Sneak Peek of LITTLE SHADOW MAN

What's a good way to celebrate Halloween?

How about checking out an (unedited) sneak peek for LITTLE SHADOW MAN?

This is my horror novella-in progress. 

Warning: It's dark and includes some bad language.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!


Excerpt:

Chapter One

September 17, 2000

There was no way in hell those things were real.

Two perfectly shaped mounds, like igloos of silicone.

They never moved, not even when Marlene sneezed. A cute, adorable sneeze of course. Not a loud, obnoxious sneeze with mucus or god-forbid...germs. No, the 1985 Homecoming Queen only produced precious little sneezes, followed by a giggle.

The two preposterous mounds on her chest didn't shift. Her upper body tilted, her head twitched. Just enough to make her cascade of golden silk sway and mesmerize every man in Solomon's Grocery Mart. But the mounds--nicely encased in a fitted work-out shirt with giant daisies in just the right spot--were immobile.

Jenny tried to look away, but to her shame, she was also mesmerized.

Even when Marlene shot her a look through narrowed eyes, Jenny still stared at the mounds.

How much did those mounds cost?

What would Jenny look like with a boob job like that?

As though she could read her mind--and boy would that be disastrous if it were true--Marlene leaned down close to Jenny in the check-out line and said, "Honey. Don't you know it's rude to stare?"

Jenny's face got hot and she finally looking away, glancing at the dirty floor.

"That'll be nineteen dollars and seventy-five cents." The check-out guy appeared to be talking directly to Marlene's chest.

"Oh dear. I'm a little short today." Marlene's grocery haul included fat-free yogurt and fat-free cookies and diet Coke and an enormous bag of broccoli, which Jenny was convinced was just for show.

People like Marlene Anderson didn't really eat food. They just smoked and popped pills, and occasionally got plastic surgery to keep up appearances. They also slathered on twenty-three pounds of make-up and false eyelashes.

"Uh...wha...what do you mean?" The check-out guy was starting to stammer. A pair of humongous tits could do that to a man.

"Mr. Solomon lets me charge it. Just put it on my account. I'm good for it." Marlene giggled.

The check-out guy glanced at old Mr. Solomon, dressed in head-to-toe polyester, with the tell-tale button popping open right over his impressive gut.

Mr. Solomon nodded at the check-out guy.

Marlene smiled at Mr. Solomon.

Mr. Solomon took a long, lingering glance at Marlene's plastic surgery-enhanced bosom, licked his lips, and then walked away.

What the actual fuck?

Marlene collected her groceries, neatly bagged in her Roxy totes, and turned to Jenny. She smiled at her, one of those pitying smiles.

Jenny took a large dose of satisfaction in the fact that Marlene's lips were chapped. Her burnt orange lipstick had gathered in the dry creases of her mouth.

Not so perfect after all, Miss Homecoming Queen!

"Please tell Jim I said congratulations. You must be so proud of him. Making town council is such an honor." Marlene tilted her head a bit to the side, as though she were trying to figure out what Jenny was all about.

The short, pudgy girl married to a local politician?

The awkward librarian with the blond jock?

How had it happened?

A cloud of perfume drifted down the grocery aisle from Marlene and assaulted Jenny's olfactory system. It was Poison, of course. The perfume that every 1985 cheerleader in Freeland, Massachusetts, swore was their secret weapon.

Jenny knew that scent well.

She herself didn't wear perfume. Why bother when you were a five-foot-tall, chubby suburban housefrau with stretch pants?

Expensive perfume wasn't gonna make a bit of difference.

But that scent was all too familiar.

It was the fragrance that greeted her every night when Jim got home late from work. Doused all over his rumpled white shirt and his shitty suit.

Poison.

Poison would be too good for the likes of Marlene Anderson.

Even though it was an un-Christian sentiment, Jenny hoped that when Marlene Anderson finally kicked the bucket, it would be painful.

Bloody.

And gruesome.

That would knock those mounds right out of place.

Sneak Peek for BLUE

August 19, 1998

Cardin Sentinel

Issue 497

Local Police Updates

Thursday afternoon: Sergeant Rollins answered a call to 72 Blacksmith Avenue on the afternoon of August 19, 1998. Jeremy Welsh, age 75, placed the call at approximately 1:49 pm.

Mr. Welsh complained in the phone call that a family of raccoons had ransacked his dumpster, ripping out trash and flinging it around his backyard. Mr. Welsh was extremely upset because he was hosting a family picnic for later that day, and the raccoons had left a huge mess.

“I already had the picnic tables set with the good paper plates.”

Sergeant Rollins took a cruiser down to Blacksmith to investigate.

He arrived at 3:09 pm.

According to Sergeant Rollins, the Welsh property was in pristine condition when he arrived and Mr. Welsh was sheepish.

Recording of conversation between Sergeant Rollins and Mr. Welsh:

WELSH: They cleaned it up already. Sorry you had to made a trip. How about I get you a cold beer for your troubles?

ROLLINS: I’m sorry Mr. Welsh, but I’m on duty. No beers until I punch out. [pause, background noise of glass] Who exactly cleaned it up?

WELSH: Well, now. That’s a funny thing. It’s a real funny thing.

ROLLINS: Yes, sir. Why don’t you tell me about it?

WELSH: This family of raccoons, they’ve been nothing but trouble. All summer long. They’re driving me crazy.

ROLLINS: What exactly are they doing?

WELSH: [snort] Honest to God, they’re like a bunch of drunk frat boys. They gorge themselves on my garbage, litter, fight in the backyard. They’re noisy, too. Chirping and grunting and whining. I throw bottles at them, and they just duck. I think...they’re laughing at me.

ROLLINS: Mr. Welsh, raccoons can’t laugh.

WELSH: I’m telling you, boy, these raccoons are taunting me. They duck and keep right on ripping apart my KFC buckets.

ROLLINS: Okay, if you say so, Mr. Welsh. [sound of rustling paper] The thing is, Mr. Welsh, I don’t see any sign of litter or vandalism.

WELSH: Yup. That’s the part I’m getting to. The bears.

ROLLINS: Bears.

WELSH: Bears.

ROLLINS: I don’t see any bears, Mr. Welsh.

WELSH: For cripes sakes, the bears are gone! They already cleaned up, and then they took off. It didn’t take them more than ten minutes to straighten up.

ROLLINS: I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Welsh. How many beers have you had? I thought the party didn’t start until 7 pm.

WELSH: [sigh] Damn it, listen to me. The bears showed up, scared off the ‘coons. Then they...then they...

ROLLINS: You sure the bears weren’t your nephews, Mr. Welsh? Maybe playing a joke on you?

WELSH: I think I know the difference between my good-for-nothing nephews and a Black bear. For one thing, the bears have hella better manners. And probably more brain cells to boot.

ROLLINS: So...what happened after that?

WELSH: The bears started to collect the trash. And they chucked it back into the dumpster. [sound of cigarette lighter and Mr. Welsh coughing] There were a bunch of them. Maybe five. Or six? I’ve got the dumpster because I’m fixing up the basement. Wife wants a place to do her crafty stuff. Sewing. And quilting. Already picked out new wallpaper.

ROLLINS: Mr. Welsh, are you telling me that half a dozen Black bears showed up in your backyard, scared off a bunch of unruly raccoons, and then proceeded to clean up your yard?

WELSH: Damned straight. That’s what I’m saying. Look, I gotta get goin’. I have a pick-up order waiting for me at Brighton Burgers. And I think I need more beer.

ROLLINS: Mr. Welsh, no more beer before dinner time. And it would help us out a lot if you stopped calling the station. Okay?

WELSH: I pay taxes just like everyone else. I’ll call when I want to, boy. How old are you, son? You look like you’re about sixteen. Do you even shave yet?

ROLLINS: [speaking into radio] All clear at Welsh residence. No sign of vandalism or rabid animals. Just a bunch of empties in the recycling bin.

FOLLOW-UP REPORT:

James McNichol, PhD and town naturalist, with a degree in zoology from Maine State College, inspected the property the following week. He reported prints from both Procyon lotor (common raccoon) and Ursus americanus (American black bear). There were also copious amounts of raccoon scat, but no bear droppings. He made the observation that the raccoon prints were scattered haphazardly all over the rear property, about a quarter of mile back, just to the forest line. The bear prints were orderly and neat.

Dr. McNichol’s assessment: “Interesting.”