"Tidings of Comfort And Joy"

May merry days be behind and ahead of you, dear Readers! I hope that your Christmas' were filled with family, love, and peace. If you do not celebrate Christmas, the message to you is of course the same, that you are blessed with happiness and love. 

Whether you celebrate Christmas or not, we've all been assailed these last few weeks with Christmas music, for better or worse (I'm a traditonalist - I tend to like non-pop holiday songs, but to each his own). There are many carols that I find moving ("Little Drummer boy", "Oh Come All Ye Faithful", and "Oh Holy Night" come to mind), but it is the lyrics of "God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlement" that I found particularly striking this Christmas season.

Not familiar with it? Nat King Cole did a wonderful rendition of the song: http://youtu.be/_TkXHCWGxQg

The first stanza (I think that's what it is called) goes a bit like this:

"God rest ye merry, gentlemen

Let nothing you dismay

Remember, Christ, our Saviour

Was born on Christmas day

To save us all from Satan's power

When we were gone astray

O tidings of comfort and joy,

Comfort and joy

O tidings of comfort and joy."

The song goes on to describe the miracle of Christs' birth and the celebration of his life, then the song ends with:

"Now to the Lord sing praises,

All you within this place,

And with true love and brotherhood

Each other now embrace;

This holy tide of Christmas

All other doth deface.

O tidings of comfort and joy,

Comfort and joy

O tidings of comfort and joy."

As a peacebuilder, these words of comfort and of a guardian who has come to guide us from fear, hatred and darkness is quite lovely. I particularly love the line: "And with true love and brotherhood each other now embrace." Indeed. Whether you believe in Christ or not, is it such a bad thing for us to celebrate our differences and come together in peace inspired at the very least by the beating of a drumb? Remember all the year round that the same heart beats within all of us, regardless the color of your skin, the flag above your head, the accent you sing, or the God you believe in. We all sleep, eat, breathe and most importantly, we all laugh. Let these humble words be reminders of our brother and sisterhoods. Let that be for you "tidings of comfort and joy" in this new year.

Until next time, 

Your humble author,

S. Faxon

Christmas on the Prado

We're full steam into the Christmas Season. The trees are up, the lights are lit, and there's a magical crispness to the air. The tree I call my own has a "Star" theme. but not the stars you see in the sky. The 152 year old sailing bark, Star of India is the theme of my tree. She is one of the iconic pieces of the San Diego community and has played as a major role in global history, so she gets to be the theme of my mini tree. If you're interested in learning more about our Star, I recommend reading the most recent letter from the Maritime Museum's President/CEO: Year End Letter.

Every city has fun Christmas and Holiday traditions. In my home town, we have a few. One in particular is fairly well known. Well, it's more than a tradition. It's a part of life. A part of our home, memories, history. This isn't so much a ritual, it's a place. A place that you've likely heard about, and it is called Balboa Park.

Every year, Balboa Park hosts Christmas on the Prado, although it is known now as December Nights.....I'll let you decide which one you prefer. Christmas on the Prado is a magical celebration where all of the almost thirty museums are open for free to the public. The park is decorated beautifully with every Christmas wonder imaginable. There is a decorated tree display room, the Youth Ballet puts on abbreviated free performances of The Nutcracker. There is food gallor! (I enjoyed a lobster roll this year - yum!). There's carolers and musical performances at the soon to be 101 year old Spreckles' Organ Pavilion. "Magical" truly does not quite begin to cover how wonderful the festivities are.

This year, I attended with my bestie Victoria, her sisters, brother-in-law, and one very un-chihuahua chihuahua. We had a blast! From enjoying the music in the Prado, to possibly smuggling in a Chihuahua into a venue or two, it was a great night. Yes, the crowds were a tad overwhelming, but even that was something spectacular to be seen. With all of the crazy happenings in the world, it was a joy to see so many splendor-filled faces in a great big public place. Troubles of the world dissipated the second we crossed the Cabrillo Bridge and entered the land made famous by the 1915 World's Fair. I could go on and on about that and perhaps someday I will, you'll just have to keep tuning in to see if it becomes a Weekly Read.

Your Christmas'd out Author,
S. Faxon

"Right Here and Now"

I found this photo and quote of our Mr. Rogers a few days ago on Facebook. My last post was about not judging a book by its cover, metaphorically speaking. Mr. Rogers was a man whose cover was his life. He was a man who sought to make the world a better place by reaching out through innocence to children. He started the program every time by putting on a sweaters hand made by his mama.  A good friend of mine reintroduced me to this well known character Mr. Rodgers, and this quote, is one of my favorites.

Here in the States we just celebrated Thanksgiving. It is a time of family, friends, tradition, and the review of our blessings. Quite a few people lose sight of those blessings and run to the stores to buy things, quite possibly that they did not need. Now, I will admit that I took advantage of the holiday sales on the Saturday before Thanksgiving: I bought a new iPad case, one that is much better for my tool of trade and for my hands (typing novels on these tiny keyboards isn't easy); I also purchased a few pairs of shoes - I wear mine down to the ground, literally, so it was time to bite the bullet and buy new shoes. That being said, I was not seen rushing like madmen into the nearest department store to elbow and punch my way to the "sales". I did not stand in line for hours and hours to save my sacred 40%. No. Do you know what I did on everyone else's black Friday instead? 

I found my peace. I went out on the water and breathed freely. Pearched proudly on my vessel in the cool breeze, I felt the wind in my face and the movement of the water beneath my boat. It was beautiful. Aside from the constant hum of the engine and the whistle of the apparent wind, all was

quiet and still. I wispered into the wind my many thanks for the countless blessings in my life; for wind, for the water, for sunshine. It's the small, ever present wonders in life that I admire and am grateful for the most. Well, for that, and the people in my life that make me laugh. There are so many times when I find I get caught up in this or that. But it's thanks to the people in my life who make me smile that everything seems right once more, no matter how blue or grey the day. One word or one quirky expression from them and I know it's all going to be alright. Do you have those people in your lifes? Or at least one person who makes you laugh? Let them know how much that means to you, even if you've told them a thousand times before. Let them know that they are blessings in your heart and that you will be forever grateful for the laughter no matter the tears in your here and now.

Hopefully this wasn't too philosophical for you all. More shorts are of course to come. I hope that you all enjoyed wonderful Thanksgivings and that you remembered to find your peace.

Like what you've read here? Have I got a treat for you: The Animal Court awaits. 

Until next week.

Your humble author,

S. Faxon

"They Might Have Guns, But We Have Flowers"

For those of you who may be new to my blog, you may not be familiar with my peace-building background. To say the least, I've invested some time in trying to make the world a better place even though it is ever an uphill struggle. The current events that have been all over the news have been rather grim, but it is  videos and messages like the one below that we must turn to to keep us strong: 

The way we, the general public, can help fight cowards like ISIS is this: we must stand strong against hatred and fear and stand strong together in love and peace. Remember always, "they may have guns, but we have flowers." 

Which brings us to this week's edition of your reading escape. Enjoy!

A Book's Cover

The bell above the door rang, singing the entrance of a new potential customer. The thin, late middle-aged keeper of the corner bookshop waved her heavily ringed hand over a stack of her wares to greet the incomer.

"Hi there!" her voice rang in welcome to the person that at first she could not see. The delightful clutter of numerous books on shelves and tables obstructed her view of the door. "Let me know if I can help you find..." her moment of warmth turned tepid once her eyes saw the character that entered her world. 

Mom and pop book shops had the tendency of attracting colorful folks, but this young man took the cake. The two tattooes of hands latched on the skin of his throat were the first detail that she noticed. The silver ring in his nose like one would see on a bull was the second. His long blond hair pulled back in a pony tale, his strong build, and his blue eyes may have made him the hunk in a harlequin romance, but for the worn leather jacket and tattoos on his fingers that read: "Blood First." He was, to say the least, an intimidating figure to have enter a white walled book shop in a small, tight community.

The book keep with the glasses perched at the end of her nose figured that this man may have had more than books on his mind. 

The young man did not notice any greeting or cut-off-thereof from the book keeper behind the counter. He appeared to be on a mission of some sort and with that, he looked relieved to see that no one else was in the bookstore. The same fact left the shop keep unnerved. 

From behind her post, she watched him slowly circle the bookshelves and disappear behind the tall walls filled with colorful spines. She did everything to keep an eye out for him while keeping her cell phone's screen lit. So that she could quickly dial those extra ones and send out a message to save her shop, she pre-dialed a nine to give herself an advantage if he came at her with a knife or a gun. Anything could have been concealed in that lumpy jacket, after all. 

The book keeper cringed with every sound that was made beyond her eyesight. She cursed herself for not installing a monitor with the security camera in the back of the store. He had been back there an awful long time. The cat shaped clock on the wall behind her clicked so loudly as every second passed, that it sounded more like the sharp beat of a drum. 

The bell over the door rang again and the poor shop keep nearly jumped out of her skin from fright. 

"Hi, Sally!" a long time regular with a smile as wide as the canvas bag he carried greeted loudly. "Did you get a chance to see the most recent Weekly Read?"

Just at that moment the young man reappeared with a small stack of books tucked under his arm. 

The smile of greeting was swiped right from Mr. Drat's face as the pierced and tattooed man emerged. It was the scowl on the man's face and the mean look in his eyes that strung fear throughout the knitted-sweater-wearing regular. 

With bold, strong strides the man approached the counter. 

Sally was frozen with fear. 'Great,' she thought heavily, 'Now he has two hostages."

The man plopped the books on the counter and quickly reached inside his jacket.

Sally and Mr. Drat's faces went pallid, but before they could scream, the scowl on the young man's face turned into a light, pleasant smile.

"Afternoon," he pleasantly greeted. "This is a great little shop you've got here, ma'am." He pulled out from his jacket a humble, black pocket book.

Sally and Mr. Drat sighed dramatically. Neither had been so relieved in their lives.

"Thanks," Sally answered mechanically, "Did you find everything okay?" She reached for the books. She was so drained by this experience that she almost missed the titles of the book the man had picked up. There were three: two were about organic diets for breast-feeding mothers and the other two contained advice for parents that had children with Down Syndrome.

"Yes, ma'am," he answered. A proud, bright expression erupted on his face. "I've been looking all over town for these and you had them. My wife and I are new parents and she just gave birth to the most beautiful boy." 

The man with the tattoos and gruff exterior proceeded to show Sally and Mr. Drat the hundreds of photos of his wife and new son. He explained that they had known for sometime that their boy would have challenges and that reading these types of books provided great comfort. 

"You just be sure to bring that boy in here as often as you can, Nick," Sally invited as she walked the young man to his Prius. "After all, it takes a village." She smiled motherly and patted him on the shoulder.

"That's a promise, Sally," Nick assured. With a handshake to his new friend, Nick jumped in his white Prius and was off. 

Standing out in front of her shop. Sally was glad for the cool November breeze. It helped to clear her head. With a sigh, she kicked herself. 'I'm perpetually surrounded by book covers,' she thought. 'I of all people should have known better than to judge.'

FIN

Hope you all didn't find the blog plug too hokey. And I also hope/wish you all a very wonderful, family filled Thanksgiving. Take the time to remember all of the small beautiful things in your life without which the days would be a little less bright. Take time to remember the great blessings in your life and, after the friends and the family have cleared out, the dishes cleaned, and the leftovers neatly packed away, remember to take time to yourself to find a little peace. Who knows, maybe you can find that peace by curling up with a good read.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Your humble author,

S. Faxon

PS - A GREAT big thanks thanks is owed to Gwen who gave me a lovely lined notebook. That was very sweet! I can assure you, the pages will be filled. THANK YOU, GWEN!!!

Grandma's Chair

As my loyal readers are likely aware, I was quite close with my grandma. She and I were the best of pals and we spent an awful lot of time together. For the first seven years of my life, my family lived at my grandma's house and every day was a new adventure, even the rainy days. (And I can recall quite a few of those as a child.) I remember grandma giving my sisters and me black plastic bags to use as rain coats. We'd cut out holes for our arms and head and then run around in the rain. We didn't have video games and had this remarkable thing called, "imagination," which allowed us to play without technology for hours and hours outside.

Of course, it helped that Grandma's house was a magical place. It was so beautifully furnished as grandma took painstaking care to ensure that everything was dusted daily, a chore she did while listening to swing or gospel music on her stereo. There were a great many pieces of handcrafted furniture in her home and all had been carefully selected to go with the colors of her home (when I was growing up, she had yellow and brown wall paper...it was about as interesting as it sounds), but eventually the walls were painted green. I remember after grandma had the house painted when I was a young teen, I said something to her that made her just laugh and laugh. The kitchen had just been painted green and at the time I was anti-green for some silly teenage reason (now it is one of my favorites). I turned to my grandma after evaluating the situation and said, "Grandma, I can't cook in a green kitchen." She thought that was hilarious. She had such a wonderful sense of humor and the cutest laugh!

At the end of the day, grandma would settle down in her green lazy boy rocking chair. My sisters will quickly tell you that this was the second lazy-boy that she owned, but this chair, this is the only one that I recall. This is grandma's chair. When I would spend Friday nights, she would sit in that chair and we would watch Frazier while eating home cooked dinners together. When I wasn't feeling well as a small child, she would hold me in that chair and rock me to sleep. When I'd lay across her lap, cat like, she used to sketch out images on my back with her finger to see if I could determine the shape she drew.

Our cats, Pepsi and Amy, would compete for space on her lap in that chair. She would shake her fist, yelling and screaming at the Chargers in that chair (yes, grandma was an ENORMOUS Chargers fan. I can specifically remember her yelling at Rivers in her later years.) She would watch her one half hour of soaps in that chair and never once missed an episode of The Bold and the Beautiful. 

After she passed away, as we were preparing to sell my grandma's house, there was one piece I knew I would not let be donated: the chair. My folks thought it would take up too much space in our house, but by golly to me, that chair is grandma's love and as such, I could not let it go.

So we kept the chair. It has occupied many different rooms in the house of my parents and it has endured a bit more than your average wear and tear for a sitting spot. For starters, our old cats Pepsi and Amy fancied the chair as their high class scratching post as cats do.

There were dust stains and faded spots alongside the rips, but with some tender love and care, a spool of thread, two arched needles, canvas patches, and many ice packs for my back, (which now also needs some TLC), the chair is looking rather well.

Repairing the chair has been a nice meditative project for me. This January will mark ten years since my grandma passed. Memories and fabric fade, but there are some things that can be preserved if not for "forever", at the very least for a couple more weeks.

Hopefully that memory piece for you that you have buried underneath shoe boxes in the closet, or have stowed out in the garage will come to mind and you'll give it a little love and a little of your time. If there's a piece that's pulled at your heartstrings that you want to share, leave a line in the comments - perhaps you'll inspire others as well.

Craft on, dear readers, and we'll see you next week!

Your humble author,
S. Faxon

Among the Trees

In the last week, my workplace has endured waves of the stomach flue and of head colds. We're a couple of pounds lighter and feeling like partial investors in products like Imodium, Airborn, and Emergen-C, all for which we have been quite grateful. We are good sharers at my work place - not only did we share our bouts of illnesses, we shared many good home remedies and many laughs over our communal bugs. Ugh.

A bit of a sad, short one, so if you're in a lousy mood and looking for something to lift your spirits, this may not be it. If you are looking for something uplifting, read last week's short, The Road, or skip down to the YouTube link below for two minutes of cuteness.

I wrote this poem after going on a long walk through Balboa Park, a local/beautiful part of San Diego. I saw a tree that was twisted as if it was trying to bring something closer. Growing around, over, and among the tree was a collection of wild, dark leafed ivy. It was inspiring, albeit dark. But, it is October, the month of dark, spooky tales, so here goes!

Among the Trees

Once there was a woman whose heart had been destroyed from losing her only one. It was not love that was stolen from them, but life.

She ran to the forest and found safety in the raised root arms of a tree. She wept and wept and wept. Her tears flowed in such a rush that the ivy in which she nestled among came to life. 

Earth deeply pitied this sapling mangling for her fears.

The arms of the ivy stretched and grew around her, trying to pull her into a tender embrace. But the ivy had no knowledge of the frailties of man and so the ivy squeezed until the poor broken soul could no longer breathe. 

The tears and her fears were ebbed. The poor broken soul now lie dead. Her spirit was free, yet doomed to wander as a haunting memory.

And now a video of ridiculous cuteness to make you laugh and smile again:

http://youtu.be/MxwH9RbQzJ0

Until next week, dear readers!

Your humble author,

S. Faxon 

The Road

A really good friend of mine recently lost a loved one. She was going through a particularly difficult time, so I lent her my ear and wrote her a letter. With her permission, I am going to share that letter with you in case anyone else out there is going through the same, I sure hope this helps you too.

The Road

Losing a loved one is the same as losing a good part of your soul. It doesn't matter who they are in your life or how they leave, the hole is the same. Time, they say, heals all wounds, but there are some that reach too deep. You will not be the same as you were before them. Do not expect that and do not expect things to go back to the way they were. The person who you loved made up a part of you and though they are gone, though you feel a hair better than the dead, they live on through you.

Their laugh, their love, their influence remains. No one can take that from you. If they were your strength, let them still be your strength. If they were your happy thought, let memories of them fill you with that bright, glow of happiness. But let these emotions, these powers start in different ways. You know how strong you felt when they were with you. Recall that feeling that the world was yours when you looked in their eyes. The world is still yours.

The sun still rises.

Breathe.

Take slow, deep breaths.

The road ahead is long and there are many rough points ahead, but you will endure. You will persevere. You will get through.

Who knows what awaits at the end of the road, but that end is an awful long way from where you are now. Enjoy the ride and don't forget to look back and realize all that you have overcome.

Stay strong, my dear, readers. I assure you, it is going to get better.

Your humble author,
S. Faxon

Grandma Faxon

I have a profound and distinct memory of my grandma jumping out from behind the front door wearing a gruesome witch's mask. One would think that as a five year old that event would have absolutely scared me for life and that the mention of witches or grandmas would leave me trembling. But, that is not the case. I remember laughing with my grandma once she removed the mask. Of course I knew it was my best pal beneath that creepy mask, but that mask meant something great was coming - Halloween.

Halloween and my grandma are synonymous in my mind. Yes, at first glance that may seem extremely strange, so allow me to explain.

The house that I grew up in was perfect for Halloween. A long thin walkway spanned a two level front yard. The white pained walk led to twelve, red brick stairs. The lower terrace had long, thick shrubs that ran parallel with the street. The second terrace had a long, white plaster, red brick topped wall that ran the length of the property in the front. One thin, sickly looking tree stood tall and alone on the left upper grassed terrace. On the right side there was a single, lush tree that covered half of the small front patio. It partially concealed the three paneled-windowed nook that my grandma called her room. On the far side of the front yard there were three, gigantic shrubs that reached to the second story of the house. Back on the porch there was a black mail box, a door bell from the thirties, and a hanging, wooden two-seater swing. If you're a House Haunter like me, you're probably drooling with the ideas of the countless possibilities. And let me tell ya, we took great advantage of the beautiful layout of that house for Halloween (and Christmas, for those of you who are wondering, but we'll get there).

For over FIFTY years my grandma, her creativity and that house won the unnoficial contest of Scariest House in the neighborhood. She loved Halloween and she loved hosting parties, traditions that she passed on to me. I wish we had the foresight to take photos of the house when it was dolled up for Halloween. I'll never forget one time when the front of the house made a little boy cry on the street because he absolutely did NOT want to approach our house. It was great.

Our approach was simple; surprise and imagination. We never did gore and we didn't go for the slasher nonsense. We had hanging ghosts that lit up, shook, and screamed, triggered by unsuspecting victims shouting, "Trick or Treat." We concealed the front porch with black plastic, making people shake at the knees for fear of what lie behind the curtains. For it is the unknown that scares folks the most. I recall we once had a skeleton hanging from our sad little pathetic tree that we wound in cobwebs. Side note, here's a pet peeve of mine - when people glob the fake spider web on bushes and on their houses. It looks like snow, not like the webs of spiders. Take the time to spread it out folks, make it look real. Now, if you're going for the "Cutsie" Halloween, that's fine. But if you're trying to make small children cry and adults shudder in fear, spread the web.

I've painted a rather creepy picture of my Halloweens at grandma's, but they weren't only about tricks. There were also treats. Loads of treats. My grandma was the best hostess, complete with pearls. (Another tradition she passed to me - wearing some now as it happens).

Grandma used to handmake popcorn balls. She would spread butter over her hands so that she could handle the hot popcorn without burning herself. She would make popcorn balls to hand out to the brave ones who made it through the tricks as they had earned their treats. There was a traditional drink we made for all of the parties - it was simple; green sherbet and seven up in a deep bowl. We'd put the bowl in a cauldron and have dry ice below, so it looked like something wicked was brewing. It made for a tasty potion.

The parties that my grandma held were legendary. I remember one where we had the outside of the house, the entire inside AND backyard decked out in Halloween. We turned the upstairs into a "haunted room" and it was fantastic. There must have been over 50 people there, all in costume. There were games, food, music, and laughter. It was a wonderful party. I was probably six, but I remember it like yesterday. Grandma's house was and remains to be in my heart a source of sunshine and hope even on days when the skies are grey. I return to her home often in memory and in dream. This time of year I feel especially close to my grandma and that home. 

So that, dear readers is why I love Halloween. Even though my grandma has been gone for just under ten years now, I feel that if I can keep her tradition of Halloween alive, then she will always be here with me. I hear her laughter. I feel her kiss on my cheek. I recall the smell of her jewelry box. It's those little details of herr that I miss the most, but those details, and my dear sweet Grandma live on. She lives through me and through Halloween.

Looks like I found a photo of my grandma on Halloween:

Thank you, my dear readers, for sticking with me week after week. You have no idea how healing these blogs are for me as I hope they are for you. Thank you for tuning in and I will write you all again next week.

Your humble author, 

S. Faxon

The House of Red and Black Conclusion

Welcome to the exciting conclusion of the House of Red and Black. While unfortunately we did not quite reach our goal of $100, enough of you responded to let me know that you're out there and I cannot thank you enough! So my dear readers, are you ready? If this is your first time here, you may want to take two steps back to the beginning of this tale: The House of Red and Black. For the rest of you, enjoy!

The House of Red and Black Conclusion

The mechanism that made the world turn was a machine of uncomplicated means, but it required weekly winding. The Key to the Dawn allowed the operator to wind the machine and was necessary to keep hooligan youth from disrupting the ways of the world below. The people on terra firma did not adjust well to change.

The people on Earth knew that every single day, night's darkness would end and the sun would rise precisely at 7:15am. This is how life on Earth had begun since before the memory of time. If the Mechanism of the Dawn were to go without being wound, the turning of the Earth would begin to slow and as such the night would become longer and longer. Gradually, all life on Earth would change until enveloped in a cold state of ever-night.

Lady Farcey knew that with all of the scandal following the realization of her fall from grace that the Kingdom of the Clouds had forgotten the previous fiasco - that Covetina had been given that precious task of winding the mechanism weekly. People were far too busy assuming the reason why Lady Farcey fell; they thought it was because she had crept into the house of Lord Night with the intent of becoming his bride. None but Lady Farcey knew that Covetina no longer possessed the Key to the Dawn and that foul creature was so busy reveling in her greatest wicked achievement that she failed to remember the task that had been given to her.

Revenge would be only too easy.

As Lady Farcey walked about the clouds with the eyes of former friends adverting from her, every step made her plan more and more clear. It tickled her to think that it would be so simple and yet so powerful.

'This will work,' she deduced as she sat alone watching the rose and golden hues of sunset. 'And it will be something that none in this kingdom will ever forget.'

~*~*~

In her dress of black, Lady Farcey was able to slip through the shadow laden paths in the clouds, looking, searching for one citizen of their kingdom. There was but one who could help her cause.

It was almost to that hour when the stars took their mid-shift nap when at last she found him.

Lord Night was busy conducting a lovely, glittery concert of shooting stars when Lady Farcey drew beside him.

A small smile came across his face as from the side of his perception he saw the woman in black. She did not interrupt him and she took great pleasure in watching this master work. In all of her years, she never failed to be amazed by the subtle beauties of the universe.

Lord Night eventually pushed away the dancing stars to another sector of the galaxy so not to be rude to his unexpected company. "My dear Lady Farcey," he kindly, softly greeted. Though he spent most of his time alone, he was always the most amiable company. "How may I be of service to you?"

The fact that she now wore black clearly did not disturb or bother Lord Night, which was precisely what Lady Farcey had been anticipating. This man was far too pure a soul to give a damn about the boundaries between their classes.

Quietly, Lady Farcey began to explain, "I know that you are aware of my fall. I know that you are also a keen and clever man; you know that the hours of your work are beginning to elongate."

Lord Night smiled again. He chuckled and said, "I had begun to notice, yes." He rested his hands over his hips, striking a 'what next' stance. "Allow me to guess; Covetina is failing at the task given to her. A task, may I assume, that she tried to give to you? For why else would you have been coming into my home, but to give me the key?"

Lady Farcey was filled with hope. If he had already pieced together all of this, asking a favor would seem like nothing at all. "Yes," she answered at length. "Yes, she thought that you would take this willingly." She pulled out from her black robes the Key to the Dawn. "You are a master of your craft. Covetina pursued me into bringing this to you as you would surely never fail to see through the task of waking the mortal world below. And though I know that this is true, I have a monumental favor to ask of you."

The way that the stars he arranged above shone upon the white glowing face of Lady Farcey made any task seem as small as a breath. "Anything," he answered, enchanted by how lovely she looked in black.

"Help us," she whispered, enclosing her fingers around the key. "Help us to show her catastrophic faults to the universe by letting the dawn go. Let the night close in below."

The prospect was fascinating. Terrifying, yet intriguing. The ramifications of not winding the mechanism could be disastrous. Not reporting that the night was growing longer and longer placed his position in the kingdom in jeopardy. However, helping this beautiful soul before him to avenge those wronged by the fool hearty king appeared to be the most noble of deeds.

Sweeping his red cloak back, inviting Lady Farcey to take his arm, Lord Night said, "Come, Lady Facey, have I ever shown you the lion that I have drawn with the stars?"

~*~*~

At first no one noticed that on the lands below that the night was growing longer. The weather was ever-fine. The breezes remained warm and comforting. People continued to bask in the perfect glory of the sun that they had always known.

That is until in the night one cool breeze blew. It was so soft and so subtle that no one took notice. The next night, the same coolness doubled. The next it tripled. People thought it strange, but nothing to fret. Life went on.

However, one morning, the fields, the trees, the eaves were laden with something never before seen. All the villagers in all the lands came out from their homes to stare at the foreign substance that invaded their perfect lives. It was white, cold to the touch, and it clung to every surface; frost. 'Frost!' they deduced in a hurly burly with bitterness and fear. How could their perfect world be changing? What had they done to deserve this wicked cold?

The queer happenings did not stop here. The very leaves in the trees began to change colors. The beautiful rich greens faded to shades of earth never before seen. Browns, golds, reds. Beautiful, yes, but foreign, unnatural!

The fall of the perfect lives of the people on Earth soon further devolved. Food would no longer grow. People began to drop from starvation and cold. They had no idea how to prepare or how to face this emerging foe.

The citizens in the Kingdom of the Clouds were growing scared and confused. In memory, Earth had never grown so lost in grey and white. In enormous droves people began to go to their king. With Lady Farcey tucked away in shame, the king was the only one to whom they could turn for aid. However, for weeks the king turned a blind eye to the woes and whims of his people, hoping, praying that this would all go away. His secluded world with Covetina was filled with nothing but perfection, so his subjects HAD to be exaggerating.

Weeks turned to months before finally the constant complaining drew the king out from his high walled bastion.

"LOOK!" Regulars and members of both Red and Black houses demanded of their king.

The king, still thinking his subjects to be nothing but dramatists, slowly swanked his way to the window to the world. His subjects gathered around the eye to Earth and pointed anxiously to the lands. The king bent over to peer below, expecting to see nothing but life and prosperity below. However, what he saw was a cascading landscape of white in great want of life.

"How can this be?" the king cried. "Why is the world covered in ice?"

It was in this moment that Covetina realized to her horror her error. But she was no fool. She kept her lips sealed. She slowly began to creep away from her king.

The people were as flabbergasted as the king. A whirl of rumors and guesses surfaced in a loud mess of voices until a body in the crowd realized, "The dawn! The mechanism of the Dawn!"

"It must be broken!" another shouted in response.

"It must be fixed!" replied the king. He was resolute to see this procedure through. "To the Mechanism of the Dawn!"

The masses began to rush away, but for one woman in black.

"Wait," her sage voice called out to the crowd.

Once all heads were facing her, Lady Farcey began to speak. "The fault lies not with the machine."

The king pushed his way forward to the front of the crowd. He wanted to scream and shout at her to step down, but his instincts were stopped short. A small object had taken his attention.

Lady Farcey held up the Key to the Dawn for all eyes to see.

People began to whisper and wonder how it was possible for Lady Farcey to have the key.

"Wasn't Covetina given that task?" several began to ask.

"Did she lose the key?" 

"Why does Lady Farcey have that?"

Lady Farcey tried to find Covetina within the crowds, but she knew that the coward had likely stolen away. This prospect did not bring her any worry. The costs of that woman's actions had come back to haunt her at last.

"Explain yourself, Farcey!" the king demanded.

Keeping her ever calm, Lady Farcey nodded her head and began; "On the eve of my fall , Covetina approached me with this key. She asked that I pass on the task to Lord Night. It was for this reason that I was caught within his home - I was merely performing the task given to me by my future queen. You see, in her folly-driven efforts to have me fall from grace, Covetina forgot one thing; that the Mechanism of the Dawn had to be turned so that life would not become a frozen wasteland on Earth. As you can see," she motioned to the window to the world, "She has failed at her task."

"YOU, Farcey," the king screamed, "You have failed at the task. Why did you not surrender the key to me?"

A small smile swept on her face. "I tried on the day when I fell from grace. After that, I obeyed; for you see, I wear black, which means that I am in the house forbidden to speak to the king." Lady Farcey threw the Key of the Dawn to the feet of the king. "Your mistress has brought the fall of Earth, not I. Your mistress has stricken ice and suffering into the hearts of the people below and for what? To slake the jealous rages of her heart. She could not stand to see any other other woman be respected by you, our king. And what has this win brought t' her but the death and despair of our people below?"

The king stared at the key laying at his feet.

The people in the crowd watched him and Lady Farcey in disbelief. They could not believe that so much suffering had come from one soul's foolishness.

To everyone's shock, the king bent his knees and reached for the key. It felt like the weight of the world in his hands. When he stood, he quietly asked, "Why did you let this go on for so long?"

Lady Farcey inhaled deeply. This was the most difficult choice she ever had made, but there had been no other way. "To save you, my king, and our world." The people were beginning to understand, far faster than their king. "The constricting grasp that woman held around you left you blind to her wickedness. Your friends and your people have been coming to you for months to tell you of the changes below, this started in October, but it is only now in February that you notice. The world below will be restored to its original glory, but it will take time. It will be weeks before the Mechanism is able to be wound back to its proper speed without damaging Earth."

"Very good," the king said, starting to stand up proudly once more. "And then we'll ensure that this never happens again."

"Precisely," Lady Farcey agreed, but she knew that her means were quite different from the king's. "I propose that in order to ensure that you never lose sight again of what is right and just, that each and every year from now until the end of time, the world below repeats this cycle. I propose we make it so that the people below may spring out from this era of darkness to enjoy their summer's sun, but that they endure a fall again so to ever remind us of the win for her...best yet, let us call this period of suffering 'winter.' Let us never forget, let us never be blinded by glory for hollow victories."

The king had never before felt so ashamed. He knew that this was all of his fault. He peered around at all of the faces around him. Their kingdom had never before felt so cut and dry. It didn't matter which way he looked - there were only three colors and they had never before appeared so plain. Perhaps it was the void of color below that inspired his next decision, but in retrospect he would always accredit the wise Lady Farcey for this choice. The king sighed heavily. There was but one thing to do. "My dear Lady Farcey. I would not hold an ill will against you if you never forgave me for my actions against you and this kingdom. But please, I pray that this begins to make amends to you and to you, my people, for my foolishness." The king swept his arms up and in one brilliant all encompassing flash, all of the colors that had been stolen from Earth in winter filled the dresses, trappings, and clothing of the people. The colors of red, black, and white that had long defined the classes in the kingdom were nothing more but subtle hues in the intermixed, colorful dressings of the people.

Lady Farcey's eyes filled with tears. She never had anticipated that the king's newly found humility would drive him to at last erase the only thing in this kingdom that was a true source of shame.

The king looked out all around. The looks of sheer happiness on the faces of his people made him feel proud once more to be their king. Once the initial waves of joy were passed, the king raised his hands and said, "Let it be known that shame and pride will no longer be measured by colors or house or class. Let us never covet power, attention or greed. Indeed, let us follow the example of Lady Farcey who risked everything to remind us all of what is right."

Dressed in hues of blues and white, Lady Farcey had never felt happier. She knew that there was one citizen who, if not literally, would always wear black in the eyes of their Kingdom. Covetina may have escaped persecution today, but she would never be allowed to forget what her wickedness caused. Lady Farcey knew that her king would never again fall into the trap of desire or folly. Her own fall was at an end. There was nothing left to do but to rise.

End

I hope you enjoyed your stay in the Kingdom of the Clouds and I will see you next week!

Your humble author,
S. Faxon

The First of October

Good morning, everyone!

Happy first day of October. A thousand beautiful memories of fall have flooded my thoughts. I revisited the time I went Apple picking on an extremely cold day in New York state with a bus load of my college friends. There was the time when I went to Salem, Mass with two friends to see the seaside city and to try to find remnants of my ancestors. And then there are the thousands of memories around Halloween, which I'll get to soon enough, my dear readers. For those of you who have been with me a while, you know what's coming - a Halloween short. And do you know what? It's already written and I can assure you, it'll get your blood pumping and your heart racing.

But now to business. We've already raised $25 in small, but powerful increments! Thank you very much to my supporters. If you'd like to help this author know that you all are reading and appreciating my works, check out how YOU can contribute:

By donating the following amounts directly to my PayPal page you'll receive:

$1 -$19 will receive thank you emails from me.

$20-40 will receive hand written thank you notes and have their first names/Twitter feeds mentioned as demonstrations of my gratitude on Twitter.

$41-75 will receive all the above and a surprise gift.

$76-100 will receive all of the above, including the surprise gift, AND a never before read Sonnet written by yours truly.

If you make a gift please leave your name and email on Paypal so that I may contact you directly. TRULY I would not be writing without you, dear readers, so please help me to know that you are out there by donating to: https://www.paypal.me/SFaxon

Even if you don't have the money, let me know you are here by leaving a comment or by sharing my blog with your friends, family, Twitter, or Facebook. It all means something wonderful!

Have a great first day of October and I'll be writing to you again soon!

Your humble author,

S. Faxon

Fall Fundraiser

Alrighty, readers, let's keep this fundraiser going! I received my first donation of five dollars, so we are $95 away from our goal of reaching $100 by Saturday. If you are ready to give an author hope that her works are meaningful click here: paypal.me/SFaxon

If you are interested to see how You can help, keep on reading! If you go to my paypal me page you may donate ANY amount that you choose and you'll receive the following corresponding goodies from me:

$1 -$19 will receive thank you emails from me.

$20-40 will receive hand written thank you notes and have their first names/Twitter feeds mentioned as demonstrations of my gratitude on Twitter.

$41-75 will receive all the above and a surprise gift.

$76-100 will receive all of the above, including the surprise gift, AND a never before read Sonnet written by yours truly.

If you make a gift please leave your name and email on Paypal so that I may contact you directly.

Thank you for all of your support in this Fall Fundraising Campaign! I cannot begin to tell you how much this means to me.

See you tomorrow! 

Your humble author,

S. Faxon

The House of Red And Black Part Two

Hello, good friends! Here we have reached the end of another week. It looks like you all are in need of a story that can distract you from the grinds of your day. No matter how big or small, this blog and these posts are here to help you find a small slice of distraction and peace.

If you missed last week's post or if you a here for the first time (welcome!), but you may want to take a step back and start with part one: The House of Red and Black Part 1. 

For the rest of you, enjoy! 

The House of Red and Black

Part 2

The red dress of Lady Farcey swiveled the clouds into independent puffs as she crossed the way. Her eyes were sharply locked on the humble home of Lord Night. Of all the occupants in the land, he was by far the most humble, regardless of class. The shack in which he lived was simple, bare even, save for the thick grey curtains that swayed in the gentle breeze. These were the most important detail of the house, according to Lord Night. It was because of these curtains that he was able to sleep. They blocked out all light from the sun, which was handy for a soul who slept from sun-up to sun-down. It was then when his duties of setting up the sunset’s twilight colors and igniting the stars began. It was a heavy toll being Lord Night, but he was happy for the work, so long as he could sleep during the day. Otherwise, the people on the world below were in for a rough night.

The key to the dawn weigh heavy in Lady Farcey’s pocket. Being caught in the home of Lord Night was an offense so dyer that the punishment for which was unbearable. Even though Lady Farcey knew that she possessed the stealth and the wisdom to pass through unnoticed, these thoughts did little to assuage her nearly shot nerves.

With the delicacy of a seasoned thief, Lady Farcey opened the front door but a crack. She slipped inside.

Darkness greeted her. Lady Farcey inhaled deeply and kept her eyes wide. She knew that a minute or two would need to pass for eyes to adjust. The darkness did not terrify her half as much as the thought of being caught. This time passed like skin over sandpaper. Eventually, slowly, almost painfully, her eyes began to make out shadows, then sharper forms. She released the breath that had been burning in her lungs.

“Why could this not have waited until Lord Night was awake?” she wondered as she inched towards the only other door within the shack, behind which Lord Night slumbered. “Why did Covetina send me in here to do this deed?”

Lady Farcey’s red skirt touched the base of the closed door. Her heart was pounding. Her breath shook.

Her hand reached out for the brass knob, but she did not have a chance. 

The front door crashed open. 

A torturous blast of white light flooded the room, blinding Lady Farcey, dropping her to her knees. Her eyes burned through to the back of her head from the pain.

“There she is!” the cold, cruel voice of the wicked Covetina screeched. 

“Farcey!” a deep, thunderous male voice shouted.

Lady Farcey’s heart and stomach dropped. Covetina had brought the king.

“HOW DARE YOU DEFY ME!” the king billowed. There was no fear of the king waking Lord Night as the door was as tightly sealed as any vice - no noise from the outside world would penetrate that aperture.

Lady Farcey could not yet clearly see the king, but she was pleading with eyes full of tears for him to listen to her explain. But the king’s mind had long been won by the poisoned words of the wicked Covetina. All he heard was the voice of his seductress playing his actions like a master puppeteer. “Lady Farcey, you know better than most the laws of our kingdom and yet here you stand in blatant defiance of our laws. Damn you, Lady Farcey, I damn you to the House of Black!”

Through her eyes blurred from tears and from the adjustment to the light, Lady Farcey could just begin to see the cruel smile of Covetina. The purpose of this woman's plot was clear to Lady Farcey at last; it had been in the wicked woman's plan the entire time to trap Lady Farcey as until this point she was the only woman that could dare to stand between Covetina and the king.

Lady Farcey did not have the chance to feel the knife within her back before a gale-strength rush of wind swept into the humble home and overtook the weeping Lady Farcey, concealing her and everything around her in black.

~*~*~

Every resident of the Kingdom in the Clouds attended Sunday's mass with the exception of Lord Night. He alone was allowed to miss the words of God as he was the closest with the greatest deity. 

In order to keep the classes of the kingdoms separated, the House of Red took the seats on the left and right of the forward saloon. The Regulars filled the many aisles in the enormous brightly lit, white marble cathedral. In the fullest reach of the church sat the members of the House of Black. There were less than one hundred seated here. Many could not stand the shame, finding their fates worse than death. They were the first to walk in to mass and the last to leave. This way, all could see their faces, further building their shame. 

There was one spot in the church that was the grim pinnacle of shame. It stood square before the altar. The royal box beside the altar was able to look down upon the pair of chairs where the two worst offenders against their society were planted. This was where the fallen queen in her robes of black sat. Her head remained high, for her elegance never died. However, behind the glass of her eyes one could see that the same could not be said of her pride.

Mass commenced promptly at 8am. For the most part the parishioners arrived early to drop their donations in the coffers to light their candles. The colors of the brightly burning candles corresponded with the colors of the Houses. The candles of the Regulars ran with wax of white, the House of Red and Black sweat similarly. Three tall pillars were illuminated every Sunday at the back of the cathedral with these burning wicks. Two attendants of the Regulars' class kept an eye on the burning candles and helped to light the candles for the donors. 

At first when the last parishioner to enter the church made her donation of a penny to the jar to pay for her candle, nothing seemed awry. She wore her lovely black dress and as such reached for her black candle. 

"Here you are, ma'am," the attendant kindly said, but as soon as his eyes met the face of the woman in black, his hand dropped the black candle onto the white clothed table. He could not believe what his eyes were plainly telling him was the truth.

The other attendant heard the candle drop and rushed over to see if a lit candle had fallen, but she too was taken aback upon seeing this woman's face. 

In the background, the beautiful and dramatic opening hymn began to hum out from the church's attendees.

Not wanting to be terribly late, the woman in black calmly picked up her candle and respectfully lit the wick using the flames of candles from her new house. With her well known gentility, she delicately placed the burning candle alongside its bright brothers and sisters. She made eye contact with the two attendants, with not a hint of shame on her face.

She turned to take the long walk to the front of the church where she knew she belonged.

With long, graceful strides, she walked down the aisle of the church. Though the musicians continued to strum and play their morning hymnal, whispers immediately began to break the beautiful tune. People could not believe what they were seeing. Surely this elegant woman in black was a hallucination. 

With her head held high, the woman who nearly stopped the entire church procession, stepped forward and into the pillar to sit where she belonged, beside the shamed former queen.

The former queen Antionetta looked upon her company with awe, confusion and fear. 'No,' the former queen thought painfully. 'What madness must have occurred to bring this sweet soul here?'

Lady Farcey saw the expression and the pain in the queen's face, but her own continued to hold a stoic look of pride. Yes, she was in black, but she knew that her part in this plot was not over yet. Lady Farcey looked to the Royal box and stared directly at the king and Covetina. They looked at her dumbly, snickering as if they were adolescents who had played a cruel prank upon an undeserving enemy. Their childish cruelty was of no consequence for Lady Farcey. She sat in the stiff, wooden throne of shame alongside the former queen. 

Music and whispers blend together in the chapel, but Lady Farcey heard none of it. In one, graceful swoop, she looked to the former queen and through the intense gaze of her eyes said, "We shall have revenge."

~*~*~

What will happen next?!?!?!

Well folks, if you are at the edge of your seat and you can't wait to see what happens next, I'm in need of YOUR help to finish the story. That's right, as a starving writer, my craft and your escape needs support. Here's how YOU can help!

Click on this link paypal.me/SFaxon to raise our goal of $100 by October 3. What?! A hundred dollars in a week? That's nothing. I have full faith that we will reach our goal in a week. I will be posting DAILY updates to keep you informed on how we are doing.

Now, you must be wondering, what will you get in return for your contribution? Allow me to explain:

$1 -$19 will receive thank you emails from me.

$20-40 will receive hand written thank you notes and have their first names/Twitter feeds mentioned as demonstrations of my gratitude on Twitter.

$41-75 will receive all the above and a surprise gift.

$76-100 will receive all of the above, including the surprise gift, AND a never before read Sonnet written by yours truly.

If you make a gift please leave your name and email on Paypal so that I may contact you directly.

Your contributions help this author know that people my craft is helping to make your days more bright. That message is one that authors like me appreciate the most.

I'll see you soon, dear readers, and I thank you in advance for your support in this Fall Fundraising Campaign!

Your humble author,

S. Faxon

@readingescape

The House of Red and Black

Good evening, my dear readers,

I've got a short story for you! I hope your weeks have been filled with fantastic events and that you don't require too much distraction, but if so, here you go! Enjoy

The House of Red and Black

In the kingdom in the clouds there were three classes of society: the Regulars, those who comprised the working classes – the maids, the bakers, the candlestick makers; then there was the House of Red, the upper echelons that held their heads up with pride and were regarded with great respect; then there was the House of Black, those who were shamed. Only the greatest of offenses marked one as a wearer of black and thus it was with great scandal that one of the highest regarded members of the Red fell from grace and was forced to dawn the Devil’s blanc.

Margaret Farcey, a lady of the House of Red was adored by those around her. She was a gentle soul with mercy and care as the rules that governed her life. The people in the kingdom often came to her for advice, for she was wise. Regardless the situation or the class, she would play as mediator to the issues that afflicted their hearts. She never turned a trouble away, which proved to be the spark of her demise.

On a clear, sun filled day, Covetina, the squeeze of the King came to the open door of Lady Farcey. 

As soon as Covetina’s red dress breezed through Margaret’s doorway, a feeling of dread fell upon the lady. Covetina was known to be cruel and viciously jealous. Great scandal came upon the clouds when she stole the throne from their previous queen, who now sat front and center in the great hall dressed in robes of black.

Yet, Margaret’s heart was pure and her intent was to bring counsel to any and all who crossed her path. ‘Perhaps she has come to seek reprieve,’Lady Farcey thought greenly. 

“Come in, Covetina,” Margaret welcomed. “Come in from the clouds and tell me your tales.”

A smile of intrigue passed across Covetina’s face. She knew that her king had often come to seek the counsel of this woman. He trusted her more than he did any other soul in the expanse of the skies. She would be perfect for this task. “My dear, Lady Farcey,” Covetina slowly walked through Margaret’s square room, touching all the objects within as if sizing each up to be bartered. “I have a request that only you could see through,” Covetina spoke in whispers. The Regulars believed she did this to conceal her lies and deceit from the blind yet ever watching king. “I have been entrusted by the Keeper of the Sun with the key to the dawn.” She pulled out from the pocket between her breasts a small, black object. The skeleton key had on its back the symbol of the dawn – a bursting sun.   

   

This was not news. Only last week the Regulars had been talking non-stop about the Keeper’s poor form of trusting this wicked woman with the key. The world below depended on the door to the dawn being opened every day for their life to be whole and complete. To trust this horrible woman with this chore was as poor as the king’s to choose her as his future bride.

Lady Farcey was concerned where this could head and yet she was hopeful. If Covetina passed this duty on to her, she could correct a possibly terrible situation. But, with Covetina, there was always a catch. Covetina never gave anything that did not return something of greater value. Taking a deep, calming breath, Margaret cautiously asked, “Pray tell, dear lady, what it is you require?” 

Covetina knew that Lady Farcey was sharp. Persuading her could prove to be an exhilarating challenge.“Well you likely know that I am a child of the wind. I am flighty and blissfully distracted. I have no business with the key to the dawn. That is why I give it to you,” she paused, waiting, for a reaction. But Lady Farcey was far too poised to be betrayed by so much as a blink. Finding the woman to be a tad irritating, Covetina continued, “You also know as well as I that the only soul responsible enough to take on this duty is Lord Night, but he sleeps during the day and it is forbidden for his slumber to be disturbed, so a clamoring wayward child like me couldn’t possibly slip in and out without being…well, distracted by so great a being.” Covetina raised her brow and there was no disguising what she meant. “You are the only one I trust enough to get the job done, by placing the key in his chest of nightly duties. He’ll never know if it is done while he sleeps.”

Lady Farcey was no fool. She knew the penalty that awaited her if she dared to disturb The Lord while he slept during the day. But she had to choose her words well – this woman before her was notorious for her childlike temper. Angering the lover of the king was the last thing Margaret intended. “My dear lady, could you not ask the King to pass the key? Or better yet, why not return it to the Keeper of the Sun. I am sure he would be happy to resume the duty.”

Covetina’s cruel, coy laugh echoed in the small, large windowed room. “My dear,” her tone was so demeaning it cut through the red fabric of Lady Farcey’s dress and pierced her heart. “You must understand; the king intends to take me as his wife. I cannot go around embarrassing him by returning a duty. Lord Night is so sleepy all the time, he won’t notice if another duty is added. He’ll do it without a second thought. But The Lord of the Day will know and he will report my lack of enthusiasm to every Regular he sees. Don’t you see, dearie, you have to do this for me.” She held the key out closely to Margaret who hesitated. Covetina was not a patient woman. She closed the distance between the pair of them and shoved the key into Lady Farcey’s chest. “As your future queen,” she growled, “I insist.”   

It was plainly clear to see that there was no other option but to obey.

~*~*~

What will happen to cause the fall of Lady Farcey? You'll just have to tune in next week to see!

Your humble author,

S. Faxon

Mosquito

Here it is, your Halloween read!

Mosquito

The stairwell that led to the attic was unnerving even of itself. To think that a victim to be recovered was somewhere in that dark place aloft chilled the hustling EMT to the bone. 

The enormous backpack he bore was not all that was weighing down the young first responder. He was a Southern California kid; attics were things you only heard of in movies and usually they were the thrillers. People only ever found ghouls and goblins in the attic. It seemed ridiculous for these fears to be creeping into a burly, EMT’s mind, but given the circumstances for bringing him here, Jay found the goosebumps on his arms to be fitting.

An oscillating fan was all that moved at the top of the stairs. A single, lone light from the spinning device shone down upon the scene. On the floor lay the woman in her night gown who had made the frantic call to their dispatcher. Her eyes were wide open, her gaze unfocused, but across every inch of her face was the touch of fear.

Jay fell to his knees and immediately rushed into the procedures given for addressing a downed victim. His own fears abated for the moment, he checked her pulse, he called out to her. No response.

Jay’s partner came to the top of the attic stairs and seeing his partner’s outstretched arms begin their attempt to rejuvenate life into this woman, he called on his radio for aid. The following ambulance was but moments away. He could already hear the sirens.

The unprecedented levels of heat and humidity in town made the confined space and the horrible unrolling situation stifling and unbearable. The fan above did nothing to help.

“Why would she come up here?”  Jay’s partner wondered as he ran back down the steps to bring the gurney bearers to the location. “She oughta have known that heat rises.”

As the partner ran passed a variety of religious artifacts nailed to the walls of the house that he failed to realize were skewed or upside down, strange shadows began to move about the house.

Sweat rained down from Jay upon the lifeless woman. The more compressions he did, singing, ‘Staying alive’ to keep in rhythm, the more Jay began to realize that she was gone. The cracked screened iPhone that lie a few feet away from her outstretched hand had brought them here, but in vain. And yet, Jay did not give up. He stared at the cross that dangled on a golden chain from this woman’s neck. It was tangled within her hair and the more he stared down at her, he began to realize the burn marks upon her neck. They looked to be in the shape of fingers. In the center of her forehead, Jay could see what looked like a welt – like a growing, inflamed mosquito bite.

Jay was suddenly re-galvanized with an intense desire to save this woman’s life. She had clearly endured an ungodly collection of hells to have ran up here to this oven to find salvation.  He could not accept her demise.

“Come on!” Jay insisted. He was getting light headed from his efforts. He could not wait for his partner to return to help carry this woman out of this pit.

The hum of the fan above began to change. The sounds devolved more and more into that of a buzz.

With steady, heavy pulsations, Jay continued his locked armed attempts to restart this woman’s heart. However, the song he sang to keep him in rhythm began to fade as the buzzing increased. The sound was not that of any fly or insect that he had ever heard in San Diego before. Looking up and around, in the soft light of the fan, Jay could see no bugs immediately around. ‘Is there a hive up here?’ he looked back to the woman’s forehead where the inflamed bite upon her brow lay.  Her eyes were still empty of life yet wide with fright. ‘Was she stung? Was that what scared her so bad?’

No sooner had the thought passed, a swooping buzz flounced by Jay’s ear. The sound was so intense that he ducked to the side, half expecting a mosquito the size of a hawk to be after him. Wide eyed himself, Jay looked all around. The buzz continued, but it was in the far corner of the attic where light was void.

The adrenaline pounding through Jay kept him vigilantly trying to revive the victim. “Where the hell are you, Tim?!” Jay shouted.

No answer was returned. The rest of the house below was heavy as if not merely empty, but dead.

The horrible buzzing in the corner grew louder and more powerful, as if feeding from his fear. But Jay knew that he had to keep at the CPR until his partner returned.

Though they had initially thought this woman to be on her own in this house, Jay’s heart and his head were quickly deducing that they were not alone.

Again, the wretched swooping ripped forward from the darkness. Once more he ducked, assuming that this time he would see the swarm coming for him. But his wide eyes saw nothing. What he felt, however, was far more disturbing. Through the bulwark of his backpack, Jay swore he felt the sting of jagged fingernails ripping across his skin.

With one more look to the cross on the victim’s neck, Jay knew as if it had been shouted to him by a sky full of angels that he had to get out.

And he was not about to leave her soul in this trap.

In one herculean transfer of his fear to strength, Jay swept the woman from the floor, carrying her over his shoulders like a shepherd a lamb. With the effort of a hundred men, Jay ran out from that place, trumping down the steps of the attic, through the torn home and down a second flight of stairs. Every step felt like ripping his legs out from a mire of mud and quick sand. The hellish buzzing chased him from the attic, down the stairs and through the long haul to the front door.

A lion-like shout pushed Jay out from that place, sending him diving across the porch to the sun-dried lawn. The second his ribs struck the hard ground, with the woman on his back, the buzzing halted.

Neither Jay nor the rushing ambulance responders would know if it was the efforts of Jay in the attic or the shock of the fall that filled the once motionless body of the woman with life. The woman was too quickly taken away to the tune of screaming sirens and a speeding ambulance to be questioned by Jay about anything.

Soaked through with sweat and fear, Jay sat in silence as his partner asked him a litany of questions, the least of which, being, “What the hell happened?”

Seeing his partner to be unresponsive, the EMT used his radio to call their dispatcher to alert them that they were going to the hospital.

In the moment that his partner turned away, Jay’s eyes looked to the eye-shaped window atop the house where the attic glared down upon him. There was no face, no shadow, no silhouette that could be seen, but Jay knew that whatever infested that house was looking straight at him.

Crossing himself, Jay kneeled before that accursed house. The poisoned energies inside would not go home with him, but the memory of this night would remain with him for the rest of his days.

Happy Halloween...sweet dreams.

Your humble author,

S. Faxon 

A Year Ago

It is insane to think that it was a year ago when I was in Turkey. Can you believe it's been that long? Life has taken me on some incredible adventures and every moment that I spent in that fascinating country was rich, beautiful, and full of intrigue. But there is one memory to which I return frequently. 

It was the day we spent at the Christian Caves in Cappadocia. There was a moment when I went ahead of my group and did some exploring and hiking on my own. There were all sorts of enormous bolders and caves stacked upon one another. It was late in the afternoon, the sun was starting to go down and I climbed atop a tall rock. There was at least 15 feet between the top of the ledge I settled upon to the paths below. The sprawling, white and golden sand landscape littered with the towers of stone lay out before me. There were no visible human settlements, no signs of condos, cars, or industrialization. It could have been 1500BC and yet here we were in 2014. It was a land untouched by time and human hands, though it was a highly popular tourist destination.

A beautiful and powerful emotion filled me. I remember thanking God for all of the blessings in my life, for giving me the opportunity to see another corner of the world, and for the awe-inspiring beauty of our planet. I could have sat in that spot for hours, watching the sunset roll over the earth paving the way for the starts to emerge. That spot, those hours of twilight that my companions and I spent in that place those are feelings and images that will live forever in my mind as bright and as real as the present. 

Again, my dear readers, I could not have made that trip without YOUR help and support. I know I haven't written as much as I used to, but please know that I'm not giving up on this blog and I hope that you don't either. I write to share a moment of peace or two with you. I hope that you are able to glean a little smile or to escape from the troubles of your day with the little blurbs of mine.

Until next time.

Your humblle author,

S. Faxon

 

The Crumpled Note

Guess who's back? ME! And my pen. Here's a short just for you, my dear readers.

The Crumpled Note

Late night at the side of a seaport was no place for a young academic. The cool, salt laden breeze was enough to invigorate the souls of seamen, but for the academic laden with balancing books in one arm and constantly correcting his bifocals with the other, the smell was sickening. He was looking green around the gills, as some of those seamen would say on their ships when inexperienced sailors embarked upon vessels for the first time. However, this lad’s business here at the seaport had nothing to do with the tall ships that lay with their anchors planted throughout the deep waters of the marina.  The business of young Thad was to meet with a soul that he had never seen.

The crumpled, rumpled bit of paper in his tweed-jacket pocket read an address to which he had never visited to meet this person that he had never met. The burly sailors that passed by Thad were far too intimidating for the young man to inquire any questions of, though if he were to stop and ask they would have gladly pointed him in the right direction. Instead, Thad scooted along, clinging his books to his side as if they were a bastion between his pocket-watch and pickpockets. A low hanging street light that shone in the mist of the evening was where Thad trod to take another look at the bit of paper in his pocket. Adjusting his spectacles to read the note, Thad leaned heavily towards the light’s post and read yet again:

Gormhook, R.A.

127 Pearl

Thad sighed heavily. He knew by the crooked sign-posts that lined the port that he had reached Pearl Street, but none of the red-bricked buildings appeared to be number 127. He stood in the precise middle of number 126 and number 128. There was no other building behind him, and this appeared to be an even numbered street. Yet, the street on the other side of Pearl was marked as any other street with odds and evens exchanging on either side. This task that his professor had sent him upon seemed hopeless.

From the small cabin on his slip, the retired Rear Admiral Gormhook watched with great interest, the young academic pace to and fro, passing countless men and the occasional gal who could more than easily have pointed him in the right direction.

Taking in a deep duff from his Cuban all he wanted were the books clutched in the academic’s arms detailing the tales of sailors long lost. He wondered how long he would let the young lad continue in this way. Perhaps he would wait until the timid land-lover either passed out from fright or gave up without once asking for aid or turning to look at the long wooden slips that stuck out from the street, all of which, clearly numbered. Shaking his head, Gormhook said to the spirit of the ships that surrounded him, “That’s the trouble with academics – they’re lost beyond the library.”

~*~*~

Happy Wednesday, dear readers, and I'll write to you again soon.

Your humble author,

S. Faxon

The Return of the Pen

Hello again, my dear readers,

Yes, I disappeared from the face of the interweb again. It just so happens that I was up to no good. As I'm sure that you can see:

Foreign & Domestic Affairs

Whoa-dang!!! What's this? Is that the long awaited sequel to The Feasts and Follies of the Animal Court? 

That's right my friends, it is. Foreign & Domestic Affairs is the exciting conclusion to Lady Gertrude's tale. This has been published EXCLUSIVELY on Amazon's Kindle, so please, come on, click the link and get to reading! It is summer after all. You'll need a good book with which to curl under a tree. If you don't have a Kindle, don't worry, there's an App for that. If you have an iPad, a tablet, a computer, a smart phone (you know you have at least one of those) then this book is available for you. So go on, you know you want to!

Write to you soon! 

Your humble and published again author,

S. Faxon

The Place Between Part 13

I was watching The Sandlot while simultaneously trying to write the last portion of this post. I'm ashamed to say that this was my first time watching Sandlot. I can more than understand why it is a classic. My favorite scene was when they were all at the carnival on the spinning wheel. Terribly gross, but hilarious. 

Only two more segments will follow this post! Come and see how this story ends at the Weekly Read! If you're stopping by for the first time, why not give the beginning of this story a try! Start by Clicking Here.

The Place Between Part 13

The bell rang. 

Mike and Chelsea began to scoot out of the library, looking to Cassie for an explanation about this new man and about the incident yesterday. They wouldn't be in class together for another two periods and the wait that would span between them would seem forever.

Martin looked to Cassie too. The bell had him confused. "Does that mean we have to go?" he asked her quietly as he nervously watched the exodus of teens leaving the library.

"No," Cassie dismissed. "It's the first bell. There'll be two more telling us all to get to our advisory period, but Marlie will write us a note, so we'll be fine." 

Marlie began her conversation with the assistant to the principle while simultaneously keeping an eye on the students as they left the protective sanctuary of her keep.

Cassie's nonchalant assurance did little to assuage the butterflies in Martin's stomach. Though there were many similarities between this world and his, and while there was no way anyone could uncover his secret unless he made a display of magic, it was unnerving to be so far and yet so close to his home.

~*~*~

As Cassie had anticipated, Marlie wrote her and her "cousin" a note dismissing them from being considered truent. While that was a free pass, escaping the whispers and harsh judgmental gazes from her classmates was unavoidable. Cassie wished she had printed a sign and taped it to her and Martin's shoulders saying "We're cousins" to help shoo off the people who continuously kept coming up to her to ask questions. Advisory was a free-for-all, so Cassie had anticipated this to be the worst part of the day. She was glad that she had previously warned Martin about this because she could see that he was nervous. She could not imagine how much worse off he would be had she skipped any sort of disclaimer.

While Marlie had left a message with the principle's assistant, both Martin and Cassie realized that it would be some time before they heard back from Marlie with confirmation about the meeting. Marlie would reach out to Cassie (having her schedule on a stickie note posted to her computer) through the class phones.

First period dragged on for Cassie. For Martin, he was genuinely interested in the subjects being taught to the students. He found this to be a great learning experience. Even though watching a half dozen youth playing with their cell phones underneath their desks or in their backpacks was less than encouraging, it was exciting to see the day to day lives of people in the world above.

Cassie felt bad for Martin - her first real class of the day was art, which was all well and good, but then followed Calculus, which was a bit more like purgatory. However, right before the bell rang to release the students from math, the phone on the teacher's desk sounded. Cassie and Martin sat straight. They watched the teacher talk on the phone while the rest of class packed up for third period.

"Uh, Cassie," although she was already looking, the teacher drew Cassie's attention with a wave of his hand. "Your cousin can go see the principle now."

Cassie and Martin looked to each other. This was the moment of truth.

"Did they say if I could go too?" Cassie asked the teacher.

Mr. Morris gave Cassie a look. "What do you think your next teacher will think if you miss class?"

Mr. Pryer might not have noticed, but Cassie knew that she could not disappear from class with her friends being so curious about Martin. They needed answers.

The bell rang.

The students poured out from class and Martin looked to Cassie with great concern.

"I'll take you to the principle," she answered his unasked question. The pair of them began to walk out of the class. "But I'm not going to be able to miss my next class unnoticed." They walked into the hall buzzing with students en route to their next destinations. Cassie started to lead Martin to the main office where their morning at the school started together. "If anything happens..." Cassie tapped on the ring that the president and him gave to her so that they all could communicate. "Let me know."

Martin was determined to see this through. An enormous part of him hoped that nothing would happen, but he truly wanted to uncover the people behind this conspiracy. 'We're probably just over thinking this entire matter,'  Martin ensured himself. 'But if this man turns out to be anything less than what he appears...God help us.'

Cassie and Martin walked into the office and approached the principle's assistant who sat at small desk overflowing with files and paper work. To say this woman was overworked was a drastic understatement.

"Hi," Cassie timidly approached the desk - she felt as if she was about to ask permission to visit with the 'great and powerful Wizard of Oz.' The office assistant merely looked over her glasses to see what this student who was likely going to be late to class had to say. "Um, my cousin, Martin Shire is here to speak to the principle. I just brought him by so that he could find this alright." Cassie reached back to grab Martin by the elbow and pulled him up to stand beside her. She was feeling nervous without him within her direct eyesight.

"One moment please, sir," the assistant said sweetly to Martin. "The principle is on a phone call at the moment, so it'll be a couple more minutes." The assistant turned her gaze to Cassie and said sternly, "He's in good hands now, so you better get on to class, missy."

Martin took a step away from the desk toward some plastic chairs where students waiting to see the principle would have to sit. With a half smile to Cassie he said, "I'll be alright. I'll see you soon." The pair had already discussed the two potential scenarios for meeting afterward: 1) if everything went okay and the principle turned out to be a regular joe, the pair of them would meet either in Cassie's biology class - the number of the room was written on a square of paper in Martin's pocket - or 2) if the principle turned out to be a guy up to no good, Martin would leave the school as discretely as possible and alert Cassie through a buzz of the ring she wore. From there, Cassie was directed to wait until the sun went down and her parents tucked themselves away to sleep for the night before she could return to the Place Between. That was the plan at least, what would actually transpire...

The walk to class felt like the walk to the gallows. The expectant eyes of her friends as she walked into class a minute after the bell rang were equally as daunting. The beginning of class usually took a while to get going, most of the students were still standing or sitting on the tops of their desks. Only Mike and Chelsea noticed that Cassie was late. 

"Hey, where's that guy?" Chelsea asked. "We didn't even know you have a cousin." 

Cassie settled into her seat and dumped her pack up on to the desk, leaning heavily upon it. 

"What's that?" Mike said pointing at Cassie's ring. 

"It's just a costume ring," Cassie answered dismissively. Cassie casually tucked her hands in the pockets of her sweatshirts "And he's kinda a distant cousin on my dad's side." Cassie answered, but she knew that the answer would not be enough for her friends. Indicating to her friends to lean in close, Cassie said quietly, "Look, he's here for more than just to see what a day in the life is like for us. He's here to find out what he can about the stuff that happened yesterday."

"Like how?" Chelsea asked. 

While Cassie explained to her friends that Martin was investigating the situation personally, Martin was doing exactly that.

Mr. Pryer called class together and for the next thirty-one minutes everything was going just fine. That was until Cassie started with a jump.

The ring on her finger had begun to buzz.

~*~*~    

Looks like there's trouble afoot! Come back next week, to see what's going to happen next!

I'm off to bake gluten free chocolate scones now.

Your humble author,

S. Faxon