Jillian Chantal

This week’s Tuesday Tales week is a picture prompt. I’ve not been writing and I can’t even explain all the reasons, but suffice it to say, life has been a zoo. So I am back in my paranormal tale. The hero and heroine are in a house during a storm with no power.

Be sure to check out the other tales here– see what their stories are and what photo they used.

“There’s a five prong candelabra in the room next door. I’ll get it.”

“I hope you have matches. I had some but I’m soaked through so I’m sure they’re ruined.”

Max pulled the blanket he’d found in the hall closet closer to her as he stood. “Will you be all right here for a few minutes? I’ll get the candelabra after I head to the kitchen to scrounge in the drawers for some dry matches.”

“I don’t want to be left alone long. I’m still creeped out by my ordeal getting here.”  A shudder seemed to slide all the way down Stella’s spine as her whole body convulsed.

Unsure if it was fear or the wetness of her garments, he ducked his head before saying, “I don’t want this to come out the wrong way—”

“What? Just say it. You’ve already said you think I’m crazy. Why hold back now?”

Her expression was hard to read. Was she mad, resigned or just weary?

He took a deep breath. “You’re shivering so hard, it may be a good idea to take off your wet clothes while I’m gone.”

“You want me to take off my clothes?”

The shock on her face made Max want to laugh but he knew with a certainty he’d never felt before that laughter would damage their tenuous relationship beyond repair.

Running his hand through his hair, he forced his lips not to smile. “I’m concerned with your health. Sitting in wet clothes isn’t good for you.”

“Is that your medical opinion, Dr. Edison?” The snarl on her face let him know exactly how she felt. Not resigned or tired. Angry. Extremely angry.

Max held his hands up. “Suit yourself.”

He turned on his heel and left the room. Let her have some time to cool off… or maybe freak out again.

This week, the authors of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt alone. I am still working on the paranormal book. The heroine is on the phone with her mother talking about the hero. By the way, all the characters in this story have Beatles related names.

Check out the other tales here.

“You stay away from over there, missy. You got the gift like your grandma did. You don’t wanna be attracting no spirit to follow you home and make trouble in your life.” Her mother coughed. “You hearing me, Stella girl? No nonsense, ya hear?”

“Settle down, mamma. I’m not planning to go back. I was wondering how I could help the man who wants to buy the place. He’s a nonbeliever and I’m worried he’s going to get himself hurt.”

“You need to steer clear. Even setting up a ritual to pray for his protection could drag you down.”

Stella sighed. She should’ve known her mother would flip, but she had some of her grandmother’s candles and other items used in ritual that might be of use in casting a protective net around Max Edison. She’d learned the work from her grandmother even though her mother feared it.

“If you’re asking for Grandmother’s box, no. You can’t have it. You need to forget that idea right now.”

When her mother got that tone of voice, Stella knew the pope himself could ask her for the box and she’d say no. Not that the pope believed in Voodoo. At least she didn’t think he did.

Stifling the snort that picture that thought brought to mind and disappointed in the call, Stella sighed. “Go watch your show, Mom.”

“Promise me you’ll leave this alone.”

Knowing she couldn’t do that, Stella made a noncommittal noise and said, “I’ll see you all at Sunday dinner.”

“Promise me.”

Stella glanced up at the kitschy black cat wall clock with the moving eyes and tail. Saved by the time. “You’re missing the first puzzle on Wheel. I’ll let you go.”

“This isn’t over, child.”

This week the authors of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt steady. I am back in a story I have a deadline on even though I’m not really feeling the muse, but deadlines are deadlines. This is a paranormal and we pick up where the heroine thinks she’s coming to save the hero but she’s been being terrorized on her ride to the mansion in the rain. I shared some of this in the fall and you may or may not remember it.

Check out the other tales here

Max stared out the window that had water streaming down the glass in rivulets. He could barely see Stella standing there. She was screaming loud enough to wake the people in the next county. He couldn’t understand what was possessing her or even why she was on the porch. Didn’t she say she was never coming back here?

At least she was a diversion from sitting in the dark where he’d dozed off for the last few hours. His body ached from having fallen asleep with his arms on the table. He tried to unlatch the window since he couldn’t find the keys to the deadbolt on the front door. Where did I see them last?

She kept banging on the pane so hard he was sure it was going to shatter inside the room and cut him. What was she all fired up about? Weird.

He finally got the latch turned—it was almost like someone had painted it shut—and as he pulled the tall French window toward him, Stella leaned against it. She tumbled into the room, a wet, sodden mess, and took him down to the floor with her. A bag landed with a thump beside them.

“Good grief. What are you doing here and why are you terrorizing me at this late hour?” He gently removed her body from his person and rolled out of her way.

Standing, he shook out his polo shirt to dry to get the dampness off it. “I thought you were done with this house and yet here you are.”

“Shut that window. I made a salt barrier, but whoever it is can still get in.”

“Salt barrier?” Max shook his head. This poor woman needed help in a bad way.

She struggled to her feet using the leg of one of the wing back chairs as leverage. She seemed a little wobbly and unable to steady herself  

When she seemed to have her balance, she dashed to the window and tried to slam it shut, but the wind grabbed hold of it. Max could tell she would never have the strength to close it herself.

Heaving a big sigh, he made his way to her side and pushed the thing flush with the facing. The lock closed with a snick and he turned to face her with his back to the outside world. “Care to enlighten me about why you’re here and making such a fuss?”

This week’s word for the authors of Tuesday Tales is boat. I am pretty much not writing at this time as I am so discouraged about a lot of things, so I am going to share a bit more of my slave story that I am supposed to be editing but can’t seem to focus on. Luckily, the word of the week is in that story a lot.

Be sure to check out the other tales here

“We’ve both had our share of tears in this life, girl.”

“Yes we have. Too many.” Theodora thought about the countless tears she’d cried when her mother was sold. She didn’t really remember a lot about that time and really didn’t understand the reason her mother was gone. She only recalled how the warmth of someone’s arms around her as she slept was gone. It was only later as she noticed other female slaves who had babies they cuddled that she understood what she was missing.

The cart jolted to a halt.

Now that they were still, they could hear the sounds around them. There seemed to be a lot of activity.

“How will we be able to avoid being seen if there are a lot of people around?” Theodora asked.

“Trust the planners, child. They’ve done this before. You have to learn to let people help you.”

“How can I? I’ve never really had that in my life.”

“I know, but remember Josiah helped you learn to follow the stars and you were doing that when you escaped the first time, then the boys showed you how to swim when you were planning your second try at the plantation. They helped you.”

“And you have, too but I know all of you and being slaves like me, there wasn’t much to fear that any of you would betray me.”

Esther patted her hand. “I know, but there’s a big world out there for you to make your way in and if you don’t learn to let people help you or to trust that they will, you’re going to grow old alone and frightened. I don’t want that for you.”

Before Theodora could respond, the top edge of the tarp came up. A man’s face peered in at them. “I’m the driver. We’re going to get you on the boat now.” He passed Theodora two really thick blankets. “Hang on as I’m going to drive close to the gangway and we’re going to load you on. Wrap those around yourselves and when the two men take you each out, hold yourself as still and stiff as you can. We’re passing you off as carpets that have to be stored in the captain’s cabin so they don’t ruin.”

This sounded crazy. “Does that actually work?” Theodora couldn’t keep the question from flying out of her mouth.

“It always has before. It’s dark out and no one is really paying attention to what’s being loaded. Two women walking on the gangplank wild cause much more notice than two carpets being carried onboard.

Remembering the words Esther recently spoke, Theodora did what she could to try to trust the man. “Can’t hurt to try, right?”

“That’s the spirit.” He smiled and placed the tarp back over them.