Home Sweet Home

By Monica Marier

“…And then what happened?” asked Kathy.

Celia’s shoulders hunched as she stifled a full-body shudder. With tears in her eyes and a trembling voice she looked up into the bright lights.

“We… uh… we kept feeling a presence. An evil presence that we knew immediately wanted us out. We… sorry…” Celia broke down and Kathy put a comforting hand on her shoulder. Celia rocked on the snow white couch and fanned her face.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. Then things started happening. We heard footsteps downstairs at night, when we checked on them, everyone was still in bed. The radio would randomly switch on and play music— it was always music from the 30’s. We’d feel cold spots. Strange stains would appear in the wallpaper and would be gone the next morning. Then… it started attacking the kids.”

Celia looked away from Kathy as she spoke, her eyes focusing on her husband standing nearby.

 “My youngest would wake up with strange bruises and scratches all over him. My husband would wake up to find me hovering over the bed. Blood dripped down the walls… Finally we tried to leave… but it wouldn’t let us.”

“But you’re here now.”

“Not for long anyway. We’re still prisoners of the house to this day.”

Kathy looked away from Celia finally and said in a cheerful clear voice.

“Celia Lintzer’s book ‘The Ghost in an American Dream’ is on the top best-seller list for the twentieth week, and Warner Brothers has greenlit the movie version. Are you excited?”

Celia bravely dried her tears and nodded, seemingly recovered. “Yes, the studio has just signed Renee Zelwiger to play my part. I think it’s slated to come out fall next year.”

“Chilling stuff,” said Kathy with a botox-numbed mug to the camera. “Well, just for the sake of argument, what’s your reaction to people who insist that this is all an elaborate hoax? That there’s no evidence of your house being built over the graves of drowned witches— that the reported events have no eyewitness other than yourself, and that the priest you said blessed the house and the detective you hired claim to never have met you?”

Celia’s smile froze a little and a mad glint sparked into her eyes, but she took a deep breath and settled into the white chintz again.  “Well, that’s simply not true. I don’t blame the Catholic Church for wanting to cover up what proved to be a botched exorcism rite, and our governor has made it abundantly clear that they don’t want this event to sully the town’s reputation. We are in a housing crisis, after all. I’m sure the price of homes would drop if any potential buyers knew…” Celia dissolved into blubbering sobs again. “…what we went through. And then some might simply be lying out of fear,” she added quietly.

“You’re of course referring to the mysterious accidents that befell the psychic team that investigated the house,” said Kathy.

“Smothered in a fire,” said Celia Lugubriously. “Yes the house took its revenge on them.”

“Yes, but the psychics supposedly found no paranormal activity in the house,” said Kathy pointedly.

“They found…” said Celia, “That the only thing to have survived the fire was a copy of my book.”

“And then there was the man who wrote a book exposing the house’s activity as a hoax; he died before his book was published,” said Kathy.

“And so did the owner executive of the publishing company,” said Celia, wiping away another tear. “They were in the same car, when it burst into flames. And the only thing that wasn’t destroyed in the fire…”

“…Was a copy of your book,” finished Kathy with a showy shudder.

“I still suffer nightmares from the whole experience, and I only pray that the house doesn’t come for me next.” Celia shrank into a ball and Kathy dutifully comforted her. She leant next to Celia and whispered, “You’re running us over, shut up.”

“Well thanks for coming on our show, Celia,” said Kathy in her stage voice. “Cathy’s book is available in all major book retailers. We’ll be right back!”

The camera man made a gesture and Celia got up from the couch with a cold nod to Kathy and met her husband, Bill, near the edge of the sound stage.

“Well that went well,” said Bill in a bored voice. “Now hurry up, we have to pack for our flight for New York.”

“Stupid bitch,” said Celia. “I know exactly what she was trying to do.”

“Maybe the rumors of fire-related deaths were a bit much,” said Bill.

“You told me to say fire,” accused Celia in a low voice. “You said the fire thing tied it altogether so nicely. Besides, no one ever checks that crap.”

“Well Raimi called and said he wanted to make a few artistic changes to the movie.”

“If he turns me into a sobbing doormat, I’m going to shove that script up his ass,” said Celia stabbing at the air with her keys.

 They sat in the Lexus and exchanged a tiny grin.

“Who could ever think you’re a doormat, Cece?” said Bill and they exchanged a sterile kiss.

They walked through the wide door of the blue Dutch Colonial and checked their watches. The kids would be at the nanny’s until she dropped them off again at 7.

“Do you want to have sex?” asked Celia.

“Why?” asked Bill in mild surprise. They hadn’t slept next to each other for over three years now.

“I’m bored,” said Kathy with a shrug.

“Sure,” said Bill, throwing his coat on the floor. He then thought better of it and hung the designer leather jacket up on a hanger before he joined Kathy. When he got upstairs he saw her standing in her underwear staring at the bed. She was white and shaking, her shirt still half-off. Bill looked where she was staring and froze.

The bed was bleeding.

The ground began to tremble as the crucifix on the wall (bought shortly before the psychics showed up, just for the look of things) rotated on its nail until it was head down. They stepped away from the tide of blood as it approached them.

“I don’t understand this,” said Celia in a shaking voice. “It’s not real. None of it’s real.”

“Someone is playing a prank on us,” said Bill in a husky voice.

A voice came out of the heating duct that seemed to vibrate them from inside.

“I am very dissappointed,” it said.

“It can’t be true! I don’t believe it’s true!!” shrieked Celia tearing at her hair as the blood lapped at her toes. “Who’s doing this?”

“THE HOUSE IS DOING IT!” cried Bill and they both knew it was true. “But that’s impossible! It’s not haunted! It’s never been haunted! There’s no such thing!”

The radio switched on and played Glenn Miller’s “In the Mood.”

A wave of blood washed over Bill and he was gone, there was only his white hand sinking into what seemed a bottomless sea of crimson.

“WHY?!” shouted Celia. “Why are you doing this?” she shouted at the ceiling as the radio rose to a deafening volume.

Celia felt a cold hand on her shoulder and feeling numb, she turned around. She saw closet door as it yawned open and black rotted hands, dripping with ichor dragged her into the darkness. Before she felt her mind slipping away she felt a voice in the dark space behind her eyeballs.

“You shouldn’t have lied,” it said “Houses have feelings too.”

2023

by Monica Marier

The bitch is back! I'm jumping back into Friday Flash after a LOOOOOONG hiatus. Hopefully this is the start of more beautiful magic in my life. Wish me luck.



The city outside was hidden in a cloud of whirling green particles. The advisories today were all code-red warnings coupled with 2% visibility. “Civillians strongly advised to stay indoors,” Jamie repeated under his breath, in time with the broadcast. He didn’t care. He had to see Anh today. It had been five days of code reds and the school holidays were almost over! Desperate, he and Anh plotted to meet at the mall today. Both of them were going to get in a lot of trouble for it, but they both decided that it would be worth it to see each other. His mom would simply block his G3 access for a week, and with school starting in two days it wouldn’t matter much.
It was dangerous; Jamie was deemed a “high-risk citizen” by the board of health and one slip-up could be fatal. There were stories on the news everyday about people like Jamie who had “just gone out for a few hours,” and never made it back. He would have to take every precaution if he wanted to make it back home alive… so his mom could kill him.

Jamie tiptoed to the mudroom and got ready to go outside. His mom would be in her room until she finished her first pot of coffee, so he had a good twenty minutes. He would need every second. First came the brown canvas coveralls; his fingers trembled as he did up the snaps. He double-checked, then triple-checked to make sure all the snaps were done tightly and there were no gaps. He tied his boots and secured the cloth wraps around the cuffs of his pant-legs. Jamie set his headphones to the playlist Anh had made him and pulled up his interior hood. He checked to make sure his goggles were clean of smudges and smears before putting them on; he wouldn’t have opportunity to clean them until he was safely at the mall. Goggles in place, he checked the filters on his respirator and hooked it on. He also grabbed one of the outdoor-kits full of water, emergency protein, glow tubes and adrenaline injections. Then came the large hooded serape which he draped over all. It was bright orange to combat the low visibility of the green storm and the second hood and face-wrap protected the gear from prematurely wearing out. Last of all, he put on the clumsy gloves and wrapped the ends around his sleeve cuffs.

“Jamie,” came a voice from his mom’s bedroom. “Jamie did you check the dryer for your clothes?”
“Uh, they were still wet so I restarted it,” lied Jamie, hoping his voice wasn’t too obscured by the respirator.
“Okay,” said his mom.

She didn’t call for him again, so Jamie seized the opportunity to slip into the detox chamber and run outside. He forgot to brace himself for the wind and nearly toppled over as a blast of air and debris slammed into him. He shook his head at his own idiocy and began his slow march to the mall. The visibility was too low to drive. As he plodded down the sidewalk, he noted that there was no one else on the streets today. There was only whirlwinds of green fuzz that danced in circles, or shambled in clumps down the high street. Jamie concentrated on his playlist as his heavy boots plodded through the yellowish drifts.

He was almost at the mall when he saw the car. Someone had been stupid enough to try to drive today. A Chevy Quasar had careened off the road and smashed into a lamp post. It was only superficially damaged, but peering through the broken windows, Jamie knew that the driver was dead. The moron hadn’t been wearing a respirator; it was lying on the passenger seat next to him. He’d probably thought he was safe enough in the car with the filter running full blast. Jamie shook his head and flinched at the sight of the swollen black face lying lifeless in his seat. Jamie’s dad had always made them wear respirators in the car. He knew that it only took a few seconds for the car’s filter to hiccup and leave everyone exposed to the lung-choking particles. Jamie was growing hardened to the sight of dead people covered in a dusting of green, but it was never easy and it still made him feel horrible.

Jamie’s mom assured him that this was a good thing. It was a sign that he was growing into a good person.

Mom had often told him that it hadn’t always been like this. She remembered when the green storms started to make life unlivable for people. She said that when she was a girl, it had been different.

Jamie had already walked into the detox chamber before he realized he was at the mall. The blast of purified air shook him as it removed the green motes stuck to his clothes. Then the blast of icy air froze and killed the particles. Lastly the, mild chemical shower rinsed him off. He stepped out of the chamber and unhooked his respirator and goggles.

“Jamie!” cried Anh.

She ran to him dressed in similar orange and khaki, she too had livid red marks on her face from where her goggles and respirator had dug into her face. Jamie smiled and took her hand. They hugged and clumsily kissed each other.

“Anyone here today?” asked Jamie.
“Yeah, there’s a few shops open— ooh! And both the Starbucks and the movies are open today,” said Anh.
“Cool!” said Jamie. This was better luck than he expected. “I was afraid that everything would be closed again.”
“I know. But shop-owners gotta eat I guess.”
“Last day of holidays,” sighed Jamie. “Why did spring have to come so early this year?”
“But the news said pollen season will be over earlier too. We should be back in the school building by late April this year!”
“That’s true,” said Jamie with a grin. “Let’s just enjoy this afternoon before we go back home and get our asses flayed by our folks.”
“Yeah,” said Anh resting her head on Jamie’s shoulder. “I hate pollen season.”
“Me too,” sighed Jaime.

Outside, the green storm raged.

The Prodigal's Foole Bloghop

Monica Marier

Those of you who know me, know that I shy away from book reviews. I only post reviews about books I absolutely adore, usually with no promises beforehand.

When I’m approached by a colleague who wants me to review their book I go into small agonies. It’s like that terrifying moment when an acquaintance says, “Want to see pictures of my newborn baby?” Before the reveal, I’m already crafting non-specific banal compliments to trot out in case Junior turns out to be a Halloween mask with legs. How can I tell an adoring parent that their baby looks like “JoJo the Dogfaced boy?” It’s much the same way with authors and their work. It’s their baby, so I panic —afraid to say mean things about their precious bundle of prose!

I had NO such reservations, however, when RB Wood asked me to review his new book “The Prodigal's Foole,” and host it on my blog. I’ve done work with RB before, specifically for his Word Count Podcast, so I was confident that RB would knock my socks off.

He did.

So here for you today, with a clear conscience and a load of fired-up excitement, I present a review and interview for the launch of...

The Prodigal's Foole

Symon Bryson is part of a rag-tag band of plucky misfits trained by the Catholic Church to fight demons. Then it all goes to Hell (literally). Ten years later, Symon is forced to regroup with his more sober and more mature gang to save their mentor and save the world —kind of a High school reunion from the 8th circle.

Symon is our guide through the book as a Peter Venkman-meets-Scott-Pilgrim mystic, full of giggle-worthy observations and dry wit. RB peoples this book with well-developed characters including interesting women (a MUST for me), and heart-winning mentors. It’s all lovingly depicted in a Cambridge Massachusetts so vivid that I want to go visit. RB also doesn’t shy away from the gross, gritty and the horror elements which were truly terrifying. Not for the faint of heart! The Catholic Church is neither over-praised nor vilified, but handled in a direct, realistic manner that makes this story all the more absorbing and a very rewarding read.

Highly recommended to all enjoy Urban Fantasy, Horror, and a good laugh (I’m looking at you, Dresden File Fans!)

So without further ado, here is RB Wood!

R.B. Wood is a technology consultant and a writer of Urban Fantasy, Science Fiction and quite frankly anything else that strikes his fancy. His first novel, The Prodigal's Foole is now available fo Kindle at Amazon.com. Mr. Wood is currently working on the second book of his Arcana Chronicles series and is host of The Word Count podcast.
R. B. currently lives in Boston with his partner, Tina, his dog Jack, three cats and various other critters that visit from time to time.
You can find his blog, R.B. Wood, Tales of an Indie Writer, HERE

ME: First of all, I have to admit that I was on tenterhooks the moment I realized that your book’s plot centered around the Catholic Church. I’m a practicing Catholic myself and I’ve been burned before by people like Dan Brown and a few others with their books about Catholics. It was a huge relief that you created an honest cast of characters with real flaws and foibles without tearing the Church to ribbons in the process. Any reasons you chose to go with Catholicism and how did you research the subject-matter?

RBW: I figured that Magic had been in the world for a while and was very rare. Who would've wanted to control that power? Well, the Church would have had the resources and the power to do just that. I'm focusing on the Catholic Church, specifically because of their influence for so many hundreds of years. However, there are far older religions that will be having their say as well. Stay tuned. :-)

ME: Your book is also centered around the Cambridge/Boston. I love when authors bring their own backyards into their work.

RBW: The Boston area is one of Thirteen magical hot-spots in the world I've created. Since I live here, research makes it easy. The city is (By US standards) an 'old' city. There is a history of Magic in the area (Salem Witch trials, anyone?). Besides, New York, Chicago and L.A. usually get the crazies. About time for some insanity in Boston.

ME: (You forgot D.C. Whole crap-ton of crazy here in D.C.) Some pretty freaky demonic weirdness in this book. How much was research and how much was pure RB-flair?

RBW: A lot research, then imagination. The Skratta in the book, for example, is the mythological Icelandic hobgoblin and my own imagination.

ME: Speaking of weirdness, I can tell you’re no stranger to the terrifying and bizarre. The images you made my imagination conjure were pretty pants-wettingly frightening in some places.

RBW: Awesome quote…"pants-wettingly frightening." I must use that somewhere. Thank you for the compliment. The world Symon was brought into was 'cool' from his perspective as a youngster. Far from cool, there is some scary sh*t out there in the Shadow-world. I've only shown a very small portion that awaits my poor hero…and that's all you get for now.

ME: ("Poor" is right. You really do like to beat the snot out of Symon. It's probably why I like him so much.)The priests I know have never shied around the subject of mysticism, exorcism and the existence of demons. To the church both are real occurrences in our world. What’s your opinion on that?

RBW: I certainly believe that there are things we cannot explain away easily. Open mind is key. I respect what the Church believes, but I don't necessarily believe in their take on mysticism. I still haven't forgiven them for that whole 'threatening to torture Galileo for being right,' thing.

ME: Since you’re a believer, does it get scary writing about demons and Hell at times? Depressing?

RBW: Depressing, no. I love constructing a story and researching the elements and the details. Scary? Nothing like a good scare to keep you honest! :-)

ME: True that. The characters in your book hint that the turmoil we've been seeing in the world in the last decade(wars, disasters, economic collapse) are a sign of bigger badder things evolving. I've actually heard this from a lot of people from all faiths—Heck I had a Jehovah's Witness at my door yesterday telling me the same thing. What are your thoughts?

RBW: My thoughts are this: Stay tuned, but you're on track.

ME: Okay, fair enough. Final question. Say the world IS all going to Hell in a Honda and you decide to spread the word a la Rorschach in "Watchmen." What does your cardboard sign say?

RBW: "Watch. Listen. Pay attention and ask questions. Otherwise, you might be a casualty."

ME: Thanks again for your time and congratulations on writing and publishing such an awesome book, RB Wood. I look forward to the next installment and good luck on your inevitable success. I leave you all now with my favorite quote from "The Prodigal's Foole" by RB Wood.

“One of Charles’ many repeating themes he preached was that evil was everywhere. I’ve seen it firsthand. It permeates spaces and individuals and things on levels that most ordinary people could never comprehend. Many of the old stories, myths, legends, and yes, even the scariest portions of the Old Testament, are based on truth. According to Charles, only those of us born with magic in our souls can protect the world from falling permanently into the abyss.”

You can purchase The Prodigal's Foole on Kindle HERE