The deafening rumble of powerful engines echoed through the stillness of the night as the Panthers rode their Harleys through town toward their favorite bar. The moon, full and luminous, hung low in the sky, casting an eerie glow on the rugged faces of the riders. Their leather-clad bodies were silhouetted against the darkness, their tattoos and scars illuminated by the moon’s pale light.
With practiced ease, they killed the engines and dismounted their bikes. Raven, the gang’s robust leader, took off his helmet and shook his head. His long, jet-black hair swung to his back, covering the black panther painting on his leather jacket. “I’ll go through the back door,” he said, turning to his second in command, Jackal, his voice sounding deeper than a panther’s purr. “I need to talk to Pedro.”
Jackal let out a deep, guttural grunt. He was a tall, lanky man with dark hair and a scruffy beard. His voice was rough and strained, the result of a brutal bar fight that left his vocal cords permanently damaged. He hated speaking, the sound of his own voice reminding him of the painful incident. And he cringed at the thought of his friends jokingly telling others, “You should’ve seen the other guy!” The guilt of knowing that he had caused someone to lose his life in the fight weighed heavily on Jackal’s conscience. Although not his fault, the drunk man attacked him cutting his throat and he acted in defense, the man died hitting his head on the pool table when Jackal pushed him away. The memory still haunted him like a shadow that he could never escape.
Stubby, the compact and sturdy member of the gang, let out a deep exhalation. “I hope he has some good news for us,” he said, his voice laced with tension. “It’s been two days since we heard the Hyenas had crossed the border with a new shipment, and we still don’t know where their hiding place is.”
Raven let out a heavy sigh as he approached the corner of the building. Each step caused small pebbles to crunch under his sturdy boots.
As he peeked through the open back door, Raven spotted his informant hunched over the sink. He motioned to him discreetly, and Pedro nodded in response, quickly glancing around to ensure they were not being watched. With cautious movements, Pedro made his way toward the door, holding onto a large garbage bag.
Raven waited for him behind the garbage container. “Did you find out?” he asked the fidgety man.
Growing up in the vibrant streets of Mexico, Pedro was all too familiar with the dangerous activities of human trafficker gangs, called hyenas. His cousin had been pressuring him to join their gang since he was just a teenager, promising him a life of wealth and power. But when he met Maria, she showed him that there was another way out - a chance to escape poverty and break free from a life of crime. Together, they bravely crossed the treacherous border and made their way to a small town in America where they found jobs and rented an apartment in the bustling Latino community. Pedro kept his ears open and listened closely as drunkards at the local bar spoke about the dark dealings of the notorious gangs. He knew he had made the right choice by following Maria, and now he was determined to make a better life for both of them while helping others who didn’t see a way out.
“I heard that there is an abandoned house about five miles from here deep in the woods,” Pedro whispered, his eyes darting nervously toward the door. “I’m not sure if the gang is hiding there or not, but I know that the guy who talked about the house is their connection on the US side. He takes care of the sales. He was well liquored up on tequila and kept blubbering about the house and that the family who lived there a hundred years ago were killed.”
“It’s possible,” Raven mused, his voice low and gravelly. “Thanks for the information, Pedro. You’re one step closer to joining us.” He raised his fist for a bump, sealing their partnership with a resounding thud.
The stocky man’s face beaming with joy hurried back to the kitchen.
Raven entered the bar through the front door and found his gang at their usual table in the far corner. “We have a possible location. Finish your drinks and let’s get going.” Raven informed his comrades.
The five members of the Panthers understood the gravity and urgency of their mission - to rescue innocent teenagers and young children from the clutches of ruthless human traffickers, who sought to sell them as commodities for sexual exploitation.
With fierce determination in their eyes, they raced toward the abandoned house on the outskirts of town, their roaring engines leaving a trail of dust and adrenaline in their wake. Although people in town were used to their presence, and they never heard anything bad about them, the fear that something might happen always left them with unease when they heard the roaring engines.
The scent of gasoline and leather lingered in the air, adding to the intensity of their presence and the darkness seemed to part before them as if even nature itself knew not to stand in their way. As they reached the dirt road in the woods, Raven raised his hand in a commanding gesture, signaling for his comrades to halt.
With practiced ease, they killed the engines, dismounted their bikes, and hid them in the thick bushes.
“We go the last mile on foot,” Raven instructed his men. “No guns, until we’re forced to use them,” he said.
“Fists and knives,” Stubby added, and the group murmured in agreement.
They moved forward with silent, calculated steps. The air was heavy with anticipation and danger, each member acutely aware of the risk they were taking. As they crept closer, shadows seemed to dance around them, adding to the sense of danger.
With firm determination in their eyes and weapons at the ready, their hearts burned with righteous anger, knowing that they were the only hope for these helpless souls. Since they were honorably discharged from the armed forces six years ago, at first, they had a hard time adjusting to civilian life. Later, Raven and Jackle opened a car repair shop, Doc became a veterinarian. Pokerface, the always stoical looking yet highly emotional friend opened a Dojo and taught self-defense.
The air was thick with tension and adrenaline as they prepared to put an end to this heinous operation. They spotted a large van parked in the clearing as they cautiously approached the rundown house. Its black exterior blended with the night sky, but its chrome bumpers glistened in the moonlight. Crouching low, they peered from behind the vehicle to see a guard stationed by the door. His posture was tense as he held a sleek machine gun at the ready. In the flickering light streaming from a nearby window, they could hear faint sounds of children crying and men shouting from inside the house. The hair on their necks prickled with a sense of danger and urgency as they plotted their next move.
Jackal glanced at Raven, who gave a subtle nod of approval. The lanky man dropped to his hands and knees, moving with the grace and precision of a stalking animal. He slinked through the shadows, keeping his body low and silent as he crept towards the unsuspecting guard.
When he was within a few feet of the man, Stubby made a slight noise by tossing a small rock toward the corner of the house. The guard, startled by the sound, turned his head in that direction. Taking advantage of the distraction, Jackal sprang forward with lightning speed and wrapped his arms around the guard’s neck in a chokehold. With his other large hand covering the guard’s mouth and nose, he effectively silenced any potential screams for help.
Without hesitation, the rest of the bikers sprang into action. In a flurry of movement and precision, they made their way silently to the door. Doc, whose occupation as a veterinarian had provided him with some interesting skills, quickly punctured the guard’s neck with the needle attached to a syringe filled with a powerful animal tranquilizer. As his body went limp, Jackal eased him down against the wall while Stubby secured his wrists and ankles with strong duct tape. The operation had gone flawlessly so far, but they knew they still had to move quickly and quietly to ensure their actions inside just as smoothly.
Guns at the ready, their eyes flicked to Raven for a signal. With a swift kick, he sent the door crashing off its hinges and tumbling into the vast room with a resounding thud. The six men, dressed in sleek black leather outfits, poured into the space like an unstoppable force. Inside, three burly men stood guard over a group of frightened children, their hands reaching for their weapons but halted by Raven’s firm voice. “Game over, boys. Hands up!” The tension in the air was palpable as the two groups faced off, guns pointed and hearts racing.
With a fierce cry, one of the men launched himself at Raven, only to be met with the hard metal of his gun hitting the man between his brows. The heavily tattooed man crumpled to the floor, dazed and defeated. Stubby wasted no time in springing into action, deftly pulling out the roll of duct tape from his pocket. The other two men looked on, wide-eyed and fear evident in their rapid Spanish chatter. Raven calmly gestured towards them, and his men moved quickly to hold them down while Stubby skillfully bound their hands and feet with the tape, rendering them immobile and powerless. Every move was executed with precision and efficiency, a testament to their years of training.
Pokerface towered over the two bandits, listening to their pleas for mercy in rapid Spanish. They were sweating and shaking, their eyes wide with terror as they begged for their freedom. But Pokerface only chuckled, causing the men to stop and stare at him in confusion. “No, boys,” he said firmly, his voice laced with amusement. “The town’s sheriff won’t be giving you a free pass. In fact, he will never see you.” The men’s faces fell in despair as they realized their fate. “Yes, you’re going back home,” Pokerface declared with his usual stoic face and neutral voice.
The bandits’ pleas became more frantic, but the gang paid them no mind. “I know,” Doc had enough and said calmly. “The prisons back there are hardly five-star hotels. And who knows if you’ll even make it there alive.” He shrugged nonchalantly as if their potential death sentence meant nothing to him. “But hey, you knew the risks when you took up a life of crime. We have no sympathy for you.”
As the bandits continued to plead and beg, Doc’s attention shifted to Raven who had approached a group of children. Despite the tense situation at hand, his face was gentle as he spoke to the young ones, offering them comfort and safety in the chaos surrounding them.
The eight young children, boys and girls, from ages three to nine huddled together in the corner of the dimly lit room. Their eyes were wide with fear as they watched the strange, scary-looking men in front of them wearing leather outfits with black panthers painted on the back of their jackets. The sound of their heavy footsteps echoed off walls, causing the children to shrink further into the corner. Raven crouched down before them with a reassuring smile on his face. As he spoke calmly in Spanish, the children’s faces softened, and they began to relax. Trust slowly crept into their eyes as Raven promised to get them home safely.
With a sense of determination, Raven stood up and dialed his contact in Mexico. “We have four hyenas and eight young children,” he spoke rapidly in Spanish. After receiving instructions from his contact, Raven turned to the children and smiled again. “You’re going home,” he assured them. Despite their fear and confusion, the children couldn’t help but feel hopeful as they followed Raven out of the dark room and toward safety.
***
A decade had passed since Pedro joined them and the Panthers gathered around their usual table in their favorite bar. Time had etched deep wrinkles around their eyes and peppered their hair with streaks of grey, but their spirits were still as strong as ever. They sat together, discussing their latest, successful mission, when Raven let out a heavy sigh. “It’s never going to end,” he said wearily. “We take one gang out, and in no time, another one pops up to take their place.”
The others nodded sadly in agreement, lost in their own thoughts, when a young man and woman approached their table. The man had a wide smile on his round face and held tightly onto the woman’s hand. “My name is Juan, and this is my wife, Alejandra,” he introduced himself with genuine warmth.
Raven gestured for them to have a seat at their table. As they sat down, Juan continued speaking. “You may not remember us, but we will never forget you,” he said, tears glistening in his eyes. “Ten years ago, you rescued us not far from here. Thanks to your help, we were reunited with our families in Mexico.” His voice shook with emotion as he spoke.
The bikers looked at each other questioningly, unsure of who these strangers were until Juan explained further. “We were just kids when you saved us,” he said, looking at each of the weathered faces before him. “Because of you, we have grown up in our families.” He paused for a moment before adding, “Because of you, instead of being a sex slave of the rich, I’m going to start medical school in the fall with my fiancée. Thank you for all that you do!”
As they listened to Juan’s words and saw the gratitude shining in his eyes, Raven and his men shared a silent exchange that conveyed without words: it was worth it. All of the struggles and sacrifices they faced as members of the Panthers gang were worth it to see the positive impact, they had on the children’s lives they saved.
Raven sighed and with a smile on his face reached across the table and held Juan’s hand. “Just don’t tell anyone about this, son. We can only do this if we stay in the background.”
People in town viewed them as bored middle-aged men having fun riding their Harleys and getting drunk in the bar. If only they knew what they did and were not expecting any reward or recognition, these unsung heroes would be celebrated by many. 

In 2017, I started this blog with a group of fellow authors, but in 2019, the group fell apart, and everyone went their separate ways. I continued to post occasionally on my own, but it wasn't the same without the camaraderie, so I stopped updating the blog in 2022.

I was pleasantly surprised to see that it still had a strong following in 2024. People continue to visit and read the old posts. After bringing it up to the anthology writer's group, some of us decided to resume the group project.

#OurAuthorGang is a diverse group of writers from around the world, united by their love of literature and support for each other's creative endeavors, and each member brings their unique style and voice to the group.

#OurAuthorGang is not just a name or hashtag - it represents a community built on mutual respect, creativity, and passion for storytelling. The members may come from different backgrounds and cultures, but they are connected by their shared love for books and their determination to make an impact through their writing.
This diverse group showcases the power of collaboration and the potential it has to elevate individuals and create something truly special.

We post something new six or seven days a week: 
https://asmallgangofauthors.blogspot.com/p/gallery.html

Sundays: Book Sunday
Mondays: Campfire stories
Tuesdays: Flash fiction stories
Wednesdays: Video Day
Thursdays: Guest Authors
Fridays; Short story day
Saturdays: Poetry and author introductions

Watch videos on our new YouTube channel: 
https://www.youtube.com/@WeWriteStories4You where Lorraine reads stories such as this one:

Join our Facebook group: 
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​The headlights of the police vehicle cut through the gloom, creating ripples of shadow and light through the trees. Officer Angela Devon, a tall, athletic woman in her late twenties pulled up behind the silver car. With the headlights off, it was parked on the side of the winding road that ran through the middle of the dense forest.
“This is Officer Devon, pulling up at the location now,” she spoke into her radio, peering through the windshield. “There is a car here, and according to the GPS locator, the call came from two hundred yards away in the woods.” She said, hoping it was just a prank call made by bored teenagers, but until she knew for sure, she wouldn’t leave. Not if there was even the slightest possibility that someone was in trouble.
“Copy that,” the dispatcher’s voice crackled through the receiver, followed by a short burst of static. “I’ll be on standby if you need backup. Over.”
Angela cut the engine and turned off the headlights. She leaned back against the headrest with a sigh. Without the headlights on, the forest seemed to be closing in on her in the eerie light of the full moon, darkness spilling out through the branches.
She grabbed the flashlight from the glove compartment, switched it on, and then pushed open the driver’s side door and climbed out slamming the car door closed behind her. The large bluish-white beam flooded the trees in front of her, creating ghostly shadows in her peripheral vision.
She really did not want to be there, but she was the only officer on duty who had been able to answer the call. Her partner’s wife went into labor, and nobody was available to take his place for the night shift. In their small town, way up in the mountains, and a small department with only a handful of officers, it wasn’t unusual for the officers to answer calls alone. 
“Let’s just get this over with,” Angela muttered under her breath.
The 911 call that had come in had been an odd one, to say the least. A woman crying for help, saying she was being followed by someone she couldn’t see. In the background, the operator could hear footsteps thudding in the distance, and heavy breathing, but that was all. The phone went silent before she could give a location, but they had managed to trace the area where the call had been made. In the forest by a country road a few miles from town, the caller identified herself as Bella Mason, a twenty-four-year-old clerk at the local hotel. Why would a young woman be out here alone, in the middle of the night? Perhaps meeting someone in secret, Angela thought, and only hoped she’d lost her phone, and whoever found it made the prank call, rather than being anything serious. 
Hefting her flashlight into the other hand, she made sure she had her radio, taser, and Glock within reach and stepped into the forest.
Given that the location had been out of town, and it had taken twenty minutes to get there, Angela had no idea where the woman might be. She was only one person, and she wouldn’t be able to search the entire forest on her own, but she would do her best to follow any tracks that she could find. She wouldn’t leave until she was confident nothing bad had taken place.
Twigs and underbrush crunched under her feet as she moved between the trees, shining her flashlight in a wide arc. Bugs flitted around her, attracted by the glow, but she paid them no mind, other than occasionally brushing a mosquito off her cheek. Despite the cool night, it was humid beneath the canopy of trees, and a bead of sweat trickled down the back of her neck, making the collar of her uniform stick to her skin.
The woman on the phone had raggedly gasped out ‘Bella Mason’ when the operator had asked for her name, so that’s what Angela began to call out, her voice echoing through the forest.
“Bella Mason! I’m a police officer responding to your 911 call.” 
She winced when the sound bounced between the trees, the echo growing strange and distorted. She didn’t like the thought of attracting the attention of anyone—or anything—that might be hiding in the shadows, but there was no other way she could go about it. She had to hope that Bella heard her somehow and could give Angela a clue as to where she was.
Seriously though, what was she doing out here in the middle of the night?
“Bella! Bella, are you out here?” She continued to call out as she traversed through the trees, brushing branches and silky moth wings out of her face. “Bella! It’s the police. I’m here to help.”
Nearing the approximate spot where the call came from, the deeper into the forest she went, the quieter it got. She could no longer hear the sound of small rodents and insects scurrying in the undergrowth, or nightbirds ruffling their feathers high up in the trees. Even the wind had fallen still, no longer rustling the leaves. There was only her own labored breathing, and the soft crunch of her boots against the fallen twigs on the ground.
It was almost like walking in the graveyard at night. Everything was so still, so quiet. Angela felt nervous about disturbing the silence, but she quickly shook that thought away. She was there to answer a distress call, which meant she had a job to do. 
She cleared her throat and wiped away the perspiration that beaded her forehead. “Bella! If you can hear me, please answer.”
As the echo faded into silence, Angela thought she heard the faint sound of footsteps behind her. Soft, spongy, like someone walking barefoot in the sand.
She turned, swinging her flashlight in the direction of the noise. “Bella? Is that you?”
She saw a fleeting shadow by a wide tree from the corner of her eye, and Angela felt a shiver of fear twisting her stomach. If it was Bella, she would have answered. Had I merely imagined it? “Who’s there?” She croaked out the words, and suddenly, her mouth and throat felt dry. She swallowed hard and felt the flashlight slipping from the sweat that was accumulating in her palms. 
Get a grip, there’s nobody out here but me and perhaps Bella, if it’s not a prank. And don’t be a scaredy cat. Your eyes just played a trick on you with that shadow.
When it was clear there was nobody there, Angela turned around and continued walking, though now the darkness and fluctuation of light from her flashlight was making her disoriented, and she couldn’t remember which way the road was.
“Don’t get lost now,” she muttered and debated calling for backup but decided against it. The station was short-staffed as it was, and she didn’t want to rob the town of help if a real emergency occurred. She could handle this on her own.
She paused for a minute and took a few deep breaths to compose herself. She probably should have come up with a plan before charging blindly into the forest, but she didn’t normally have to deal with calls like this without her partner, and she felt a little out of her depth. 
Trying to think rationally, she asked herself the question: If Bella thought she was being followed, what would she do?
Running was the first answer. If she could find a place somewhere safe, then she would probably hide. But where was there to hide in a forest like this?
Angela looked around, shining her flashlight over the ground. If she ran, there would be traces. Footprints. The ground was spongy and damp, and when Angela looked behind her, she could see evidence of her own boots treading through the soil. If Bella had run through here, there would be footprints left behind. She just had to find them. She was so wrapped up in her trail of thought that she barely noticed she was no longer alone.
Continue reading in the book HERE

The sun was just about to set as eight-year-old Mary Jane Eden watched its golden rays spread over the azure waters surrounding Grand Cayman as if to illuminate and warm the sea. She smiled and felt at ease as she sat in her weather-beaten rocker on the second floor of Pedro St. James Castle.  It had the best views on the island—it always did, that was until it had fallen into ruin in the 1950s. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky this late September evening. The mahogany wooden floor creaked as she rocked back and forth. The grounds people had left for the day—she knew their routine, after all, she’d been here since 1877. Since that time, she was bound to the property when she was struck by lightning on the steps of the plantation house as she and her brother went to fetch water in some buckets.
Before that, the castle was one of Grand Cayman’s most important historical properties, a place where democracy had taken place back in 1831 and later the governor of Jamaica had proclaimed the end of slavery in the British Empire. The three-story structure resembled that of a plantation solidly built with stone walls 18 inches thick. It was originally built by slaves and William Eden and his family resided there until his daughter was killed by a freak lightning strike during a tropical storm. It was then the family decided to move, leaving the castle to be later occupied as a bar and a restaurant, but only to become victim to two mysterious fires. The seven-and-a-half-acre property is surrounded by colorful bougainvillea and opulent poinciana trees.
The tourists had been sparse lately and Mary Jane wondered who would show up tomorrow. Maybe someone who would want to stay, maybe stay longer than the usual tour. Every day gave her new hope.
She wandered around the three-tier plantation checking to see if anyone was still there. She peered out of the thick louvered shutters once again checking the night sky for any hint of a storm. She went from room to room twirling around in her long white tattered dress. She decided to sit on the wooden rocking horse in one of the main bedrooms. It was a special gift she treasured from her father one Christmas. She rocked away until she became very sleepy.
***
“Now please, please, stay with your guide,” Mrs. Taylor urged. “If you get lost then it will reflect on Grand Island Elementary and we’ll never get an invitation to come back to visit,” she said, her tone firm.
She had been taking her sixth-grade class to Pedro St. James Castle for the past seven years on a field trip. It was scheduled every year by the principal urging local students and expat parents to work on the island to learn the history of the structure.
Mrs. Taylor tried to settle her students in hopes of gaining their interest, instead of posting videos on social media.
“Students, as you know in 1831 this island signed its first democracy papers and the government had been formed,” raved a tall elderly man who was the main docent for the tour. “My name is Mr. Dalton. You will first watch a movie on the history of the castle in our large theater room and then we will begin our live tour. And please remember to have your phones muted or turned off during the presentation.”
The students were all seated in the theater then the lights went out. There was only blackness as the big screen rolled down from the ceiling. A few of Mrs. Taylor’s students began to scream, but it was mostly the girls.
“Ssh!” Mrs. Taylor hissed, putting her finger up to her lips. 
“But, Mrs. Taylor, I’m scared, and I don’t like this place!” Jessa Franklin said, clinging to her teacher’s arm.
Dana Benson had her arm around Jessa, being they had been best friends since first grade. “It’s okay, Jessa. It’s just a movie.”
“I can walk her outside, Mrs. Taylor,” offered one of the parent volunteers.
“I’ll be okay, Mrs. Taylor,” Jessa said softly. “I’m going to be brave.”
“The movie will be over soon and then we’ll be out in the sunshine,” Mrs. Taylor assured. “You’ll feel better then.”
The movie began with the portrayal of the beautiful grounds that surrounded the castle as Robert Thompson, the governor from Jamaica held court inside where he issued a proclamation that ended slavery in the British Empire. Outside dark skies rolled in and thunder boomed as a fleet of pirate ships came ashore only to be met with an intense thunderstorm that now caused the castle to be shed in an eerie light. The loud booms caused the entire theater room to vibrate due to a state-of-the-art surround sound system. A misting system had been activated to sprinkle its audience giving them the full effect of the storm, not to mention the musty smell of a damp theater.
A voice echoed from the speakers, “What you are about to see is not for the faint of heart.”
Jessa grabbed Dana’s arm tightly. “I’m going to cover my eyes.”
A frightening portrayal of the storm that had taken the life of Mary Jane Eden, the daughter of William had commenced. Most of the students were silent as they watched bolts of lightning strike the child on the steps of the bottom landing as she and her brother attempted to fill buckets of rainwater.
When the movie screen rolled up, the lights came back on and everyone clapped, especially Jessa.
“Okay, students, now that you know the history of the plantation you’ll get a tour from our guides, Mr. Dalton informed.
“I’m glad, that’s over,” Jessa sighed as she wiped the sweat off her forehead while they walked outside. The bright sunlight hit their faces like a strobe light causing the students to squint. Jessa wasn’t the only one who was glad to be outside as the other students spoke of being spooked in the theater.
“Mrs. Taylor, can I use the restroom?” asked Dante Reed, the class troublemaker and attention seeker.
“Sure, and you know, I think we’ll all take a break before heading on with the tour. Please stay with your group. We’ll meet out by the main house when you’re done,” the middle-aged teacher said while pulling her long brown hair up into a high bun. She wiped the back of her neck with a handkerchief.
“Ya know, Dana, for some reason this place really gives me the creeps. Do you believe the stories about the slaves they kept in the basement and all the strange things that went on here?” Jessa asked while scanning over the lush grounds.
“Yeah, and I kinda like it,” Dana confessed as she smoothed her long black hair in the bathroom mirror. “I especially like the story of how the Eden family moved out right after their daughter was struck by lightning on the stairs in 1835, not to mention how pirates lived here as well.”
“You’re weird, girlfriend!” Jessa shook her head. “I can’t figure you out.”
“No, I just love old places, and I’ve been here before with my mom. There’s something about this place. It makes me feel good in a weird sort of way.”
“Well, it makes me feel sick,” Jessa had her hand on her stomach.
The students gathered at the front of the steps to the main house as they listened to each tour guide give specific instructions.
“Some of the rooms have been sealed off due to preservation,” announced Mrs. Kline, who was dressed as a former housekeeper from the 1800s in traditional Caymanian style. She wore a long, red-checkered dress, a white apron, and a scarf tied around her head.
Mrs. Kline explained to the children to respect and not touch any of the items on display. They were authentic and actually some of the original toys that had belonged to Mary Jane, daughter of the Eden family.
Mrs. Taylor had a tight hold of Dante Reed’s arm. She knew he could be a handful and was well aware of his antics on previous field trips. She wasn’t about to let him spoil this particular trip.
Jessa and Dana were fortunately in the same group. They followed Mrs. Kline up the steps to the first level where the original kitchen was and then a larger room with a long wooden dining room table.
“Would you look at this wooden table!” Dana squealed. “It’s the most beautiful mahogany I’ve ever seen! I wish I could run my hands over that wood.”
“Yeah, I’m looking at it all right,” Jessa mumbled. “And I wouldn’t even think of touching it!”
“You’re still afraid, aren’t you?”
“Just a bit. It’s better now that we got out of that dark movie room,” Jessa replied, rubbing her arms to erase the goosebumps that she still had.
“Just try to relax and enjoy yourself.”  Dana put her arm around her best friend. “We’re gonna get some good shots to post on TikTok later. We’ll get so many hits.”
“Well, that doesn’t exactly make me feel better, to tell you the truth.”
As they now made it up to the second level veranda a slight breeze picked up carrying the fruity scent from the red frangipanis that were abundant throughout the grounds. It was a refreshing break from the heat of the midday island sun. It blew a few strands from Jessa’s auburn hair into her eyes. As she brushed them away with her hand, she noticed the rocking chair at the end of the veranda was moving.
She pulled Dan’s arm. “Look! The rocking chair— it’s moving!” Jessa shouted.
Continue reading in the book HERE

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Growing up in a house with a cursed window, Hank has to find the courage to look out its glass panes, even if it kills him.
The Spirit of The Rattlesnake by S. M. Revolinski
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Will You Wait for Me? By Erika M Szabo and Lorraine Carey
Fate gave her one year of happy marriage, but although losing her husband and unborn child devastated Gladys, she'd find a way to live a full life. Will they meet again?

When I watch a movie based on the book I read: “Wait, that’s not how I pictured it when I read the book!”

It's fascinating to consider the world of mental imagery. As we read, most of us effortlessly conjure up vivid mental pictures, as if a movie is playing in our heads. Meanwhile, others may feel like they're simply reading a script without any accompanying visuals. It's incredible how the same words can elicit such different experiences for each reader.

Most people (including me) when they read about a character, might see that character’s face, hair, body posture, surroundings, and even the tiniest details—the mischievous smile as the corner of their lips curl up, the glint in their eyes, the style and color of their clothes, and the way they lift their arm or nervously tap their foot.

However, not everyone experiences reading this way. Some people, about 2-5% of the population, have what’s called aphantasia. It’s like their mind’s eye is not able to form a mental image of what they’re reading.
Imagine you’re reading a book, and the author describes a comfortably lit living room with a crackling fireplace and an inviting plush sofa with fluffy throw pillows. The character is relaxing on the sofa with a drink in his hand. You can almost hear the ice cubes clinking to the glass and taste the sour whiskey on your tongue.
People with aphantasia won’t see that room and character in their minds, they focus on the words they’re reading and understand the concept of a living room without any visual images.

Whether you’re a visual or aphantasic reader, you can enjoy reading a book in your own way.

A rugged-looking heavily tattooed man was wheeled into the emergency room, his face twisted in pain. His wife followed closely behind, her eyes filled with worry and fear. She explained that he had fallen off the roof of their home, but thankfully a nearby bush broke his fall, sparing him from more serious injuries. However, his body was covered in shallow puncture wounds, cuts, and scrapes. The doctor immediately ordered a Tetanus booster because of the debris the man may have come into contact with during his fall.

After cleaning and treating his superficial injuries, I went to prepare the Tetanus booster for him. The moment his gaze landed on the syringe clutched in my hand, his mouth contorted into a terrified scream. "No way! You ain't gonna do that!" he shouted, panic lacing his voice. “It’s gonna hurt!”

With a heavy sigh, I braced myself for what was to come thinking, you allowed the tattoo artist to puncture your skin a million times, and yet you’re scared of one measly tetanus shot. Oh, boy! I knew it would take some effort to calm him down, explain the importance of the booster, and convince him to let me administer the injection. But to my surprise, after only two minutes of reasoning, he reluctantly agreed to go through with it.

However, as I prepared the needle and approached him, he threw up his hands in protest. "Wait until I'm ready!" he warned, his eyes darting between me and the syringe.

Another two minutes passed as I patiently waited for him to feel mentally prepared. Each time I lifted my hand with the syringe, he flinched back and yelled, "Not ready yet!" It seemed like we were back at square one, despite our initial progress.

Feeling pressed for time, I resorted to an old trick I had learned as a young nurse. With determination in my gaze, I positioned myself to shield the entrance door from the man's view. In a hushed tone, I whispered under my breath, "Oh my God!" The man immediately perked up; his curiosity piqued as he craned his neck to catch a glimpse of what was happening. With wide eyes, he asked, "What's going on?"

It took me a second to give him the shot while he focused on the door, and I said while putting a band-aid on his arm, “All done.”

“What?” he asked and looked at me with such a confused expression on his face that I couldn’t hold back a giggle.

“I just gave you the Tetanus booster.”

“You’re telling me that you gave me the shot? You really gave me the shot!” It dawned on him as he touched the band-aid on his arm, wincing. “You’re good. Thank you! I didn’t feel a thing!” he announced.
​
As he filled out the patient satisfaction survey, he couldn't help but praise the ER and its staff. "The injection I got here was top-notch. I didn't even feel a thing! This is definitely the place to be if you need a shot!"

Every kid in town knew that old Mrs. Robbins was a vampire. What they didn’t know, and are about to find out, will change their lives forever.
​#whatif #storytelling #fiction

Every kid in town knew that old Mrs. Robbins was a vampire. Their parents laughed at their childish fantasies, but the kids had evidence as a result of spying on the old woman for months. Mrs. Robbins always wore black clothes and never left the house. At least never during the daytime, until...

The most compelling piece of evidence was when Billy Atkins said that he saw her watching the sunrise on her porch one morning, and when the sun was about to come up, she clasped her chest and ran inside. “You see what I’m talking about? Vampires burn to ashes when the sunlight hits them.”

It hadn’t been so bad at first, having a vampire in the neighborhood. Moreover, it was exciting. They knew she couldn’t harm them in the daytime, and they’d be locked in their houses safely at night. “Everybody knows that a vampire can’t come into your house unless you invite them in,” Billy assured his still apprehensive friends.

But then, even Billy started to feel a little uneasy when they noticed that Mrs. Robbins began to venture out of the house more often. She’d only go out after sunset, and she’d only go as far as the front lawn and a few days later up to the gate. She did the same thing every evening. She’d stand there holding onto the closed gate, staring at the street. Then slowly she’d reach into her pocket and pull out her keys, rattling them with a back-and-forth motion of her wrist.
The kids saw her more and more at night and later in the early morning too. She’d stay until the sun came up, and then she’d clutch her chest and run inside. This went on for a few weeks and the boys were getting bored when taking their turns to watch the vampire’s movements. But then one night Scott, the lanky teenager who was watching her from behind the azalea bush in his garden gasped and jumped when the old woman slowly opened the gate and took a shaky step onto the sidewalk.

A few days later she started getting closer to the street.

Every night she’d rattle the keys harder until the neighbor’s dog began to bark at her. But old Mrs. Robbins didn’t pay the dogs any mind. She just stood there rattling her keys. That’s when Billy Atkins came up with a plan. “Our parents don’t believe us, so we must do something before this bloodsucker would suck us dry!” he shouted. “Let’s sneak into her house at night and take a picture of her coffin. Then they’d believe us,” he said to his best friend, Johnny Miller.
“No way!” Johnny shrunk back. “I ain’t going in there!”

“And why would she have a coffin?” Bobby, Billy’s scrawny brother asked. 

“All vampires sleep in a coffin, dummy. Everybody knows that!” Billy snarled at his brother. “Besides, if we can get a picture of it, then our parents will have to believe us.”

Nobody in their six-member gang volunteered to join Bobby, so they drew straws to see who would be the one to sneak into Mrs. Robbins’ house with him while she was out rattling her keys. David, their chubby, blond friend drew the shortest one to everyone else’s relief. David wasn’t happy, as a matter of fact, he was scared out of his mind. But his fear of being teased for the rest of his life as being a coward painted a dreary picture in his mind, so he remained quiet.
The next night, while Mrs. Robbins was standing by her gate, David and Bobby snuck into the house through the front door. It wasn’t hard; Mrs. Robbins left the door wide open.

As they stepped over the threshold, they noticed that the house had an oppressive feel to it. It was stiflingly hot and smelled like mothballs. David clutched his phone tightly in his sweaty hand as he scanned the living room for the coffin. There was no sign of it.

“I guessed there wouldn’t be in here,” Bobby whispered. “Let’s check the bedroom.”

They tiptoed down the hall on shaky legs. Bobby pushed the door to the bedroom open, and it gave out a loud creak. He whipped his head around to see if Mrs. Robbins had heard the noise, but he saw the old woman still standing by the gate, rattling her keys. 

Read the full story in the anthology:

Jayden and his archeology group found the burial site of a Medicine Woman from the 5th century. Strangely, Jayden also finds a crude leather book in his grandmother's secret room that was written in 426 by a Shaman.
His sister, Sofia, decodes the ancient runes, and they learn that a powerful curse cast sixteen hundred years ago destroyed the lives of their ancestors for centuries. If it remains unbroken, the curse will ruin the lives of future generations as well.
Dark memories of their childhood start to surface, and they’re stunned to realize the similarities between the tragedy of the family described in the Shaman’s book and theirs, sixteen hundred years later. They’re stunned by the conclusion that Jayden is in danger due to a family curse.
#books #reading #fantasy #magical #realism #Romantic #fiction

Jayden, a handsome, young American archeologist worked in the third pit, alone, oblivious to the excitement just a few yards away. Although Helen wanted everyone to concentrate on the two holes, they’d found the artifacts in, Jayden convinced her to let him try the abandoned pit again. He pulled a crumpled handkerchief from his dusty overall pocket to wipe the sweat off his forehead. “Phew! It’s already hotter in this hole than in the witch’s oven.” He mumbled under his breath while he pulled a hairband off his wrist and tied his shoulder-length, auburn hair into a man bun. I really need a haircut. He thought.

A few minutes later his chisel made a nerve-fraying sound as it touched metal in the ground. Energized by the thrill of the potential discovery, he began the painstaking work of carefully scraping the packed dirt around the rusty handle of an ancient sword. “Come on, beautiful! Show me your glorious body,” he whispered.

As he changed position and kneeled back down, he spotted a snake wiggling toward him from the dark corner of the ten feet wide hole. “Geeze!” he yelled and threw himself backward, not sure if the snake was poisonous or just an innocent garter snake that had fallen into the pit by accident. The moment his elbows hit the dirt and feet still up in the air, an arrow hit the exact spot he was kneeling on a second ago, with such force that the wide obsidian arrowhead nearly disappeared into the dirt with the shaft violently vibrating.

“What the hell!?” He cried out in fright and looked up. Six feet up at the mouth of the hole he saw his sister staring down at him, holding a recurve bow. She let out a furious scream and disappeared. “Sofia? When did you… how did you get here? Wait!” He yelled and scrambled to get to the stepladder as fast as he could. “Sofia! Wait!” he shouted as he climbed out of the hole.

The stout security guard woke to the high-pitched scream and jumped to his feet, feeling confused and stunned. “Hey! What are you doing there?” he yelled at the young girl running from the pit. She glared at the guard with a murderous expression on her face. Clenching her fists, she growled and ran toward the path between the thick bushes, and soon disappeared from sight. The guard grunted and stomped after her as fast as his heavy body could move.

Jayden, finally out of the hole, looked around frantically but didn’t see his sister anywhere. His teammates climbing out of the larger pit ran toward him and looked at him questioningly. “What happened?” one asked. “What’s going on?” others shouted.

“A woman just tried to kill me! She fired an arrow into my pit,” Jayden said running toward the narrow path. He couldn’t tell them his suspicions without proof about the woman being his sister.

His teammates followed, and they saw the small red car speeding down the dirt road and disappearing behind the bushes at the curve. Jayden fished his keys from his pocket and jumped into his beat-up Jeep.

“Comin’ with ya!” Rowan yelled and stuffed his large behind into the passenger seat.

“When did that woman get here?” Jayden questioned the guard.

“Uhm… I… I was in the tent putting away some tools when I heard the scream. By the time I got out of the tent, she was running toward the cars. I chased after her, but she was running so fast that I could only get a glimpse of her.” His eyes shifted from Jayden to the side mirror as he wiped the perspiration off his forehead.

“Where is your partner?”

“He drove to town to pick up the breakfast.”

“Oh, right!” Jayden shook his head. “But you shouldn’t have gone into the tent when everyone was in the holes.”

“I’m sorry, I apologize,” the guard mumbled feeling relieved that he hadn’t seen him sleeping on the job. “I couldn’t go after her because my partner gave me a ride this morning. I don’t have a car,” he added his excuse.

The Jeep accelerated as Jayden pressed the gas pedal harder. What the hell is going on? Did my sister just try to kill me? But how did she get here? She’s supposed to be in New York! Frantic thoughts chased each other in his mind while driving downhill like a madman. “Did you see her firing the arrow into the hole?” he asked the guard.

“No…” The guard hesitated, giving Jayden a side glance. “As I said, I was in the tent, but she carried a bow and had a leather quiver on her back,” Rowan speculated, holding onto dear life. His body was violently shaken by the speeding Jeep on the bumpy dirt road. “Man, you’re driving like a devil. Slow down!”

Jayden ignoring the guard’s protest, asked, “Did you see anyone else?”

“There was nobody else.” The guard braced himself holding onto the dashboard.

Suddenly, the Jeep jerked to the side, and it took all Jayden’s strength to hold onto the steering wheel. He stepped on the break slaloming between trees and bushes for a minute, finally, the Jeep stopped, crashing into a large tree. “Crap!” shouted, stepping out of the driver’s seat and inspected the blown tire and crushed front. He pulled his phone from his back pocket and called Helen. “I ran off the road and called the tow truck already, but could you send someone to take us back to the site?”

Helen sent one of the students to pick them up, and while they waited, Jayden called the towing company to take his Jeep to the repair shop. “I hope they can fix it,” he muttered.
“No worries, Joe at the shop can fix anything,” the guard said with a half-smile on his round face.

As soon as they got back to the dig site, Jayden spotted Helen standing by the largest pit. She called out, “Are you okay?”

Jayden nodded and walking to Helen he stood at the mouth of the hole and looked down. What he saw made him forget the attempt on his life and his crashed car. Scanning the half-unearthed skeletons of a horse and human, he stared at the smiling woman and feeling ecstatic, he shouted, “Helen, I can’t believe it! You’ve found a medicine woman!”

“Yes!” Helen replied, smiling at the young man. “Isn’t that exciting? Let’s go down and take a closer look.”

Both standing at the bottom of the pit, Helen called over to Jayden, “Come, look at the skull. Judging by her teeth, she must’ve been around forty when she was buried in full regalia. And her hand,” Helen pointed at the bones. “Look at that delicately carved falcon into her ring that looks like it was made of jade.”

Jayden took a sharp breath and bent down staring at the skeleton’s finger. Deep emotions constricting his throat, he whispered, “Helen, I need to talk to you, alone!”

“Okay,” Helen said, looking surprised. “Hey, people!” She called out. “All of you, go up and take a break.”

The student looked surprised but complied and climbed up on the stepladder, one by one.
“Helen, this is my ancestor!” Jayden whispered and turning his head he looked into Helen’s eyes.

“What? Oh, you mean in general like an ancestor of the Huns…”
​
“No.” Jayden sighed, straightening up. “I mean, my ancestor. The Turul bird with wide open wings holding a sword in its talons has been my family’s insignia since the 4th century when my ancestors were leaders of the Roaring Falcon Clan for generations. Look!” He extended his left hand and showed his gold signet ring to the astonished woman.

​Join Ava Jenson on vacation in her grandmother’s old country when all mysterious events are connected to an ancient legend about a cursed church bell.

Ava Jenson sighed as she glanced over the travel brochure for the impressive resort in Siofok, Hungary. Hotel Azur overlooking Lake Balaton with an elegant glass facade looked inviting. It had a spa, an outdoor café and a five-star restaurant. She’d always wanted to visit Hungary as her grandmother was born there and immigrated to the US as a young woman. Her stories always fascinated Ava, but her husband for ten long years had refused the idea of a European vacation and always bullied her into doing what he liked.

It’d been five years since her nasty divorce, and she was finally ready to venture out on her own. She hadn’t had a vacation since then and with so much unused vacation time from her job at the boutique, she decided to make it a two-week stay.

Sipping her coffee, she remembered what the travel agent told her about Lake Balaton's clean water and the striking emerald-green color due to its chemical composition. It’s heavy in carbonates and sulfates, and there are also around 2000 species of algae that grow in its waters. Ava phoned the travel agent; she’d made her payment and was all set to go at the end of the month.

The two weeks flew by fast, and after nine hours of an exhausting overnight flight, she arrived in Budapest. The two-hour taxi ride to Siofok was pleasant with the chatty driver who entertained her with local legends as he drove toward Lake Balaton.

Ava trailed behind the porter who carried her luggage on a huge cart down the long hallway covered with lush red carpet. She tipped him and threw herself on the bed, arms outstretched. “I can’t believe I’m here!” she said, her head turned toward the large sliding glass doors that overlooked the calm water of the lake. She marveled at the classy pool that showcased the many tables and lounge chairs with oversized umbrellas.

She could just picture herself lying out there getting some well-needed sun. But first, lunch, she thought smiling when her stomach rumbled.

With a quick trip to the bathroom, she washed her face and applied some light makeup. She piled her long blonde hair into an updo and changed into a knee-length black cocktail dress. This should be fine for a five-star eatery, she thought as she glanced at her slim figure in the bathroom mirror.

After a delicious lunch of stuffed cabbage rolls and Gundel pancake for dessert, she returned to her room ready for a few hours of rest. Feeling exhausted, she slept through the afternoon and night, and the following morning she ordered room service and ate as she perused the booklet in her room that featured various places of interest to see in the area.

She dressed comfortably and decided to book the historical tour in the village of Tihany. The resort shuttle promptly left at 10 a.m. She had to quicken her step to catch it before it left without her. Taking a backseat on the shuttle allowed her to have some privacy and reflect on how blessed she felt at the moment to be able to take this trip.

She joined the group after departing the shuttle to listen to the guide who explained the schedule for the day and the time she’d need to be back at the bus. Glancing at her feet thought, Glad I packed these old sneakers. They’ll get some good use today.

The tour of the huge Benedictine Abbey that was built in 1055 was the first stop, and its beauty was overwhelming, not to mention its size. Ava took several photos before they had moved deeper into the village where she was looking forward to shopping in the various pottery shops and having lunch in one of the quaint outdoor cafés.

The tour had exhausted her and even though it was almost dinnertime she took a well-needed nap on the comfy king-size bed.

Opening her eyes, she glanced over at the clock on the bedside table. "Six O’clock already? This clean air and walking all day are doing me good!”

She headed to the shower and then to the closet to select a dress that would be appropriate for the dining area. Hmm, this red cocktail dress is just the ticket. Red has always seemed to give me more energy.

A few stares were quite noticeable as she entered the stunning outdoor restaurant with a beautiful fountain in the center of the seating area. The hostess led her over to a table close to the fountain. Strings of small outdoor lights were strung along the walls making the alfresco area seem almost magical.

After ordering a glass of white wine she read the menu and couldn’t help but notice a loud but friendly-looking young couple who had taken the table next to her. They had a pile of brochures and other literature that they had brought to their table along with a camera.
The young redhead turned to the hostess. “I’m sorry, ma’am. We don’t mean to be so loud but we’re nature photographers and so excited to be here. If we take a few shots of this gorgeous outdoor patio, please forgive us.”

The hostess smiled and waved her hand to dismiss the woman’s apology. “No problem at all. Enjoy your stay,” she said.

The waitress took Ava’s order and asked if anyone would be joining her. “No. I’ll be dining alone,” she stated with a sad smile.

The young redhead stared at her for a second with a sympathetic look and walked over to her table. “Sorry to bother you, I just heard you speak English. My name is Tessa Jergenson. My husband over there is Kevin. We are professional photographers and are here to take photos of the wildlife in the marsh, especially the birds. The Small Balaton is a huge wetland habitat that is unique in Europe. We’re planning to go down to the river Zala delta tomorrow.”

“Hello, I’m Ava. I hope you’ll enjoy your adventure to the wetland. I prefer to relax and enjoy a quiet two weeks in the comfort of the hotel,” she laughed.

Tessa took her hand. “We’re so excited! The wetland has a large population of plant and animal species such as bee-eaters, cranes, and marvelous herons. The Small-Balaton area is also rich in other species of animals. European pond turtles, otters, ermine, martens, various species of dragonflies, and about 30 species of fish. Also, numerous species of orchids can be found there. Oh, sorry for bugging you, but I’m so excited about the trip and we can’t find too many people who speak English.”

“No bother at all!” Ava assured the chatty young woman. “Enjoy your adventure.”

Tessa returned to her table and whispered to her husband that she felt a tone of loneliness in Ava’s voice. “Maybe we should invite her to join us tomorrow,” she suggested while picking up a menu.

Kevin nodded. “She didn’t sound like she’d be into that sort of thing.”

Ava couldn’t help but overhear their muted conversation. Hmm, so I see they feel sorry for me. I should put on a happy face, but no. I did that way too many times when I was married.
After dinner Ava took a stroll around the grounds, admiring the lush vegetation and colored lights that lit up the pool area. A strong breeze had picked up and she rubbed her arms trying to erase the goosebumps. The all-so-familiar odd feeling came over her that always warned her of impending danger. Perhaps it just signals a normal storm this time. I hope... She headed back to her room to turn in for the night.

Right before she climbed under the covers, she looked at the other brochures, one featuring the Water Tower in the village's main square. She thought that if the storm was coming, she may not be able to do the tour. Maybe that’s what that feeling was I had out there and nothing more. However, the uneasy feeling stayed with her and made her think of the countless disasters, accidents, and people getting hurt that followed after she experienced those eerie feelings.

She sighed and after looking through another brochure she became drowsy and quickly fell into a deep sleep.

The loud sound of the church bell had awakened Ava out of her deep slumber and the foul smell of rotten eggs filled her nose. She sat up in bed startled and nauseous. The clock showed 6 a.m. Is there a fire? Perhaps here they sound the church bell instead of the fire alarm, she thought as she rose quickly to look out of the large glass doors.
​
She saw a large plume of black smoke engulfing the back pool area. She quickly threw on her robe and made it to the lobby to see what had happened. 

​Mysteries of the Wetland by Erika M Szabo and Lorraine Carey
Join Ava Jenson on vacation in her grandmother’s old country when all mysterious events are connected to an ancient legend about a cursed church bell.
The Zanna by David W. Thompson
A potential stepmother and stepdaughter seek common ground at the family's rustic retreat. Will the past return to haunt them? Only Zanna knows...
Forbidden Love by Erika M Szabo
They knew their love was forbidden, but they couldn't help the way they felt. Their love for each other was too strong to ignore.
A Well-kept Home by Toi Thomas
Everyone knows how special the Fields Family Farm is. Some say it’s haunted. Some say it’s enchanted. But only those who dare to stay the night really know.
Don’t Whistle Back by Erika M Szabo
Milena visits her grandfather in Mexico and wonders why he has a rope with seven knots tied to the door. She finds out soon enough!
J.A.C.K.S. by R. A. “Doc” Correa.
What is a human? According to the cybernetically enhanced officers of the U. S. Army’s Joint Advanced Combat Knowledge System program, they are the only real humans.
She Decided to Be a Vampire by Erika M Szabo
Every kid in town knew that old Mrs. Robbins was a vampire. What they didn’t know and are about to find out, will change their lives forever.
T’is Was The Night by Alan Zacher
This Christmas tale is about a family coming to “terms” with the alleged existence of Mo-Mo, aka, “The Missouri Monster”; aka, their own Bigfoot.
W.I.DG.E.T.S. by R. A. “Doc” Correa
The U. S. Army pursues the technologies “improving” Soldier-Machine Interface for Future Combat Systems. What are the consequences for humans?
The Unlucky Number Four by Erika M Szabo
In China, the number four sounds like the word death, making the number highly unlucky. Hua is the fourth child in her family.
Push by David W. Thompson
Leona is a missing mother and Sergeant James is on the hunt. When family secrets are revealed, he must find her, or it will be the cadaver dog's turn.
Bravery Has a Price by Erika M Szabo and Lorraine Carey
After boasting to her twin brothers that she is braver than they are, Emma immediately regrets it. Is proving her courage worth the price she must pay?

​Lost in the Woods by Erika M Szabo
A young police officer enters the woods to find a missing woman, but it takes all her mental strength to deal with what she finds.
She Waits by Lorraine Carey
During a class field trip to a historical site in the Caribbean, a curious student encounters a lonely ghost who does not want her to leave.
The Treasures of Grandma’s Attic by Erika M Szabo
Sixteenth birthdays are special, but something they find in Grandma’s attic will make sure they’ll never forget this party.
Church of the Sentient System Ascendant by R.A, “Doc” Correa
A civil servant who is deeply devoted to his faith. By accident, he learns the truth about his religion, and the malevolent A.I. behind it.
Genie in the Sporran by Erika M Szabo
A device cloaked as an everyday item makes all your wishes come true. But Blair and Rhona find out the hard way that everything has a price.
I Scarecrow by Alan Zacher
A troubled man is cursed by a gypsy woman, and the scarecrow he built makes his wishes come true. All is good, but he might get more than he bargained for.
Don’t Look Out the Window by S.S. Bazinet
Growing up in a house with a cursed window, Hank has to find the courage to look out its glass panes, even if it kills him.
The Spirit of The Rattlesnake by S. M. Revolinski
In the spring of 1889, civilization with railroads and cattle ranches moved into Wyoming. However, the Indian Spirit was not finished. Into this, Alice Potter begins her trek.
Will You Wait for Me? By Erika M Szabo and Lorraine Carey
Fate gave her one year of happy marriage, but although losing her husband and unborn child devastated Gladys, she'd find a way to live a full life. Will they meet again?

When her Raven spirit guide warns her of impending danger and after a brutal attack and the Raven’s repeated warnings, she knows her life is in danger. Who wants her dead and why? #supernatural #fiction #fantasy #omen

​Lauren met Luke when she did her surgical rotation in the Presbyterian Hospital. Luke was working for a law firm that handled medical negligence cases and questioned her about a surgery.

He was well-groomed, charming, handsome, and his friendly smile lit up the room. He made her feel at ease and there was an instant attraction between them. After a few dates, their relationship bloomed into a passionate romance and on Valentine’s Day, he proposed. Lauren was happy and counted her blessings to have found the perfect man. Although her grandmother asked her numerous times if she was sure about marrying him, she assured her that he’s a good man, and he makes her happy.

“His aura is unclear, and his vibes feel off,” she told Lauren.

“But why Grandma? What did he do?”

“My intuition tells me not to trust him, and I can’t control how I feel. Just think it over carefully, and don’t rush into marriage. How do you feel about him?”

“I love him, Grandma. I trust him, and I want to marry him.”

  Despite the bitter feelings her grandmother’s warning left, Lauren didn’t change her mind. Her grandmother gave in but insisted on having a prenuptial drawn up by her lawyer which Lauren hesitantly and Luke happily signed. He moved into her penthouse apartment, and they settled into living a seemingly idyllic married life. Soon, he started talking about how stressful it was to work for the law firm and made plans for the time when he’d have enough money to start his own law firm. Lauren laughed and took out her checkbook, “How much do you need?”

Luke seemed to be surprised and at first, he protested against using his wife’s money, but soon, happily gave in and rented an office space in a high-rise building on 84th Street in Manhattan. Lauren chose Internal Medicine and opened her office five blocks from Luke’s office.

Everything seemed fine for the first few years. Luke was ambitious, and to make valuable connections, he organized parties every other month or so in Lauren’s lavish loft and invited influential people. Lauren didn’t like the mingling, forced smiles and the endless, nauseatingly boring pleasantries, which seemed to be the same at every party. Her statuesque figure drew admiring glances from men and jealous stares from the trophy wives. She was bored and sometimes disgusted by the business deals they made between cocktails, but she couldn’t say no to Luke and put up with it to please him. However, she put her foot down when Luke wanted to spice up the parties with cocaine and other popular party drugs.

Later Luke started to become reckless and confessed to Lauren about the bad investments he made and the tens of thousands he lost at his monthly poker games with his friends. Lauren bailed him out every time, paid his debts and forgave him often recalling her grandmother’s wise words. “Every time you forgive a man, he’ll love you more, but you’ll love him a little less. The time will come when you’ll see who he truly is.”

The past six months or so Lauren felt a deep coldness slowly seeping into their relationship. He was attentive and loving as usual during the short times in the mornings and evenings they managed to spend together, but numerous times she caught the anxious flash of his eyes or noticed him staring at nothing. At first, she thought it was because she kept bringing up the idea of starting a family, but lately, she sensed something else. He became anxious and sometimes snapped at her when she asked about his company. “Everything is fine,” he would say ending the conversation.

She couldn’t shake the feeling of uncertainty that crept between them and tried to force some assurance out of Luke. After a nice dinner, she mentioned, again, that it’s time to start a family. He clammed up and his expression turned frigid, but knowing how materialistic he was, she kept listing her reasons. “We’re happy and we have everything we’ve ever wanted. My inheritance provides us with financial security and besides, we both have great jobs. I believe we need a child to tie our family together.”

“We have plenty of time, we’re both young. We don’t need to hurry. Let’s just enjoy our life and freedom together. Aren’t you happy?”
​
Defiance and anger washed over Lauren and before she could stop herself, she blurted out in a hurry, “My thirty-fifth birthday is approaching, and it’s time, but you seem to be so against the idea of having a child. Maybe we’re not meant to be together. This is not enough for me. Perhaps we should divorce and go on with our separate lives.”

Lauren conoció a Luke cuando hizo su rotación quirúrgica en el Hospital Presbiteriano. Luke trabajaba para un bufete de abogados que manejaba casos de negligencia médica y la interrogaba sobre una cirugía.

Estaba bien arreglado, encantador, guapo, y su sonrisa amable iluminó la habitación. La hizo sentir a gusto y había una atracción instantánea entre ellos. Después de unas cuantas citas, su relación floreció en un romance apasionado y en el Día de San Valentín, propuso. Lauren estaba feliz y contó sus bendiciones de haber encontrado al hombre perfecto. Aunque su abuela le preguntó en numerosas ocasiones si estaba segura de casarse con él, ella le aseguró que él es un buen hombre, y él la hace feliz.

—Su aura no está clara y sus vibraciones se sienten mal—, le dijo a Lauren.

—Pero ¿por qué la abuela? ¿Qué hizo? --

—Mi intuición me dice que no confíe en él, y no puedo controlar cómo me siento. Piénsalo bien, y no te apresures al matrimonio. ¿Cómo te sientes con él? --

—Lo amo, abuela. Confío en él, y quiero casarme con él. --

A pesar de los sentimientos amargos que dejó la advertencia de su abuela, Lauren no cambió de opinión. Su abuela cedió, pero insistió en tener un acuerdo prenupcial elaborado por su abogado que Lauren dubitativamente y Luke felizmente firmaron. Se mudó a su apartamento en el ático, y se establecieron en vivir una vida de casado aparentemente idílica. Pronto, comenzó a hablar de lo estresante que era trabajar para el bufete de abogados e hizo planes para el momento en que tendría suficiente dinero para comenzar su propio bufete de abogados. Lauren se rió y sacó su chequera: —¿Cuánto necesitas? --

Luke parecía estar sorprendido y al principio, protestó contra el uso del dinero de su esposa, pero pronto, felizmente cedió y alquiló un espacio de oficinas en un edificio de gran altura en la calle 84 en Manhattan. Lauren eligió Medicina Interna y abrió su oficina a cinco cuadras de la oficina de Luke.

Todo parecía estar bien durante los primeros años. Luke era ambicioso, y para hacer conexiones valiosas, organizaba fiestas cada dos meses más o menos en el lujoso loft de Lauren e invitó a personas influyentes. A Lauren no le gustaban las sonrisas forzadas y las interminables y nauseabundamente y aburridas agradables, que parecían ser las mismas en cada fiesta. Su figura escultural dibujó miradas admiradoras de los hombres y miradas celosas de las esposas del trofeo. Estaba aburrida y a veces disgustada por los negocios que hacían entre cócteles, pero no podía decirle que no a Luke y soportarlo para complacerlo. Sin embargo, ella puso el pie en el suelo cuando Luke quería darle vida a las fiestas con cocaína y otras drogas populares de fiestas.

Más tarde Luke comenzó a ser imprudente y le confesó a Lauren sobre las malas inversiones que hizo y las decenas de miles que perdió en sus juegos de póquer mensuales con sus amigos. Lauren lo rescató cada vez, pagó sus deudas y lo perdonó a menudo recordando las sabias palabras de su abuela. —Cada vez que perdones a un hombre, te amará más, pero lo amarás un poco menos. Llegará el momento en que verás quién es realmente—.

Los últimos seis meses más o menos Lauren sintió una profunda frialdad que se filtraba lentamente en su relación. Era atento y cariñoso como de costumbre durante los breves momentos de las mañanas y las noches que se las arreglaban para pasar juntos, pero numerosas veces ella cogió el destello ansioso de sus ojos o lo notó mirando a nada. Al principio, pensó que era porque seguía sacando a relucir la idea de formar una familia, pero últimamente, sintió otra cosa. Se puso ansioso y a veces se espetó a ella cuando le preguntaba por su compañía. —Todo está bien—, diría, terminando la conversación.

No podía sacudir la sensación de incertidumbre que se deslizaba entre ellos y trataba de forzar cierta confianza en Luke. Después de una buena cena, ella mencionó, de nuevo, que es hora de formar una familia. Se alegró y su expresión se volvió frígida, pero sabiendo lo materialista que era, ella seguía enumerando sus razones. —Somos felices y tenemos todo lo que siempre hemos querido. Mi herencia nos proporciona seguridad financiera y además, ambos tenemos grandes trabajos. Creo que necesitamos un niño para unir a nuestra familia—.

—Tenemos mucho tiempo, ambos somos jóvenes. No tenemos que darnos prisa. Disfrutemos juntos de nuestra vida y de nuestra libertad. ¿No estás feliz? --

El coraje y la ira se apoderaron de Lauren y antes de que pudiera detenerse, se desdibujó a toda prisa: —Se acerca mi trigésimo quinto cumpleaños, y es hora, pero pareces estar tan en contra de la idea de tener un hijo. Tal vez no estamos destinados a estar juntos. Esto no es suficiente para mí. Tal vez deberíamos divorciarnos y seguir con nuestras vidas por separado—.
Luke se encogía de nuevo con el miedo parpadeando a través de su cara hermosa. —No, cariño. Te amo y haré cualquier cosa para hacerte feliz—. Se puso de pie y corrió hacia Lauren, abrazándola fuertemente. —Tienes razón. Empecemos una familia, pero esperemos un poco más. Tal vez hasta el año que viene.

​The deafening rumble of powerful engines echoed through the stillness of the night as the Panthers rode their Harleys through town toward their favorite bar. The moon, full and luminous, hung low in the sky, casting an eerie glow on the rugged faces of the riders. Their leather-clad bodies were silhouetted against the darkness, their tattoos and scars illuminated by the moon’s pale light.

With practiced ease, they killed the engines and dismounted their bikes. Raven, the gang’s robust leader, took off his helmet and shook his head. His long, jet-black hair swung to his back, covering the black panther painting on his leather jacket. “I’ll go through the back door,” he said, turning to his second in command, Jackal, his voice sounding deeper than a panther’s purr. “I need to talk to Pedro.”

Jackal let out a deep, guttural grunt. He was a tall, lanky man with dark hair and a scruffy beard. His voice was rough and strained, the result of a brutal bar fight that left his vocal cords permanently damaged. He hated speaking, the sound of his own voice reminding him of the painful incident. And he cringed at the thought of his friends jokingly telling others, “You should’ve seen the other guy!” The guilt of knowing that he had caused someone to lose his life in the fight weighed heavily on Jackal’s conscience. Although not his fault, the drunk man attacked him cutting his throat and he acted in defense, the man died hitting his head on the pool table when Jackal pushed him away. The memory still haunted him like a shadow that he could never escape.

Stubby, the compact and sturdy member of the gang, let out a deep exhalation. “I hope he has some good news for us,” he said, his voice laced with tension. “It’s been two days since we heard the Hyenas had crossed the border with a new shipment, and we still don’t know where their hiding place is.”

Raven let out a heavy sigh as he approached the corner of the building. Each step caused small pebbles to crunch under his sturdy boots.

As he peeked through the open back door, Raven spotted his informant hunched over the sink. He motioned to him discreetly, and Pedro nodded in response, quickly glancing around to ensure they were not being watched. With cautious movements, Pedro made his way toward the door, holding onto a large garbage bag.

Raven waited for him behind the garbage container. “What did you find out?” he asked the fidgety man.

Growing up in the vibrant streets of Mexico, Pedro was all too familiar with the dangerous activities of criminal gangs. His cousin had been pressuring him to join their gang since he was just a teenager, promising him a life of wealth and power. But when he met Maria, she showed him that there was another way out - a chance to escape poverty and break free from a life of crime. Together, they bravely crossed the treacherous border and made their way to a small town in America where they found jobs and rented an apartment in the bustling Latino community. Pedro kept his ears open and listened closely as drunkards at the local bar spoke about the dark dealings of the notorious gangs. He knew he had made the right choice by following Maria, and now he was determined to make a better life for both of them while helping others who didn’t see a way out.

“I heard that there is an abandoned house about five miles from here deep in the woods,” Pedro whispered, his eyes darting nervously toward the door. “I’m not sure if the gang is hiding there or not, but I know that the guy who talked about the house is their connection on the US side. He takes care of the sales. He was well liquored up on tequila and kept blubbering about the house and that the family who lived there a hundred years ago were killed.”

“It’s possible,” Raven mused, his voice low and gravelly. “Thanks for the information, Pedro. You’re one step closer to joining us.” He raised his fist for a bump, sealing their partnership with a resounding thud.

The stocky man’s face beaming with joy hurried back to the kitchen.

Raven entered the bar through the front door and found his gang at their usual table in the far corner. “We have a possible location. Finish your drinks and let’s get going.” Raven informed his comrades.

Would you like to find out what the biker gang will find in the woods? The What If #3 Anthology will be published in July with many fascinating stories.

"I loved this book which mixes magic with teenage emotions and trials. "
"Well written with heartwarming characters, The Potion is a gem of a story."

Chapter Three
Candice watched Olivia and Dorian for months as their close friendship grew into more. She did everything she could think of to get his attention, yet he didn’t show any interest in her. One day she watched them kissing and holding hands as they walked to the parking space at the Coven. It should be me kissing him! she screamed in her mind with jealous rage. She couldn’t take it anymore. Bitter jealousy gnawed at her insides, and she knew what she was going to do. I’m going to make him love me!

She let the jealous thoughts and feelings stew inside her mind as she rushed home in a fury of anger and sorrow. Why did he have to like her? In her haste, she opened her grandmother’s spellbook and flipped through the pages. She was warned by the High Priestess not to use magic for her own gain, but she didn’t care and planned to do it anyway. Although she knew she would be kicked out of the Coven and lose her chance of becoming a Ravenwood witch if they found out, she couldn’t care less at this point—she wanted Dorian.

She knew her grandmother would be late, busy with the Witches Council meeting, so she flipped through the pages looking for the love spell that would make Dorian fall in love with her. When she found it, she opened her grandmother’s cabinet and gathered the ingredients. Pink sunrise rose petals, she read the instructions. Where are those damned rose petals? she murmured, rummaging through jars and bottles. Here it is! She grabbed the jar hiding behind books on the bottom shelf. She yanked out the glass cork and looked inside. But these are not pink. They’re brownish-colored. Duh, these petals are dry. They lost the original color in the drying process. She added three petals to the brew and concentrated on Dorian as the potion bubbled.

When it was done, she cast the spell thinking about how he’d fall madly in love with her.

She finished reciting the spell and poured the potion into a glass bottle. Next, she made the cupcake batter as the spellbook instructions said and added the potion to the batter. She set the oven, baked the cupcakes, and when they cooled, she piped the prepared frosting on top.
She hid the cupcakes in her room and cleaned up the kitchen. By the time her grandmother got home, she was in bed. All she had to do was make him take a bite the next day. The potion took a night to set, at least that’s what the spell book had said.

The next day on her way to school, Candice took a detour over to Dorian’s house. She fantasized about after graduation when Dorian would be madly in love with her and ask her to marry him. They would find a charming house in the woods, secluded but not haunted or creepy, unlike her grandma’s old Victorian house.

She parked her car further up the street and walked to Dorian’s house. She hid behind the oak tree across from his house and waited for him. She imagined his dark hair and blue eyes as he would greet her, and she would hand him the cupcake. Once he eats it, we’ll live happily ever after.

When Candice saw him closing the front door, she started walking and, casually, as if she’d just noticed him, called out, “Hey, Dorian.”

“Oh, hey, Candice. I haven’t seen you in a while. You live on the other side of town; what are you doing here? Where is your car?” he asked, surprised.

“Grandma asked me to drop off some cupcakes at her friend’s house, and I decided to walk. It’s not that far. I saved a few cupcakes; do you want one? It’s lemon poppy with vanilla frosting.” She smiled at him while opening the box.

“Thanks! Those are my favorites.” He picked a cupcake from the box and took a big bite. “This is really good,” he mumbled with his mouth full and licked the frosting off his lips.

“Thank you. I made it.” Candice smiled with eyebrows raised. She waited impatiently to find out if the potion had worked, but she wasn’t prepared for his unexpected reaction.

Suddenly, Dorian swayed on his feet and grabbed her arm, mumbling, “I feel… dizzy.” His knees buckled; his body turned limp, and his eyes rolled back as he fell hard onto the sidewalk.

Candice screamed as she knelt beside him and quickly yanked out her cell phone from her back pocket, dialing 911.

“911, what is your emergency?”

“My friend. He passed out!”   
        
“Is he breathing, miss?”

“Dorian? Dorian!” Candice shook his shoulder gently at first and then forcefully. “He’s breathing but not responding… He hit his head pretty hard on the sidewalk.” 
      
“Where are you located?”
​
Candice gave the address to the dispatcher and waited on the phone until the ambulance got there. What have I done? I must’ve put the wrong ingredient in the potion, she cried. She sat on the concrete sidewalk beside Dorian, holding his hand in shock. What the hell have I done?

It was a bright, sunny morning. The jolly farmer, Gideon, loaded his truck and drove to the farmer’s market. He was hoping to sell all the fruits and vegetables he’d grown on his farm.

​Era una mañana brillante y soleada. El granjero alegre, Gideón, cargó su camión y condujo hasta el Mercado de Agricultores. Tenía la esperanza de vender todas las frutas y verduras que había cultivado en su granja.

Gideon sold everything by noon. Before heading home, he walked around and saw a beautiful peacock by the vegetable stand. “Is this pretty bird for sale?” he asked.
“Yes, he is. His name is Pierre,” the seller said.
Gideon paid for the peacock, picked the bird up, and put him in the truck bed. 

Para el mediodía ya Gideón había vendido todo. Antes de irse a casa, caminó y vio un hermoso pavo real junto al puesto de verduras. Y preguntó, “¿Está a la venta esta hermosa ave?”.
“Sí, lo está. Su nombre es Pierre”, dijo el vendedor.
Gideón pagó por el pavo real, tomó al ave y lo puso en la plataforma de su camión.

Pierre was a little scared because he didn’t know where the large man was taking him, but he liked the adventure. He also liked the idea of meeting new people and animals. I hope they will appreciate my beauty, Pierre thought.
Gideon tried to calm the frightened bird by talking to him. “You’ll like it on my farm! And you’ll make lots of friends there. You’ll see!” he said.

​Pierre estaba un poco asustado porque no sabía a dónde lo estaba llevando el gran hombre, pero le encantó la aventura. También le gustó la idea de conocer gente y animales nuevos. Espero que aprecien mi belleza, pensó Pierre.
Gideón trató de calmar a la asustada ave hablándole. “¡Te gustará mi granja! Y harás muchos amigos allí. ¡Ya verás!” le dijo él.

Gideon introduced the peacock to the backyard animals. “This beautiful bird is Pierre. He’ll live with us from now on. Be nice to him!” He warned the other birds.
Pierre shook out his tail feathers and settled on the fence. He was happy to see the ducks, geese, and chickens gathering around him to admire his beautiful feathers.
“Look! His feathers sparkle in the sunshine,” Duck said to the group of geese.

Gideón presentó el pavo real a los animales del patio trasero. “Esta hermosa ave es Pierre. Vivirá con nosotros de ahora en adelante. ¡Sean amables con él! Advirtió a las otras aves.
Pierre sacudió las plumas de su cola y se acomodó en la cerca. Estaba feliz de ver a los patos, gansos y gallinas reunidos a su alrededor para admirar sus hermosas plumas.
“¡Miren! Sus plumas brillan a la luz del sol”, dijo El Pato al grupo de gansos.

“Look at me! I’m beautiful. My beauty is undeniable,” Pierre boasted, enjoying the attention.
The ducks, chickens, and geese cheered. “Indeed, you are beautiful!” Chicken said.
“What’s all that ruckus about?” Donkey poked his head out of the barn. He looked at Pierre and called back to his best friend, “Hey, Sheep! Come out here! You’ve never seen such a gorgeous bird.”

“¡Mírenme! Soy hermoso. Mi belleza es innegable”, alardeaba Pierre, disfrutando de la atención.
Los patos, las gallinas y los gansos alentaban. “¡De hecho, eres hermoso!” Dijo La Gallina.
 “¿Qué es todo ese alboroto?” El Burro asomó la cabeza fuera del granero. Miró a Pierre y llamó a su mejor amigo: “¡Oye, Oveja! ¡Ven aquí! Nunca has visto una ave tan hermosa.”

The icy fingers of the unsettled past seem to follow bitter rivals from childhood.
An accomplished pianist disappears from her home in the middle of the night, wearing only her nightgown as her children and husband sleep soundly. As with several young women before her, it seems as if she had vanished into thin air, leaving no trace behind.
There are no clues as to what happened, and no evidence has been found during the thorough police investigation. Her distraught family is ready to do whatever it takes to bring the loving wife and mother home, alive.
Will the secrets of the past ever be revealed… or stay hidden forever? Are private investigators capable of accomplishing what the police cannot?
Only time will tell.
​

Prologue
As the young woman opened her eyes in total darkness, she felt dazed and disoriented. She tried to move her hand to find her comforter to cover up but couldn’t move. Fear froze her insides as she felt her hands tied behind her back and feet tightly bound as well. Where am I? How did I get here? Am I dreaming?  As she tugged at the ropes, the realization hit her hard when she felt the thin plastic cord cutting into her flesh. She wanted to scream but her mouth was chalk dry, she could only utter a whimpering sound.

She shifted her body. It feels like I’m lying on a damp concrete floor. How did I get here from my house, from my bed? Frantic thoughts were racing through her mind. She swallowed hard and tried to scream again. “Help!” she managed to croak out. “Somebody! Help me, please!” she sobbed.

“She’s up,” a man’s raspy whisper sounded as if he was behind a door. “Lemme see her,” he spoke, and she heard a low, squeaky sound as the doorknob was turned.

“Hands off, old man!” a deep, younger-sounding voice growled. “She’s not yours. He wants her. El maldito viejo Bastardo.” (*the damned old bastard*) He continued in Spanish.

“Solo puedo estar de acuerdo con esa afirmación, (*I can only agree with that statement*)” the man with the raspy voice replied in Spanish and switched to English. “Just a little peek. He doesn’t have to know.” He chuckled.

“I said, no!” the younger voice firmly replied. “The old man has a particular plan for this one. Hey, I didn’t know you speak Spanish!”

“You don’t know a thing about me, son. What does he want with her?” the other man inquired in a hushed tone.
​
“If you need to know, he’ll tell you. If not, keep your piehole shut. Let’s go! He’ll be here soon.”
The terrified woman lay on the cold floor, in the dark, afraid to move or make a sound. Please, God! What are they going to do to me?

​Chapter One
Atop a beautiful, fertile landscape by the Blue Mist Lake, the Wilbert mansion sits alone on the outskirts of the sleepy, country town. The lake acquired its name long ago because of its dark blue water and fine mist that lingers on the surface in the mornings, just before the sun peeks over the mountains surrounding the large lake.

Summer blooms are abundant along the driveway that leads to the main gate. A short drive up to the mansion also reveals an eye-pleasing view. It is beautifully landscaped with rhododendron, azalea, and Japanese maple trees lining the driveway that leads to a magnificent fountain in the center of the large, finely graveled area before the front door. The rectangular building with symmetrical windows designed in classical Georgian brick and stone style make this custom-made mansion stand out. Two large columns frame the wide mahogany door at the entrance, making it an impressive focal point. Located on both sides of the driveway, the garden provides cozy niches to relax and koi ponds to sit by for family and guests.

The mansion's interior is equally magnificent. A large hall leads to a formal dining room on the left and a luxuriously furnished sitting room and study on the right. An oak staircase splits in the middle after a wide landing that displays the life-size marble statues of famous composers. Red carpet covers the left side stairs that lead to the living quarters, which include luxurious bedrooms and bathrooms. Right-side stairs lead to guest rooms and an enormous family room with high-end, strategically placed paintings and artwork to entertain guests. This room also serves as the music room. There is a grand piano in the corner surrounded by invitingly comfortable overstuffed chairs.

A stargazing observatory built on the roof and equipped with the best telescopes under its dome-shaped glass roof is the most coveted spot in the mansion. During the late evening hours, the family loves to sit on comfortable recliners while sipping hot cocoa and stargazing through the varying sizes of telescopes.

In the back of the mansion is a small but elegant cobblestone cottage surrounded by trees. It provides a comfortable, private residence for John, the groundskeeper, and his wife, Matilda, his housekeeper/cook. Mr. Wilbert hired Matilda when she was a young girl. Her parents perished in a tragic house fire. She was alone, homeless, with no support. Her parents couldn’t afford the high insurance payments, and Matilda became penniless as well. Michael’s mother took the young girl under her wings and taught her everything she knew about housekeeping and cooking. When a handsome drifter moved into town and started doing gardening and odd jobs at the mansion, they fell in love and soon married. As a wedding present, Michael had the cottage built and offered lifetime employment to them. They have lived on the Wilbert Estate for decades.

Michael Wilbert, a compassionate, handsome, and always clean-shaven man in his early seventies, had been criticized for not hiring a steady staff of cleaners and maintenance people to take care of the huge estate, but as always, he ignores what others think of him. He strongly believes in regularly providing jobs to those who most need work at a particular time in their lives. He reasons that work is scarce in the quiet countryside towns, and rotating the workers regularly gives more people a chance to earn a decent living. He trusts his estate manager and his staff to organize and supervise the work on the estate and to hire people from the surrounding areas to do various jobs.
​
Michael declines most of the invitations to parties being thrown by the influential crowd in the surrounding counties. Even though he tells people he enjoys his secluded lifestyle, in reality, he despises the show-off parties and the snobby people kissing and stabbing each other. He tells his friends, “I keep my friends close, but I don’t need to keep my enemies closer. Attorneys and the Private Investigation Firm I trust give me all the information I need about my enemies.” 
Despite being one of the wealthiest people in the country, Michael Wilbert has never forgotten his roots.

The flashing lights of the ambulance illuminated the night as it came to a stop at the entrance of the bustling hospital. The doors flew open, and they wheeled in Remi on a stretcher.
A kind-looking nurse with blonde hair approached them with a warm smile. “Hello dear, my name is Anna,” she introduced herself before leading them to Bed B.

With gentle hands and a sense of urgency, they carefully transferred Remi onto the bed as Anna immediately began assessing her condition. She listened intently to her lungs, checking for any signs of distress.

As Anna worked, the paramedic gave his report, and she quickly started an IV line in Remi's hand. Meanwhile, a nurse's aide unhooked Remi’s oxygen tube from the tank, connected the tube to the central connection, and attached the cardiac monitor electrodes to her chest.
The heavy curtain that separated the beds was suddenly pulled aside with a loud swoosh. In its place stood a tall man with thick, salt-and-pepper hair. He swept his gaze across the small cubicle before fixing his attention on Remi. Introducing himself as Dr. Schwarz, he took note of the discarded nebulizer pipe lying on her bed before directing his piercing blue eyes to her face and hands. “Let me listen to your lungs,” he said in a no-nonsense tone, holding out his stethoscope.

Remi nodded weakly and struggled to sit up, wincing at the sharp pain in her chest. The doctor placed the cold metal against her skin and listened intently to her lung sounds, his brow furrowing in concern. After a moment, he asked, “How long have you been dealing with asthma?”

“Since...as far back as I can remember,” Remi gasped out between ragged breaths, beads of sweat forming on her forehead. “I take preventive medications and usually use my nebulizer during sudden attacks, but I didn’t have any solution and the inhaler didn’t help.”

The doctor's expression turned sympathetic as he nodded understandingly. “We'll get you taken care of,” he assured her before turning to the nurse.

“It’s my fault!” Emily informed the doctor with tears in her eyes. “Remi is staying with me while her parents are in South America with Doctors Without Borders, and I didn’t know she’s allergic to cats.”

“It’s okay,” Dr. Schwarz spoke in a soothing voice. “We’ll make her better, but I’m afraid, you need to get rid of your cat.”

“It’s not mine, just cat-sitting for a friend, but I’m going to call my other friends right now. I’m sure one of them will take the cat,” Emily said and pulled out her cell phone. “I’ll be in the waiting room,” she flashed a nervous smile at the young girl and hurried out of the room.

The doctor turned to the nurse. “Anna, let’s give her 125 Solumedrol, hook her up for continuous nebulizer, and get a portable chest X-ray as well.”

The nurse nodded and left the room. The doctor smiled, pulled the curtain that separated Remi’s room from bed C, and greeted the patient. “Hi Konrad, are you ready?”

“Yes,” sounded a young boy’s voice.

The doctor stopped for a second, thinking, and then turned back to Remi. “Do you speak German by any chance?” he asked.

Caught off guard by the unexpected question, Remi hesitated before responding. Despite having learned the language from her nanny since she was a toddler until high school, she decided against admitting it upon seeing the doctor's peculiar expression.

“No, but I speak French,” she replied.

“Never mind, I just thought... because of your last name, Hansen,” he mumbled, stepping out of the room, and pulling the curtain closed behind him.

That was strange. Why did he ask me if I speak German? Perhaps he doesn’t want me to know what they’re talking about in the next cubicle. Remi wondered, listening to the conversation coming from behind the curtain.

“Are you sure you want it done this way?” Dr. Schwarz asked, speaking in German, and continued. “Don’t worry, the girl in that bed doesn’t understand the language.”

Remi heard a boy's and an older-sounding man’s voices answering, “Yes, we definitely want the treatment.” And the older voice continued. “My son is sixteen, and with cystic fibrosis and rare blood type, finding a cure or donor is close to impossible. He might have a year left. But with your treatment, he could live a full, healthy life.”

She heard the doctor’s sigh, as he said, “I want to make sure you understand what will happen after the treatment.”

Konrad assured the doctor, “We thought it over very carefully what you said, and I fully understand the benefits. And...” he hesitated. “And I accept the obligation that comes with your treatment as well.”

“We took the necessary precautions as you instructed, and his handler will arrive tomorrow to discuss more details with us. Everything is ready,” The older man said.

“Okay, I’ll be back in a minute,” the doctor replied.

Remi wondered what that treatment was. Poor Konrad. He’s my age and it sounds like he doesn’t have long to live. That’s terrible. Remi though, feeling so much empathy for the boy. But why didn’t the doctor say medication or something specific? He repeated the German word behandlung, which means treatment. And because we’re in the hospital it must be medical treatment.

​Continue reading on AMAZON available in KU 

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What if you think the known world isn’t strange enough? Embark on a journey that pushes the boundaries, challenges your perception, and questions reason, logic, and established beliefs.

Emma finished her patient notes and gave her report to the evening shift nurse before changing clothes and rushing to the garage. For once, she would be able to leave work on time. She thought back to days when she had to pull double shifts or when the chaos of the ER made it nearly impossible to finish her paperwork in a timely fashion. As she drove home, Emma called her husband.

"Are you working overtime again?" Paul asked with a laugh.

"No, for once I'll even have time to cook dinner," Emma replied.

"Wow, that's rare," Paul chuckled, knowing how often he had to work late at his law firm and rarely had time to finish his work before 5 pm. "Do you mind if I invite Steve over for dinner? He has an investment proposal and I'd rather discuss it at home than in the office."

"Of course, darling," Emma said with a bright, cheery tone. "Then I'll defrost the lasagna and take out the German cherry cake from the freezer that I picked up last week. It will give me time to tidy up before you arrive home."

"That sounds perfect, sweetheart! We'll be home by six."

On her way home, Emma couldn't resist stopping at a charming farmstand she passed by. She carefully selected fresh lettuce, crisp radishes, juicy tomatoes, and crunchy cucumbers to create a delicious salad.

As the food thawed, Emma tackled some light cleaning tasks around the house. She ran the vacuum over the carpets, dusted the surfaces, and even managed to squeeze in a quick shower before five o'clock rolled around. As she dried her hair, she tried to recall Steve's face. She had only met Paul's business manager once at a party nearly a year ago, and their exchange was brief and polite. Despite not knowing much about him, he seemed like a decent person and Paul had never said anything negative about him. The firm was successful and catered to affluent clients, a fact that Emma knew from casual conversations with her husband. Curiosity piqued as she wondered what kind of proposal Steve might have in store for them. Since their marriage three years ago, Emma made a conscious effort not to pry into Paul's work life and only knew snippets of information that he shared with her voluntarily.

Shortly after six, they arrived, but as soon as she looked at her husband’s face, Emma knew something was wrong. The slight frown on his handsome features was a rare display of emotion for him, but Emma had learned to read his subtle signs over the years. His tense posture and the way he shot a quick glance at their guest, Steve, told her that something was very wrong. She raised her eyebrows in question but remained quiet and followed Paul's lead as they ushered Steve into the living room.

Paul expertly mixed cocktails for them all, but Emma could sense the tension in the air. As they sat down, Paul turned to Steve with a calm yet controlled demeanor. "Before you tell me about your investment plans, let me ask you something," he said in a low voice.

Emma watched with growing alarm as her husband's jaw tightened, signaling his underlying anger. She couldn't imagine what would come next. It must be something very serious. She thought. Otherwise, he would talk about business after dinner, as he usually does.

"Tell me about the two hundred thousand dollars," Paul's voice rose slightly, revealing his true emotions towards their guest.

Steve's hand shook and he jolted in his seat, spilling a few drops of his drink onto his lap. His eyes widened in surprise as Paul confronted him about missing money.

"Why are you asking me?" Steve stammered, trying to compose himself.

"Because the accountant called me just before we left to ask about one of our bank accounts," Paul explained. "He said he couldn't find the statement for the interest we had been paid on that account. I didn't want to cause a scene in the office, so I'm asking you now. Where is the money?"

"I had nothing to do with it!" Steve exclaimed, his face turning red with anger as he stood up. "Are you accusing me of something?"

"Yes!" Paul fumed; his frustration evident. "I checked with the bank, and they informed me that the account we had 210 thousand dollars in now only has eight thousand. What did you do with the missing money?"

“I… I’m leaving! You can’t just accuse me of something I didn’t do,” Steve mumbled, putting his glass on the coffee table.

“You’re not going anywhere until you answer my question!”

Paul's voice echoed through the room, loud and forceful as he jumped up to block Steve's path toward the door. Emma shrunk back into the far corner of the sofa, her heart racing as she watched them. Paul, usually calm and collected, now had a fiery rage burning in his eyes. She had never seen him like this before.

​Emma grew accustomed to Paul arriving home late each night. She knew he was filling in for Steve's job until a replacement could be found, so she accepted his long hours with understanding. She had become accustomed to eating dinner alone and going to bed alone in their silent apartment.

But one night, her peaceful slumber was abruptly interrupted by the shrill ring of her phone. Bleary-eyed and disoriented, she squinted at the caller ID and recognized it as Clarice's number. The two had been best friends since childhood and Clarice lived in the building next door. Still half-asleep, Emma fumbled and managed to hit the accept button with shaking fingers. "He's dead!" She was jolted awake by Clarice's frantic scream on the other end of the line.

"What? Who?" Emma croaked out, sitting up in bed and swinging her feet to the floor. "Where are you?"

"I... I'm on the street," Clarice stammered, panic evident in her voice. "I called the police. He's dead!"

Emma's heart raced as she struggled to make sense of Clarice's words. "Who is dead?" she asked in terror, as images of everyone she knew flashed through her mind. Quickly pulling on her slippers and yanking up her jeans, Emma braced herself for whatever awaited her on the other side of her apartment door.

“Hurry!” Clarice moaned and choked up, her sobs echoing through the phone. Emma's heart raced as she listened to her best friend's distraught voice. Without a second thought, she ran out of her second-floor apartment, slamming the door behind her in haste. Her chestnut hair flew wildly behind her as she took the steps two at a time, determined to reach Clarice as quickly as possible.

As she burst into the lobby and rushed towards the front door, Emma could hear Clarice's cries growing louder. "Stay with me, Clarice! I'm coming," she shouted into the phone, hoping her words would provide some comfort to her friend.

But as Emma swung open the front door and stepped outside, she froze in shock. Police cars screeched to a halt in front of the building, their flashing blue and red lights casting an eerie glow over the usually tranquil neighborhood.

The normally peaceful sidewalk was now filled with chaos. Her best friend, Clarice, knelt by a seemingly lifeless body, her hands covered in blood. Emma's eyes widened in disbelief as she noticed a long blade bloody knife resting on the ground by Clarice's knee.

Her mind raced as she tried to process what could have possibly led to this gruesome scene. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she looked at Clarice's tear-stained face and then down at the lifeless body. The realization hit her like a ton of bricks - Clarice had killed Brian.

"What...how did...what did you do?" Emma stuttered, unable to believe what she was seeing. As if in slow motion, Clarice turned to look at Emma with haunted eyes and whispered, “I didn’t! I swear! How could you think I did?” Clarice looked up at her with deep betrayal and hurt flashing in her eyes.
​
“It’s Paul!” Emma cried out when she recognized the man with a bloody wound in the middle of his chest and dropped to her knees. She hugged her husband’s still body to her chest. “It’s Paul! How did he get here?” Emma sobbed hysterically, knowing that her husband always used the elevator from the garage to go up to their apartment. “This is not happening!” she screamed.
​
Read the full story in the What If? #3 Anthology

Midnight Murder by Erika M Szabo
Emma’s trust in her psychic abilities solidified and she learned an important lesson about blind trust – even in those who she thought were closest to her.

Unexpected Trip by Lorraine Carey
A teacher faints at an Egyptian exhibit and has a vivid dream in Pompeii during the volcanic eruption. Was it a dream or did she travel through time?

Thy Sister’s Blood by David W. Thompson
Friends on a haunted creek uncover ancient relations. Magic and mystery drive this journey of self-discovery with the enduring power of family.

The Ominous Sound of Stiletto Heels by Erika M Szabo
The sound of Madame Chloe’s red stiletto heels in the hallways would quiet the students and teachers. When she walked by, an icy chill filled the air.

The Way to a Man’s Heart by Shebat Legion
A Siren demonstrates her full vocal range, much to the dismay of a man caught in a trap of his own design.

Shadowman by Erika M Szabo
Their ultimate goal is a brighter future for all humanity. A world free of destruction and chaos.

Careful What You Wish For by David W. Thompson
At last, Victor finds his dream girl! But is it a match made in heaven or a far darker place? Love conquers all... or the dream becomes a nightmare.

Happily Ever After, and After by Shebat Legion
A woman revisits memories that are all too real, or are they? What makes a memory real?

I Love You Forever by Martha Perez
Can their love endure? Nicole, battling cancer, finds hope with Noah. Will they overcome life's challenges and keep their vow to love forever?

Jimmy’s Clown by David W. Thompson
Brothers stick together, and childhood pranks are soon forgotten. But old grudges can fade slowly or swell with age like the nose of a clown.

Eye of the Jaguar by Robert Allen Lupton
An explorer falls onto an altar stone. He wakes to an ancient nightmare of Mayan jaguar worship. Can he save his humanity and return to modern times?

Unsung Heroes y Erika M Szabo
If people knew what the biker gang did and were not expecting any reward or recognition, these unsung heroes would be celebrated by many.
​
The Prodigal Daughter by R.A. “Doc” Correa
Cassandra Lynn Anderson, a haunted young woman, learns the terrifying truth of her origin.

My main message in writing this post is to challenge the idea that people from different countries, who may not fully understand the language or be accustomed to a new way of life, are often automatically considered "stupid." In fact, they may come from a culture with a wealth of knowledge and traditions that we can learn from.

I grew up in the picturesque landscapes of Hungary, surrounded by the enchanting melodies of Hungarian folk music and the savory aroma of traditional goulash simmering on the stove. However, my journey led me across oceans to the United States three and a half decades ago. The transition was akin to a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis - challenging yet exhilarating. Embracing a new language and lifestyle was like mastering a complex dance, each step a blend of excitement and uncertainty.

The people I encountered in this new land varied in their reception. Many extended warm embraces, eager to share their customs and learn about mine. Yet, there were others whose eyes bore traces of disdain, their words dripping with condescension. "Stupid foreigners," they would scoff under their breath when met with my linguistic stumbles.

But let's delve deeper into this notion: the term "stupid" falls short in capturing the essence of most immigrants, irrespective of their origins. It is an oversimplification that fails to acknowledge the rich tapestry of experiences and knowledge they bring. Terms like "ignorant" or "unintelligent" are often misused in similar contexts. "Stupid" implies a lack across various facets - intelligence, wisdom, discernment, and agility of thought. In contrast, "unintelligent" denotes a constrained capacity for learning and comprehension, while "ignorance" speaks more to a gap in knowledge rather than intellect.

Allow me to unveil a treasure trove of marvels crafted by Hungarian visionaries - testaments to the ingenuity that pulses through the veins of this remarkable nation.
Let’s start with the ballpoint pen:
Invented by László Bíró, 1931
Write your shopping list with the ballpoint pen and put it on the refrigerator with a magnet:
Invented by Leó Szilard 1929
Lit your gas stove with a noiselessly igniting phosphorous match:
Invented by János Irinyi 1836
While listening to a CD, look at the hologram sticker on the cover:
Invented by Dénes Gábor, 1947
Take your vitamin C:
Discovered by Szentgyörgyi 1931
Make a phone call from your landline phone:
Invented by Tivadar Puskás 1878
Today, computers are part of our lives. Basic Computer system:
Invented by János Hard 1964
When you organize your tasks into Excel spreadsheets, remember:
Invented by Károly Simonyi 1974
Ever watched a 3D movie with 3D glasses?
Invented by Dániel Rátai 2010
Have you ever listened to a vinyl record on his traditional turntable?
Invented by Károly Goldmark 1948
Are you watching a color TV?
Invented by Károly Goldmark, 1948
Are you enjoying the view of Central Park in New York?
Sándor Asbóth prepared the layout plan of the city
Have you marveled at the moon car?
Invented by Ferenc Pávlics, c. 1960
Have you solved the Rubik's Cube?
Invented by Ernő Rubik, 1976
You snap a picture with your automatic camera:
Invented by József Mihályi 1938
Do you wear contact lenses?
Invented by József Dallos 1928
And soft contact lenses:
Invented by István Gyorffy 1959
About cars: Ford Model T
József Galamb 1908
BMW with a diesel engine:
Ferenc Ansits 1983
Chevrolet with an automatic transmission:
László Bíró 1932
There was even a VW beetle because of its special design:
Béla Barényi, 1925
Carburetor:
Invented by János Csonka 1893
Dynamo:
Invented by Ányos Jedlik 1861
When you see a helicopter landing, thank:
Oszkár Asbóth1928
Krypton-filled lamp:
Invented by Imre Bródy 1930
You might regularly drink some kind of soda. Right?
Invented by Ányos Jedlik 1940

These are just a few of the many inventions created by Hungarians that have made our lives easier.

The antagonists, (the villains or bad guys) are an essential component of literature. They are often responsible for creating the conflict that propels the story forward and provides the necessary tension to keep the reader engaged. These characters are essential components of any good story. They bring the necessary conflict, tension, and unexpected twists to the plot, and help move the story forward. Without them, a story can become dull and predictable.

Villains serve as the primary obstacle for the protagonist, and the role of the villain is to provide a challenge for the protagonist, (the heroes or good guys), to keep them on their toes, and to create obstacles that they must overcome. This conflict is what adds complexity and depth to the plot and makes the story interesting and engaging for the reader. It is the clash of opposing forces that creates the tension and drama that captivates readers.

Moreover, the antagonists are often used to highlight the flaws and weaknesses of the protagonist. By creating a character that embodies all or most of the qualities that the protagonist lacks.

Furthermore, villains can also help the reader empathize with the protagonist. The more a villain is developed, the more the reader can understand the protagonist's motives, fears, and aspirations.

Finally, villains are instrumental in the resolution of the story.
For example, in the classic novel, "Wuthering Heights" by Emily Brontë, Heathcliff serves as an antagonist, but his tragic backstory helps the reader understand his motivations and sympathize with him.

Another example, in the alternate history-magical realism novel
"The Ancestors' Secrets" by Erika M Szabo. Mora is a classic through and through villain. Yet as we learn more and more about her backstory, we're almost starting to understand what drives her and empathize with her, until her next cruel act... when we're passionately hating her again. 

There's something undeniably fascinating about witches and witchcraft. Perhaps it's the mystery and magic surrounding them, or the idea of wielding supernatural powers beyond the comprehension of mere mortals. Whatever scientific understanding we have gained has only increased interest in witches and their magical practices, leading to further research and discoveries that leave us wondering – are witches real? Although some stories may be pure fiction, there are many traditions and beliefs that have become a part of our modern world.

One of the most intriguing aspects of witchcraft is the distinction between white and black magic. White magic is often associated with healing, love, and positivity, while black magic is associated with curses, manipulation, and harm. Some believe that all magic has the potential for both good and evil, depending on how it is used.

Potions are also a common trope in witchcraft. From love potions to poisonous concoctions, potions are seen as a powerful tool for witches to achieve their desired outcomes. The idea of mixing together various ingredients to create a magical elixir is both mystical and alluring. Potions are often brewed using various herbs, roots and other ingredients, and can be used for a variety of purposes such as healing, love spells, and even to cause harm to others.

A young adult supernatural fantasy by Erika M Szabo, is about a love potion made with haste out of jealousy, and the potion puts Dorian into a comalike state. A rare orchid that blooms only once a year could save his life, but the precious flowers are fiercely guarded by Liam and his werewolf pack. The acolytes of the coven are forbidden to enter the forest, but the young apprentices volunteer to make the journey that will test their loyalty and courage. Will they succeed? The book is available in English and Spanish.

But perhaps one of the most fascinating aspects of witchcraft is the idea of premonitions. Premonitions are visions of the future, brought about through spirits.

A cozy supernatural thriller by Erika M Szabo combines witchcraft with jealousy and evil intent to commit a crime.
Lauren has everything she’d ever wished for. Great career, financial security, loving husband, and devoted friends. While enjoying her perfect life filled with success and love, she is blissfully unaware of the danger lurking in the shadows. When her Raven spirit guide shrieks out a warning, it's already too late for Lauren to protect herself, with the ancient witchcraft spell taught to her by her grandmother. An assailant breaks into her office and brutally attacks her. With the Raven's repeated warnings echoing in her head, and no time to react, Lauren knows that her life is still under threat--but who wants her dead? And why? The book is available in English and Spanish.

Gossiping has been around for centuries, and it continues to be a popular pastime even in today's digital age. There is something alluring about hearing the juicy details of someone's personal life and sharing it with others. People love gossip because it satisfies their innate curiosity about the lives of others, and it also offers a way to bond with others over shared knowledge.

One of the primary reasons people spread gossip is because it provides a sense of power and control. When someone is privy to information that others are not, it gives them a sense of superiority and allows them to feel like they are in the know. Additionally, spreading gossip can be a way to gain attention and affirmation from others, which can be a powerful motivator for some individuals.

Another reason people love gossip is that it can be exciting. Hearing about someone else's secrets or scandals can be thrilling, as it provides a glimpse into a world that may not be visible on the surface. Gossip can also be a source of drama and entertainment, as people love to hear about the ups and downs of others' lives.

Unfortunately, many people don't bother verifying whether the gossip they're spreading is true or false because they are more interested in the drama and excitement of the story than the facts. Additionally, some people may not fully understand, or don't think about the consequences.

Spreading rumors or lies about another person could destroy his or her reputation, ruin the victim's life, and even bring legal trouble for the eager gossip.

It is so easy to spread false, assumed bits of information when you have 2.4 billion people on Facebook, one or two billion on Twitter and Instagram, and billions more on YouTube and Reddit.

For example, when #MeghanMarkle had meetings with Gordon Getty, some of the busy buddy influencers jumped into the conclusion that Meghan was pregnant with the 89-year-old man's baby. Why do they spread unconfirmed gossip?

A young man said once, "If you don't have at least a million followers, you're irrelevant. I post about anything that grabs the attention of my followers and keeps them talking. If I don't, I lose followers; I become an insignificant nobody."

What do you think?

As a fiction writer, I firmly believe in the power of stories to shape the minds and hearts of young children. Reading books can expand their imagination, increase their vocabulary, and develop their critical thinking skills. When we expose children to a variety of fiction stories, we are giving them a gift that will last a lifetime.

Stories have a unique power to trigger a child's imagination, and an incredible tool to help children develop their imagination and creativity. From a young age, children love to hear and read stories, whether they are fairy tales, adventure stories, or tales of superheroes. As they listen to these stories, their minds are transported to exciting new worlds where anything is possible.

They learn about the world around them, new vocabulary, and different cultures and traditions. They also learn to empathize with others and to see things from different perspectives. Furthermore, they learn about empathy, courage, and how to deal with difficult situations. They also learn about different cultures and worlds, expanding their horizons and encouraging them to explore new ideas.

Stories can also help children to develop their own sense of self. They may fantasize about being the brave knight who saves the princess, or the superhero who saves the day. By imagining themselves in these roles, children learn to see themselves as capable and powerful. This helps them become more open-minded and accepting of others, which is an important skill for navigating the world.

Imagination is a crucial part of a child's development, and reading stories is one of the best ways to encourage this. When children imagine themselves in different roles and situations, they are developing their creativity and problem-solving skills.

Sex and gender are complex topics that require a great deal of emotional and intellectual maturity to understand. Young children are not equipped to handle the weight of these concepts, and it is up to adults to shield them from it until they are ready.

The innocence of children is a fragile thing. They are born into a world of wonder and discovery, and it is up to us as adults to ensure that they are free to explore and learn without being burdened by the heavier aspects of life.

For adults, sex and gender may seem like everyday matters, but for children, they are concepts shrouded in mystery and confusion. Explaining these complex topics to a child can be difficult and even detrimental to their growth and development. Children are not ready to handle the nuances of sex and gender, and it is not their place to do so.

As parents and caregivers, it is our responsibility to protect their innocence. Sex and gender are just two of the many topics that children should be sheltered from until they are old enough to comprehend.

Carrie Wimmer, a talented narrator, mentioned to me that she's been teaching children about narration at her local school's after school program. Carrie has a beautiful voice, she narrated three of my audiobooks.

​Carrie was looking for a book with short dialogs that would be suitable for children to read, so I offered one of my children's book, Meetoo The Annoying Little Sister.

The children are excited about the project, and Carrie said that they have lots of fun practicing and recording the character lines with Carrie's guidance.
Meanwhile, the children are learning how to set up a soundproof room, what kind of equipments they need, and how to edit the audio they recorded.

I'm a huge supporter of children's art, music, and reading programs that helps to develop young children's creativity and imagination while having fun. Carrie's after school program fulfills this role.

I truly appreciate the school administrator's efforts and support to make this program possible!
​
And a heartfelt thank you to Carrie for volunteering to teach the children about the magical world of book narration!   

To protect the children's privacy when posting about the project, I created avatars for the children who participate in the recording. The parents and the school allowed to add the children's full names to the avatars they chose.

Some of the characters are assigned and the recording began. I'm looking forward to listening to the recordings with great excitement.

Not that long ago people could not believe that a woman could ever do something significant and men took all the credit for their work.

Let's remember these amazing women who made our lives better, most of them without being recognized for their contribution. 

​#women #womenempowerment #womensupportingwomen #female #inventors

You're a vegetarian. 
A. You don't eat meat.
B. You want all meat products banned for everyone.

When things are not going well.
A. You think about how to make your situation better.
B. You blame the government and everyone you can think of but don't do anything.

You don't like a TV news channel's political reports.
A. You switch channels.
B. You demand the channel to be shut down.

You don't agree with someone's opinion on social media.
A. You say: I respectfully disagree, and you move on, but you might unfollow the person's posts.
B. You blow up, call the person all kinds of names, and then report and block them.

You're a non-believer.
A. You don't go to church, but you respect the rights of others who do.
B. You want any mention of God and religion banned.

You don't have health insurance.
A. You shop around to find a suitable one, or you may choose a job that provides it.
B. You demand free healthcare and you don't care who pays for it. 

You don't approve of guns.
A. You don't have one.
B. You want all guns outlawed.

More and more people are becoming intolerant, angry, unhappy, uncompassionate, cruel, and totally selfish. Me. me, me is their main focus while preaching tolerance and inclusion, but they tolerate only those who agree with them and step on those who dares to voice a different opinion. 
​It's a sad world we live in!

Despite what they said the reason was to give up being working royals is to have privacy, it seems Harry and Meghan are constantly in the spotlight. Are they seeking attention or is it the morbid fascination of people that puts them in the spotlight?

I can't help but feeling sad for him. People in the UK and most countries around the world loved him from the time he was born. But now...
Something is very wrong with this man. He's entitled to his opinion just like everyone else, but when he's preaching about climate change yet travels everywhere with a private jet and gas guzzling SUVs... And then associates himself with the people who are suffering from the economic changes and high prices. Hey, duke and duchess, why don't you give up your mansion, designer clothes and jewelry to help the homeless? Oh, because you are entitled to it. Gotcha! 

And Meghan. She doesn't want the stuffy British title but seems to me she's fighting tooth and nail to keep it without lifting a finger for the privilege. Yea, it used to open doors for the actress that were closed to her before, but now it seems like a lot of doors are closing despite having the title. The gossip wheels are turning that she made money by being a "yacht girl" and had a connection with questionable people... Are those gossips about her marriages, the daughter she gave up and two fake pregnancies are true? I don't know, and honestly, I don't really care. In her past, she did what she had to do, it's her business.

I wish the best for them and their families, but I can't help feeling that a dark cloud is following Harry and it's closing in on him.