when they have security clearance.

We only managed to do two writing exercises, so I’ll try to have some other fun stuff for you between now and the next meeting to make up for it.

Snow, glow, tenure

“You can’t kick me out. I have tenure!” the short man in the grey suit shouted
as he jumped up and down, still not managing to come any higher than the elbows
of the four burly men in uniforms, standing with impassive faces as the short
man ranted.
An elderly gentleman also watched, stroking his long beard, which seemed to
glow with a silver light. Eventually he held up a hand. “Now, now, my dear
Gindel, must you make your parting so dramatic?” The little man called Gindel
stopped and shot a glare up at him.
“Don’t you dear Gindel me,” he said. “Where’s your loyalty? What about all the
time we spent building all this together?”
“True,” the other said with a sad smile. “But you seem to forget that it still
needs care and attention.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Gindle demanded with a suspicious look. “It
means you never come out of here. You just tinker and meddle, you don’t even
know what effects you create with your activities.”
“I do too!” Gindle countered.
“Did you know there was snow last August?” the elder man said calmly. “Or that
the Tuesday before all the fires in the kitchen suddenly exploded and demolished
that wing of the building to rubble? Don’t shake your head at me Gindle, you
know your experiments can have far reaching effects.”
“No,” Gindle was still shaking his head. “Listen, Tobble, I was visiting my
mother in the city last Tuesday. I wasn’t even here!”
______________________________________________________

❤ DragonBeck

You can’t die twice

And the final exercise! Warning: ends on a cliff-hanger…#sorrynotsorry

whisper (also my word), forgetful, moist

The thought stopped Jedrin cold. Now he was going to have to rethink his entire
plan from a whole new perspective, wondering if his steps had been predicted and
planned on, or not. He spent several moments going over this, before he
remembered to stop himself. The witch had told him that death was forgetful, and
if he wanted to make sure his plan came to fruition, it was crucial that the
other man’s face remain clear in his mind.
Jedrin was just going to have to carry on with the plan, but he was going to be
more cautious. Cautious and intelligent, we’ll make a good pair, the other’s
voice whispered to him, and Jedrin smiled a savage smile. When he emerged fully
into the Overworld, into the moist air just after a storm, it became easier to
move. He floated, almost flew, and it was easy to find the other, as he had kept
the jewel with him, as Jedrin had known he would.
Jedrin watched the other man for a long time, savoring the imminent revenge, and
was surprised that when he tried to move forward, some invisible force held him
in place. He struggled, and it was that which drew the attention of the other
man, who came over and smiled the same cold smile he had when Jedrin died.
“I wondered when you were going to be turning up again,” he said, his voice very
polite.
Jedrin remained calm despite this small twist. He had a great advantage over the
other man – one couldn’t die twice.
“Are you very sure about that?” the man said, his eyes gleaming.

________________________________________________

On a slightly different note, I hope to have news regarding book four of the Guardians of the Path series very soon! The line edits are coming along, and I am working on a little project to get First Magyc ready to become an audio book – wish me luck!

❤ DragonBeck

Doing a Little Author Stuff…

representin

This past weekend, I went with Jen to represent Witching Hour Publishing and the intrepid Ink Slingers Guild at an art walk (thanks to Wordier Than Thou for putting this on!).

It was very nice to get out, meet some new people, and be around books and authors. As you can see, we had an impressive array of our own books on display and for sale:

5 Ink Slingers Annual Anthologies,  including the most recent – 2016’s Serenity Rising,

The Guardians (Gargoyles Den Book One) by Lisa Barry,

My Home on Whore Island by Dalia Lance,

Klauden’s Ring by J.M. Paquette,

The first three books in the Guardians of the Path fantasy series by Nicole DragonBeck (yours truly),

and Waitress: a Memoir by Angel Woolery.

It was a little chilly, but Jen had a handy-dandy blanket she lent me, and our own very personal delivery service brought us hot chocolate and cheese quesadillas (thanks Remi!). We even got a little plug in for Stories My Friends Started – one can never have too many of those!

All in all, it was quite fun! I hope to see you at some point out there in the great wide world – I’ll remember to bring my gold pen and sign a book for you!

❤ DragonBeck

 

Disguises

chain, math (my word, inspired by, you guessed it, Alanna), petticoat (had to look that one up)

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“What is this thing?” Trina grumbled as the mounds of fluffy white entrapments
were pulled over her head and down to her waist.
“They call it a petticoat. It goes over the knickers and under the skirt,” Berra
said as she thrust a pink monstrosity with too much lace at Trina.
Trina took it and held it out as far as she could, as if she could avoid the
humiliation if she didn’t let it touch her. She preferred chain mail and
leather. What had her life come to?
“Why are we doing this?” she asked in a petulant voice as Berra found a pair of
soft slippers, and something that looked like a tadpole, with a curved tail.
“Do the math,” Berra replied, her voice patient, though her wary eyes kept
darting to the door, fearing to be found out at any moment. “This is what people
wear in this realm. If we were to stand out, or look out of place, Lord
Blackthorn and his usurping thugs would have us in an instant. Instead, we have
to blend in and bide our time. Make friends, secure our position, and then, when
it suits us, we will make our move…”
“And cut out his still beating heart from his chest and send his head on a pick
to that ogre in fair form that sits on our father’s throne,” Trina finished with
relish.
“Yes, but don’t talk like that, I don’t think they’ll like it, and you have to
wear your hair like this, or they’ll be able to see your ears,” Berra had
started fussing with Trina’s blond tresses.
“What’s wrong with my ears?” Trina demanded as she managed to unfurl the tadpole
and found it to be some sort of lacy shield. “And what is this?”
“It’s called a parasol, and there’s nothing wrong with your ears,” Berra assured
her. “But have you seen what their ears look like here?”

____________________________________________________________

That’s all for now, folks! If you’re interested in reading more, check out the Stories My Friends Started site, and if you’re into a full-length fantasy novel, check out the Guardians of the Path series!

❤ DragonBeck

New Year’s Resolutions, 2017

So here we are yet again, at the birth of another year, and as it is our goals and dreams which pull us along through continuum of time, I shall endeavor to set forth mine for 2017.

I will, of course, carry over anything which I failed to get done in 2016, but I’m going to be more concise this year, as I want to have some time left to actually go out and do these things, not just write them down.

So, here goes:

  1. Write. A lot.
  2. Read. Not quite as much as I write, but at least some.
  3. Keep Erika happy with my quota of Stories My Friends Started (if you’d like to help me with this particular resolution, go to Storiesmyfriendsstarted.com, and give us a sentence to start!)
  4. Write/publish stories in the much-anticipated sequel to The Death of Jimmy – The Purge of Jimmy (coming soon).
  5. Write/publish stories in Super Useless (coming sooner).
  6. Get my 2017 anthology in on time and within the specified word count.
  7. Publish Book IV of the Guardians of the Path series.
  8. Write first draft of Book V of GOTP (and dare to hope it will be published at the end of the year).
  9. Write a novella series (or two).
  10. Savor the coffee. Let the Force flow through me…
  11. Spend lots of time with my family.
  12. Spend lots of time with my amazing companions in the Ink Slingers Guild, drinking tea, laughing, and being awesome.
  13. Be awesome in general.
  14. Spread the awesomeness.
  15. Bake yummy things.
  16. Make some good memories.
  17. Do something that I haven’t done before.
  18. Go somewhere new.
  19. Don’t spend too much time on the internet (very important).
  20. Find that dragon, and travel the world a-dragonback (from 2016).
  21. Take over the world (also from 2016).

And there you have it. Now it’s on the internet, and I can be held accountable for it come the end of the year. I doubt that will stave off the procrastination – alas, it is in the ink which flows through my veins 😉

I do wish you all a very happy, happy year in which you flourish and prosper beyond your dreams! I look forward to sharing it with you!

❤ ❤ ❤ DragonBeck

The Translator

The last ISG meeting was a load of fun, as usual. The table is getting too small – there was hardly enough room for my treats amongst the tea pot, the cups, and all the computers. But we managed somehow 🙂

Many great things are on the horizon as this year draws to a close (it’s the middle of November already!! Yikes!) and a new one opens before us. Most of it involves copious quantities of writing, so my news may be scarce and scrawny. Bear with me, and it will be worth it, I promise.

Here are the writing exercise from the meeting. A continuance was in order, as you’ll see. Enjoy!

abstract-315468_1280

silky, petrify (my word), microwave,

Put under a red moon in the microwave door to the best silky. Beil looked down, and squinted at what he had just read. The others were staring at him with uncertain expressions.

“What was that?” Heidi asked, a polite frown on her face.

Haam was a more direct. “Are you sure you translated that correctly?” he demanded. “Give that to me.”

The much bigger man snatched the paper from Beil, who stood as if petrified. Beil watched Haam glare at the message, challenging it with his bright blue eyes to give up its secrets. One day, Beil told himself in a furious but silent voice, one day I’m going to prove that I’m of some use to this expedition.

He glanced around at the others in the group, and tried not to feel inferior and worthless. Heidi was a magnificent witch, whose spells could protect the whole group even if they were under goblin attack. Haam was the best warrior in the six realms, and was proficient in the sword, bow, and hammer, all of which he carried on his person. There was Dorn, the tracker, Yelda, the seer, and Jaim, the Guardian of the Talisman.

Then there was Beil, of no great talent and no apparent value. __________________________________________

dictator, roam, apple

Beil watched Haam continue to glare at the paper, feeling more and more irritated at the whole world as the big man just stood there without saying a word. Beil was more scared of Haam than he would be of any cruel dictator, but if this continued, they would be standing here for the next three days as the warrior refused to give in and refused to grant quarter.

“Um, Haam?” Beil stepped forward in timid steps. “I’ve had an idea…”

He stopped suddenly, starting at Haam. Beil expected the man’s eyes to be be roaming the paper, searching for clues in the writing, but they were fixed, glassy, and blank. A lump the size of an apple obstructed anything but a soft gurgle coming from Beil, but his terrified look and shaking finger alerted the others to the problem.

A scuffle ensued as Dorn and Jaim attempted to wrestle the paper from Haam’s frozen fingers, and Heidi cast spells of protection and exorcism, all to no avail. Somehow, in the middle of the ruckus, Beil managed to wriggle through and snatch the paper from the bigger man. At once the spell was broken, but it took a while for them to notice Haam was now fine, and that Beil was holding the paper.

“You shouldn’t be touching that,” Heidi warned. “And don’t look at it.”

“He’s fine,” Haam frowned. “And he was trying to read it for a very long time before.”

Despite the insult, Beil felt a sense of satisfaction. At last, some use.

___________________________________________

I’ve still got a few more sneak peeks lined up for book III of the Guardians of the Path, Omens,  now avaialble for pre-sale on amazon, and I’ll try to keep up the updates, but I’ve got a lot of work to do. No rest for the wicked, you know 😉

Until then,

Rock on!

❤ DragonBeck

Omen teaser III – The Necrolatry

(Necrolatry: worship of the dead, Late Greek nekrolatreia, from Greek nekr-necr- + -latreia -latry; or the case of Guardians of the Path: the church devoted to Death and His work.)

The Guardians of the Path Omens, published by Witching Hour Publishing, is to be released on 23 November 2016.

Here’s the third excerpt from the third book of the series (Tesla would be happy).

Dividing a story into chapters can be a tricky part of writing. Is the chapter just part of a scene, a teaser so to speak? Does a full sequence with a beginning, a middle, and an end take place?

A guide-line I like to use for ending a chapter is don’t leave off at a stopping point. When the character falls asleep, or sits down to wait, or ends a conversation where they learn something they need to is not a good place to end, because it invites the reader to put down the book. They have some measure of satisfaction, and you want to leave them wanting more (i.e., a “page turner”) with a cliff-hanger. Some ways to do this could be having the protagonist round a corner and come face to face with something, have someone find something and then it does something unexpected, or what happens at the end of this excerpt, which is incidentally the end of a chapter of Omens:

Strong hands grabbed Ria’s arms and hauled her to her feet. A moment later the four of them were running across the courtyard and through the black doors that opened from within, spreading like arms to welcome them with an emotionless embrace. A thick carpet underfoot swallowed their footsteps, leaving them in silence as they hurried from the door.
Cold air raised the hair on Ria’s skin when the door swung shut with a click behind them. Inside, the air was crystal clear and made her eyes sting. Despite the lack of visible lighting, Ria could see with perfect clarity. A smell slithered into Ria with every breath, the smell of emptiness and silence which filled her head with space and an odd ringing.
Windows of black glass towered over them on either side, folding into each other, the facets of a liquid diamond. High above them Ria assumed there must be a ceiling of some sort though it was lost in the darkness. A Mark – a circle, one half black, the other half white – was seared onto every visible surface, carved into the end of the wooden pews, welded in the filigree over the windows.
“What’s that?” Ria asked.
“That is Death’s Mark,” Juff said, averting her eyes from the symbol on the wall.
Ria stared at it. The Guardian Luca Lorisson had explained to her briefly about the Prophecy of Aethsiths and Her Mark. This Mark was not a true Mark, she decided after a moment of thoughtful examination. A true Mark was written by its owner with the intent to write it, and that could be felt as easily as the Mark could be seen; Ria felt nothing from the Mark, no tingle of magyc, no undercurrent of golden music. It was a lie.
“Why do they put it everywhere?” she wondered aloud, her eyes sliding from the drapes framing the windows to the low benches cloaked in the shadows that clung to the walls, to the black columns at the side of the massive room.
“I don’t know,” Juff said, and gave her a frown. “Don’t speak so loudly.”
The door behind them opened, sending light chasing after the shadows. The nymphs froze, incandescent eyes wide.
“Here!” Juff said and gave them a shove towards a long black table draped with folds of shimmery cloth that appeared before them as though it had just been set down by a giant hand. A wreath of metal barbs as big as a swimming pool fashioned into Death’s Mark hung on the wall behind it.
They scurried behind the table. Ria peeked around and saw the blood-red uniforms outlined in sunlight. The Streetwardens hesitated outside, shifting and looking back and forth. Two black-robed figures appeared from within the Necrolatry, gliding towards the Streetwardens, who backed away. When the doors closed the figures disappeared into the darkness as if they had not even been there.
Ria’s breath caught in her throat when they reappeared in front of their hiding spot. Shaved heads and skin so pale it glowed made the figures seem insubstantial, like projections of light. Juff looked at Ria with wide eyes and the nymphs huddled together for support. Ria scooted over and peered around the folds of cloth.
The black figures conferred softly with their backs to Ria, gesturing at the door and the table. Ria ducked back as the nearest figure turned to look at the table. Moments of tense silence marched by to the erratic beating of Ria’s heart. Her senses would have her believe that the figures had gone away, that there was no one there, but Ria knew better.
A coldness pressed on her, squeezing tighter and tighter as she imagined the black robed figures stepping closer on silent feet. Ria turned her head very slightly to the left, saw Juff wide-eyed with fear, the two nymphs clutching each other and seeming to shrink in size as Ria watched.
None of them could do anything, they were trapped behind the altar. They would be discovered and the stark fear in Juff’s eyes was not giving any comforting ideas as to their fate. Ria had to do something before they were all discovered.
She could think of only one thing to do.

___________________________________________________

Doesn’t that make you want to find out what she does? 😉

Look for Omens and other great books published by Witching Hour Publishing coming soon!

❤ DragonBeck

Cats and Ghosts, Monsters or Aliens

Hello there!

Time is moving along, as it does.

Hope everyone had an enjoyable All Hallow’s Eve  🙂

In just under a month, my third novel, Omens, will be published. I’ll be sending out another teaser in a few days here, and you can get the first two books in the Guardians of the Path series, First Magyc and Ria’s Mark on amazon.

In the meantime, here are the final two exercises from the last ISG meeting. Enjoy!

animal-17545_1920

cat, room, phalanx

Jemma attempted to get past the phalanx of cats waiting to be fed, but she
almost tripped over one of them, and an ear-splitting yowl informed her that she
had stepped on a paw or a tail. “It’s your own bloody fault!” she muttered,
sliding her feet across the floor to minimize casualties, and somehow made it
across the room to the where their food was kept. The bowls on the bench all had
names on them, but it hadn’t taken more than a day for Jemma to give up on
trying to give the cats the right bowl. They knew which was there however, so
she filled them, set them on the floor, and the cats wandered through until they
found the right one.
“That’s not really normal behavior for cats,” Jemma said to herself as she
watched the animals feasting. “Though I suppose for a person to have this many
cats isn’t really normal either.” She counted again – her deepest fear as that
she would misplace one, or one would run out the door. How would she explain
that to Mrs. Black when she returned from her holiday in Romania? “Only three
more days to go,” Jemma said, crossing her arms and smiling. “I can keep it
together for that long.”
The room went oddly quiet and she looked down to find all seventeen pairs of
feline eyes fixed on her, with what look disconcertingly like knowing smiles on
their faces.
___________________________________________________
handle, alien, whimper (my word)

He reached for the handle and was about to touch the metal when a whimper from
behind him stayed his hand. He looked around, and saw that Robbie had followed
him up the stairs.
“I told you to wait outside,” Harvard said.
Robbie shook his head fiercely and ran to Harvard’s side.
“Fine, but stay behind me,” Harvard ordered.
He opened the door and peered into the old bedroom. It looked as if it had been
unused for many years, white sheets covered the furniture, and Harvard imagined
shapes that could be ghosts, monsters, or aliens lurking underneath them.
“She said it was in here,” he muttered to himself, gripping Robbie’s hand
tightly. He took a tentative step into the room, looking left and right and
trying not to pay attention to the feeling that was telling him something was
going to come leaping out at him any second now.
“It was supposed to be in a box, but I don’t see any boxes, do you?” Harvard
asked, looking down at Robbie.
The small boy gave the room a quick glance and pointed with his free hand.
There, under a mirror whose cover had half fallen off revealing the smudged
glass, was not a box but a wooden chest. Harvard started towards it when the lid
shuddered, and opened.

_________________________________________________

For more awesome stories you can get your copy of the Ink Slingers Guild’s fifth annual anthology Serenity Rising in paperback and ebook on amazon.com 🙂

❤ DragonBeck

A Sort of Creepy Halloween Story

Hello world – I am rejoicing as the nice weather descends, at least in Florida, for a few short breaths 🙂

The last ISG meeting was very productive – let me see, we have our fifth annual anthology out any day now (with a bonus Halloween story!), the third novel in the Guardians of the Path series due out late November, the 23rd if memory serves, and several other exciting things in the cards and up our sleeves.

And in honor of the upcoming holiday, more by accident than design, all my writing exercises fit together for another nice little sort of creepy Halloween story. So, without further ado, enjoy!

jack-o-lantern-1679164_1920

(and once again I’ve forgotten which word was mine. I think it was in the second exercise.)

pumpkin, mere, frisky,

The wind was rather frisky, and it tried to get into his coat as it danced
through the graveyard. Alan shivered, and put his hands deeper into his pocket.
“I don’t think he’s coming,” he muttered to Henry. “We can go home now.”
Henry shook his head, eyes never leaving the misty surface of the mere.
Moonlight made faces in the grey swirls, and twice Alan thought that the old man
was there, but then the fog shifted and the apparition was gone. Alan shifted,
and fought the urge to shiver. He looked over at Henry, who was standing there
with grim determination, arms clasped around the biggest pumpkin they could
find.
Mr. Mcleary, who tended the graveyard, had promised them fifty dollars if they
brought him a pumpkin. In the daylight, that had sounded like a really good
idea, but at twilight on a cloudy night, more sinister thoughts began to plague
Alan.
“Henry, let’s just forget it,” he said suddenly and quite urgently. “Let’s go
home.”
Henry was going to shake his head again, but then his eyes widened. Alan turned
to see Mr. Mcleary emerging from the gloom. In his hand was a long silver knife.
____________________________________________________________
black, condescending, tingle

Alan didn’t notice himself move closer to Henry, or that he had removed his
hands from his pocket to grab Henry’s arm in a bone-crushing grip. The boys
stood there, frozen with fear, as Mr. Mcleary came towards them. He stopped, and
gestured with the knife. Alan moaned. The old man gave him a condescending
glare, and gestured with the knife again.
“Hand it over, then,” he called out, his voice low and raspy.
He had wild silver hair, and wore a long black jacket. Definitely serial killer
type Alan’s panicked mind gibbered at him. Mr. Mcleary grew impatient.
“Come on, come on, I don’t have all night,” he said.
Henry dropped the pumpkin, bent to retrieve it and walked towards the man with
hesitant steps. Alan was dragged along by his unwillingness to let go of Henry’s
arm.
“Are you crazy?” he muttered. Something sharp and acidic tingled in his nose.
Mr. Mcleary started and looked around.
“Hurry up boy!” he barked. “Unless you want them to get you!”
“What is he talking about?” Alan said.
“I think he might be talking about those,” Henry replied, nodding at the dark
disfigured shapes lurking behind the pale tombstones.

_________________________________________________________
gnash, whip, vent,

“What are those?” Alan cried out.
“Something that has never left anyone alive to name them,” Mr. Mcleary said.
“Now if you will please hand me that pumpkin, I’ll just get to work on saving
all our lives.”
Henry’s steps were much faster and more eager. Alan’s fingers had gone slack,
and he stood there, his arm falling limply to his side, eyes fixed on the
gruesome things coming towards them with gnashing teeth and whipping tails.
Before his heart stopped dead in his chest, Alan turned and stumbled after
Henry, who had delivered the orange gourd to Mr. Mcleary.
The strange old man was kneeling on the ground, silver knife flashing in the
pale moonlight. He used his hand to scoop out the insides, and threw the goopey
mess over his shoulder without a look. More swift slashes with the knife, and
then he reached into his coat and drew something out. He fitted it into the
pumpkin, and drew back, grinning. A glowing jack-o’-lantern grinned back at him,
venting bright light out of its crude yet strangely cheery mouth.
“What is that for?” Henry asked, his voice much calmer than Alan felt.
“That is to scare them off,” Mr. Mcleary said, rising to his feet. He was right
– the figures had stopped their advancement, contained by the flickering light.
“But it won’t hold them for long.”

 

Happy Halloween month! Be nice to the ghosts and goblins!

❤ DragonBeck