""Beneath the pressure of torments such as these, the feeble remnant of the good within me succumbed. Evil thoughts became my sole intimates-the darkest and most evil of thoughts.""
-Edgar Allan Poe, The Black Cat

Thursday, July 28, 2011

Behind the Cellar Door

By T.K. Millin

Growing up an orphan in the middle of somewhere between miles of unpaved roads and abundant corn fields never bothered Jayden Mitchell, until now. For weeks her foster parents, Missy and William, have been acting strange and cold toward her, making her feel like a stranger in the only home she’s ever known. Because of this, her sensing of something on the horizon has kept her restless at night with fear.

“Jayden you best be hurrying or we’re gonna miss the twelve o’clock bus into town.” Missy shouted down into the basement, “and it’s best we not be late.” 

Grabbing the end of her overused pillow Jayden turned on her right side and stuffed it over her head in an attempt to drown out the command’s of her make believe Mother. 

“Jayden Mitchell you get your ass up here in ten minutes or you’ll be confined to your room until I see fit!” Missy hollered down the darkened stairs.  

“Someone seems to have forgotten I turn eighteen in two days.” Jayden thought popping out of bed and grabbing her phone off the night table. “I’ll show her,” She quickly searched for Brandon Jones in her contacts and typed out her message, “I can’t wait until Friday. I luv you, J.D.” 


The bus roared down the dusty sandstone road known as “Highway to Nowhere” to the local kids who dreamed of one day escaping the non-existent town, but they all knew differently; unless of course they were an outsider. 

Countless rows of corn ready to be harvested flashed by Jayden’s limited view through the neglected bus window and she wondered why after all these years her foster parents decided to treat her so badly. “Maybe they want me to leave and this is their way of forcing me out.” She thought for a second, “maybe they’ll stop being so strange if I told them I’ve been planning to leave this dump for over a year and on Friday I’m doing exactly that with Brandon.” She considered.  

The squealing of slowing brakes made Jayden’s focus come back to reality, “Where are we going Missy?” She said with a twinge of sorrow for not saying Mom.

Missy stood and grabbed her handbag out from under the seat, “You’ll see.” She said, knowing it was time.

The diesel exhaust mixed in with the scent of overcooked burgers from Harvey’s on the corner made Jayden regret her only source of breakfast was a half eaten candy bar left over from a week ago. Without a word Missy walked up to the county clinic, opened the door and motioned for Jayden to go inside. “Time for what?” Jayden wondered feeling sicker than before, for if there was one thing she hated more than this town it was going to see Dr. Higgins.  

The bus’s roaring engine couldn’t drown out the whimpers inside her head, “How could she let him violate me like that? Brandon was to be the first to ever touch my private sanctum.” Jayden thought as she silently vowed never to forgive the only woman she has ever known as a mother.      

“There’s no need to be angry Jayden.”  Missy said, “We needed to be sure.”  She smiled and then caressed her hand across Jayden’s face.

Jayden turned her head and numbly watched the blurred corn fields pass by through a small clearing in the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of what freedom was going to look like in two days.


The morning found Jayden alert and full of energy for the first time in weeks and she was glad too for she knew she needed the extra energy for tonight. “Hi Brandon,” she whispered after the first ring, “I’m-“

“Happy Birthday!” Brandon interrupted.

“Thanks, I know I’m so excited. I’m finally 18 and tonight we’re getting out of here.” She said looking around to make sure she was still alone.

“Remember I’ll meet you at the old church on Route 19 at ten o’clock, and Jayden, don’t be late.” Brandon said.

“Believe me I won’t be late.” 

In a way Jayden felt relieved her foster parent’s hadn’t planned anything for her birthday after the way they’ve been acting. She found herself even more relieved when they hadn’t returned home before she left for the church.

The moon seemed to hover in the darkness like a beacon of a new beginning for Jayden. So far her plan had played out perfectly; she didn’t have to sneak out of the house, there was a full moon to light the way and it seemed everyone in town decided to turn in early for all the farmhouses were dark.  She was alone and she liked it.

The overpowering singing of the katydids became deafening as she pushed her way through the illuminated corn field which ended at Route 19 and the back entrance of the church.


“Brandon where are you?” She shouted into the dilapidated building. “Brandon?” She said, hearing whispered mumbling from behind the cellar door.

She heaved the rusty hinged door open and stepped down into the darkness and followed the flickering light toward the whispering mumbles. Suddenly every dream Jayden Mitchell ever had about leaving the only home she’d ever known with the only boy she’d ever loved became a nightmare when she realized it wasn’t mumbling she heard, but chanting from the entire town.  


Missy Mitchell sat lovingly rocking the orphaned infant in her arms, “Ain’t she a beauty William?” She said looking up at him.

He reached out and gently ran his hand up and down her soft newborn skin and said, “She is, but what’s even more beautiful is another 18 years of abundant crops.”

Total word count: 955

Monday, July 25, 2011

Dear Diary – Monday, July 25, 2011

Ever since last week when I took time to self-reflect I've been feeling a little lighter in my paw stepping... 

So over the week-end during one of my sixteen hour cat naps I did a little more reflecting and in my superior feline wisdom I believe it to be essential to my overall being. After all, keeping up the ferocious image of a cat vamp can play havoc on the heart, not to mention the wear and tear on my fangs!     

Last week I had fun talking about a special lady, author Carole Gill (click here) and all the hard work she puts into her gothic tales; this week is going to be just as pawsome for I’m spotlighting another author who has been so supportive of my feline adventures, published author, Blaze McRob.

Blaze McRob and T.K. Millin crossed paths after she met Carole and I’m glad they did. Because Blaze writes really pawsome stories that are all things scary. Blaze and I hit it off right from the beginning not because I’m irresistible, charming and happen to  be the best looking cat vamp around, but because we have something in common . . . Blaze McRob once was a ghost writer too!

Not only is Blaze busy with writing his own stories for publication and for Flash Fiction Friday and his weekly Terror Tuesday Tales at The Graveyard Group on Facebook, but he also maintains two blogs and always seems to have a little time left over to be so supportive of other writer’s and their work. If that doesn’t want to make you sleep like a cat vamp, Blaze and his better looking half, Yvonne Bishop, recently launched Angelic Knight Press

Upon Angelic Knight Press’ grand opening they announced a very exciting opportunity for authors who love to write all things scary. Starting August 1, 2011 they are accepting submissions for an anthology titled, Satan's Toy Box: Demonic Dolls (click here for details), which will be published this coming October. Just in time for Halloween, my favorite time of the year!  

Who doesn't love Halloween?

Before I end another chapter in my diary I wanted to show that just because I’m a cat vamp doesn’t mean I’m aloof like legend has it. I would like to thank Blaze McRob for his service to this country and I’m glad he came home from Vietnam and discovered who he was meant to become. Blaze McRob, author of all things scary. 

Here are links to where you can find Blaze McRob, and I know you won’t be disappointed. Trust me, I'm Efi Loo, The Cat Vamp.   

Fangfully yours, 

Efi Loo
The Cat Vamp

Friday, July 22, 2011

The Forbidden Tree House by T.K. Millin

The overstuffed room with its reminiscing scent of stale wet bread and cigarettes long ago puffed dry made me feel somewhat at home. My right thumb easily pressed around the inside of my left palm as I sat silently listening to the sobbing woman, praying when it was my turn everyone would believe my story, too.

“Thank you Maryann for again sharing with us your story on becoming an alcoholic. Everyone, please join me in giving Maryann another round of applause.” The AA counselor said, her faded green eyes glistening off the scorching overhead light the size of a Mac truck. 
The counselor took a moment to glance around the cramped room, “It’s time we heard from someone new,” she said making direct eye contact with my avoiding eyes. “How about you there in the back corner, please we’d love to share your pain.” 

I glanced from one side of the room to the other in search of the familiar face that haunts me. Finding only the blank stares of the weary eyed strangers, I released the pressure of my thumb from my palm and made my way toward the counselor as if I had all the time in the world.

“We’d love for you to share your story, but please start by telling us your name.” The counselor said, scraping her chair off to the side.

“Um, hi, my name is Tom, um, Tom Stanton.” I reached into the pocket of my worn overcoat, “and I’m an alcoholic because I’m haunted by an evil spirit.” I said, squeezing the comfort of my whisky companion.

The overflowing room of mirrored look a likes echoed with whispers and under tones of laughter, but soon became silent when the counselor cleared her throat, “Please, let Tom tell his story.” 

I once again searched the room from side to side in search of the familiar face that haunts me. Relieved, I dug deep down inside of what remained of my fuzzy cortex to relive that fateful summer day so long ago.   
“The middle of August always seemed to be the hottest month of the year growing up in Louisiana. It somehow made summer vacation drag on forever for me and my three best friends, Clayton Moore, Jerry Malone and Maggie Devereaux; each of us only months away from our sixteenth birthday.” 

“A day never passed that the four of us couldn’t be found exploring the surrounding swamps for slithering critters, dried up crawfish or burned out campfires from drunken gator hunters telling tall tales the night before. It was the morning of August 10, 1972 and it would have been like any other morning out on the bayou, if it hadn’t been for our discovery...”

“Tom, hurry up I’m over here!” Jerry shouted, from a wooded area behind Maggie, Clayton and I. 

Maggie rolled her eyes and said, “Great, I suppose he found another snake with its head chopped off.” 

“We better go and see what he’s found before he does something stupid.” Clayton added.

I nodded and the three of us went to join Jerry, agreeing along the way that today was just as boring as yesterday. 

“Wow, would you look at that!” I said stopping dead in my tracks.

Maggie and Clayton stood holding hands looking up at the ghostly curves of the giant cypress and the house sitting at the very top of the tree’s boney fingers.

“I’m going up you guys stay here!” Jerry said.

I looked at Maggie and then Clayton, “No, we all go together or we don’t go at all.” I said.

 “Push Tom push!” Maggie cried out while Clayton pulled her by her arms, “Oh, I’m too fat!”

“You are getting through that hole,” I firmly pressed the palms of my hands against each of her ass cheeks, “one, two, and three!” I shouted as Maggie flew up through the small door of the tree house. 

The three of us rolled around in laughter at the thrill of our achievement while Jerry sat quietly at an old rickety table in the corner. “Shhh, guys come here and look at this.” He said.

I walked up behind Jerry first and looked down at the strange book which appeared to be made from dried up cypress wood with a hideous face carved into the cover. Jerry slowly opened it and started turning the yellowed pages, “Let me read it.” I said, knowing with his grades in reading it would take him all day. 

The last thing I remember before Jerry, Clayton and Maggie were torn to shreds was them laughing when I read, “Thou who shall read the last of my words and reveal my existence I shall forever haunt.  Henceforth, I shall reap my wrath upon those who do not believe in me.”  

“It was then I realized we had discovered what I thought was some stupid legend locals had made up to keep kids out of the bayou.  It was known as Legend of The Forbidden Tree House.” I looked around the room full of blank stares, “ and tonight is the first time since that day I’ve repeated those words.” 
One by one the weary eyed strangers began to laugh and even the counselor who looked as though she had her share of one too many joined in. Suddenly, the room went dead silent and all the laughing faces became frozen with fear.

I turned to see the familiar face that’s haunted me for 39 years standing tall behind me and I instantly remembered why I kept those words hidden in a bottle for so many years.  
The overstuffed room with its reminiscing scent of stale wet bread and cigarettes long ago puffed dry smothered with a fresh scent of blood became a reminder to me that I will forever be trapped inside The Forbidden Tree House. 

Total Word Count: 975

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Dear Diary – Wednesday, July 20, 2011


Dear Diary,

This week I felt compelled to do some self-reflection, and since I’m always looking at myself in the mirror I found it to be quite easy. 

Knowing I am Efi Loo, The Cat Vamp, I knew my keen feline vision would see nothing but purrfection; however, much to my surprise I discovered I’ve been a little self-centered these past couple weeks. (Okay, actually T.K. Millin had to point it out) But in my defense it’s been a little easy letting my paws get a little too big for my litter box. I mean how many cats can claw out a flash fiction every week, maintain two blogs and sleep through numerous edits? 

But since I’m reflecting this week I would like to take full responsibility for the one thing I’ve been neglecting lately and it’s a very big one thing. Okay enough pussy footin’ around, I have neglected something that’s very important in a writer’s life and that’s paying if forward.

Meew, now that I’ve gotten my one short coming out of the bag I’d like to shine a spotlight on fellow authors who have been so supportive of my feline adventures and I’d like to let them know I am meowfully grateful.

Over the next few weeks I will share their sites and stories with you and I know you will find them just as interesting as I do. Each of them also welcome new friends with open paws!

This week I’d like to thank Carole Gill, author of The House on Blackstone Moor, and several anthologies and sci-fi stories. It doesn’t take a bright light to make Carole shine. Since I made a promise not to talk about myself I’d have to admit Carole Gill is one of the hardest working “human” authors I know. 

Her work is timeless, classical and SCARY! If you like all things vampires, demons or gothic then Carole Gill is the author for you. Carole also writes Friday Flash Fiction, in fact, she was very open to helping a feline ghost writer join in on the fun.

I’ve provided links below to her two blogs (okay so maybe I’m not all that of a cat) where you can better get to know Carole Gill and her writings. I hope you find a little time to visit, because if you don’t, remember, I am Efi Loo, The Cat Vamp!

Take a bite out of life!

Efi Loo
The Cat Vamp         

Friday, July 15, 2011

The Other Side of Here by T.K. Millin

The purple sands of the planet dubbed, LBX One Nine, swirled around the spacecraft, Deep Space Voyager, as it descended on top the jagged peaks of the undiscovered world.

The hatch swung open and the crew stepped out onto the darkened landscape they’d only seen through the eye of a telescope, ten million light years away.  Ten million light years from the day before yesterday. 

“Holy Bejeezus,” Commander Blake said as he dropped to his knees.  “I was convinced Professor Finklestein was sending us off to our deaths with his black hole theory, but it worked!” He grasped a handful of sand and watched it follow the prevailing winds, “It actually worked!” He looked back at the crew, “Where’s Flight Engineer Huntley?” He shouted, seeing only three of his crew.

“He was standing here a second ago.” Crew Chief Jackson said looking around.  “Knowing that vain bastard he probably went back inside the craft to make sure his hair survived the journey.”    

The Commander motioned for Jackson to check the cabin before accepting Mission Specialist Ritter and Doc Wilson’s help in getting up. 

“Always giving orders, but never following them.”  Jackson mumbled as he walked back to the ship, “That will all change when I’m finally Commander.”

Commander Blake, Mission Specialist Ritter and Doc Wilson synchronized their GPS'; turned their face shields to night vision and spread out to search the surrounding area. The green glow cast from the night vision made the three moons hovering low on the horizon appear as ghoulish faces to the exploring crew. A crew who were about to embark on a journey from hell. 
"Is anyone out there?” Jake Huntley’s voice echoed back from the vast darkness. “Where am I?” He reached up and touched the back of his throbbing head. “Where’s my shield?” He said feeling something damp and cool against his touch. He engaged the emergency light switch on his suit and slowly drew his blood drenched hand into the light. 

A clacking noise approached him from behind. "Commander Blake, thank God you found me!” He turned and flashed the low beam of his emergency light into the surrounding void.

A rush of panic overcame Flight Engineer Huntley as he realized there would be no rescue, only death from the gnawing and gnashing of teeth. 


“James I’ve found something!” Mission Specialist Ritter shined her beam of light across the reflecting surface.  “It’s beautiful.”

“Don’t do anything, Ella.  I’m on the way!” Doc Wilson said tracking Ritter on his GPS. He walked up next to her and added his beam of light to hers.  “It’s a lake.”

“I know and isn’t it beautiful.”  

“Do you know what this means?”  Doc said.

“I know what it could mean.” She ran her gloved hand up and down the front of his suit.

“No Ella, it means there could be life here, and it also means there’s oxygen.”

“It also means we’re ten million light years away from our spouses.”  She took off her shield and undressed.  “Its perfect.” She said, walking into the lake.

Seeing her delicious curves reflecting off the ripples he couldn't help himself and joined her with his desire.

“We better get out and suit up before Commander Blake finds us like this.” His warm breath blew across her lips.

“He’ll never know, I’ve made sure of it.” She whispered into his ear. 

“What do you mean?”

“I turned the connections off to his PCD.” She smirked.

“You mean the Commander has no transmission on his personal communicator device?”

She nodded.

“Oh, I do love your devilish ways.” He said, hoping she’d again accept his invitation of pleasure.

“James, you are making me so hot.” 
“No, it’s you who are making me hot.” He said, watching the water explode with steam.

Suddenly, the lake bursted into flames, consuming Mission Specialist Ritter and Doc Wilson in their lustful embrace.

Commander Blake knew he broke the code of survival when he ordered his crew to spread out without being in pairs. He now found himself the same victim he always preached about to his underlings.

“Ritter, Wilson, come in this is your Commander of Lima Bravo X-ray One Niner,” Blake shouted into his PCD, “Damn it where are they?” He said, only seeing Crew Chief Jackson’s signal on his GPS. 

He followed the signal back to Deep Space Voyager and stepped inside only to find to his horror Jackson hanging upside down slowly being devoured by worms. 

“Holy Bejeezus!” 

“My apologies, but Jesus can’t hear you here.” The enraged voice said.   

“Who’s there?” Commander Blake shouted as he spun around. Getting no response he searched the empty cabin ignoring Jackson’s plea for help. “As Commander of LBX One Nine I demand you show yourself!”

A man stepped out from behind the central control station, a man Captain Stewart Blake hadn’t seen in 20 years. “Father?” 

The man smiled. “You can call me Father if you like.” He changed his warm welcoming smile into a face of raging fire. “But I prefer Lucifer.”

“Oh my God, we all died when we traveled ten million light years into space and are now in Hell!” 

“No, you all were very alive when you arrived in Hell and my minions have been waiting since the dawn of my creation to feast on live flesh.”

“God please, help me!” Commander Blake pleaded.

“There’s no need to cry out for your God.  He can’t help you here for when you crossed over from the other side you broke the rules.  This is my world and I choose who lives and who dies and I choose for you to live forever!”

“And they will go out and look upon the dead bodies of those who rebelled against me; their worm will not die, nor will their fire be quenched, and they will be loathsome to all mankind.”  Isaiah 66:24

Total Word Count: 1,000

Monday, July 11, 2011

Dear Diary - Monday, July 11, 2011

Join Efi Loo in the Happy Cat Dance!
All week-end long I kicked my paws up and I didn’t even touch my stash of catnip! The reason being I had so many nice people take time out of their busy schedule to stop by and read my Friday Flash Fiction, The Keeper. I am meow-fully thankful for all the nice comments and so I would like to start off my diary this week by giving all my blog friends a GIANT Paw of Appreciation!

It looks like this week is going to be another paw kicking week filled with writing, eating and cat napping, but I think it’s going to be filled mostly with writing. I’m sure all my writer pals out there in blogger world know there is no rest for writers of all things scary!

Speaking of blogger world, I’m so excited about the theme for this week’s Flash Fiction Friday that I don’t even think I could hold my cat tongue if I tried.

Paws for the because . . . 

It's Outer Space! As in It Came From Outer Space, The Blob, Alien or even Starship Troopers! I have so many ideas I’m not sure what my paws will pump out this week. 

I better start early by dipping my claws into some catnip. Shhh, it's our secret, T.K. Millin doesn't know I sniffed out where they hide the stash!  

Fang-fully yours,

Efi Loo
The Cat Vamp

Friday, July 8, 2011

The Keeper by T.K. Millin

The harrowing winds swirl up from the relentless waves as they crash against the towering cliffs; blowing their freezing announcement straight through the tiny house’s single paned windows. William Young tosses and turns under his sheets, hearing a whispering voice repeatedly say, “I shall never forget.”

Bolting straight up in bed, he grasps his chest and searches for a breath of relief. “William, what is troubling you?” Elizabeth says, sitting up. "Nothing my darling I just had a startling dream,” He says, standing and putting on his tattered wool coat and cap, “please go back to sleep. I’m going to check the lantern.” He bends down and caresses her lips with his, before exiting the room.

The scent of sulfur fills the cramped space they call a kitchen as the brass lamp brings the room to life with shadows. William pushes his way through the door he promised Elizabeth he’d oil back in September and walks across the frozen lawn which only four months ago was a blanket of lush grass. This is his least favorite month being the Head Keeper of the Twin Rock Lighthouse, because he knows how unforgiving Lake Superior can be during November, he also knows that’s why tonight is the perfect night to carry out his plan.     

William ascends the lighthouse’s spiraling staircase replaying inside his head the whispering voice that awoke him; wondering why he would be haunting his dreams. For he knows there’s no way Barry knows what he’s about to do, he’s made sure of it.  He’s even taken every measure to be sure Elizabeth doesn’t suspect a thing.  

He fills the furnace pot with coal and waits for the lighthouse tower to warm while he sits patiently waiting for the distant light upon the wavering inland sea. The sound of smashing waves makes him think back to happier times when he and Elizabeth were first married, back when he had the means to make her happy. Tonight, he was going to change all that.

Suddenly, he hears footsteps coming up the stairs . . .


“Alright folks, watch your step,” the tour guide shouts reaching the top of the lighthouse’s spiral staircase, “everyone step inside, there’s plenty room.” He says turning around, facing the eager crowd.

Little Jimmy runs to the North port window and steps up on the wooden box, “Wow, you can see forever from here!” 

“You betcha,” the tour guide says, “Why that’s the same window William Young, the original keeper, spotted the Elizabeth Dame,” He points to a black and white picture, “the night he committed the worst crimes this town has ever known.”

The tourist take their turn one at a time to get a glimpse of the black and white picture of a man standing alone in front of the clipper’s bow with big letters spelling out, Elizabeth Dame.

“It all began right here in the original Twin Rock Lighthouse.” The tour guide says, as a hush falls over the room. 

He continues . . .

“It was the night of November 21, 1910 and William Young came up in the tower to do his nightly keeper duty of lighting the lantern, which back in those days had to be refueled with kerosene every couple hours. Only on this night he intentionally didn’t do his keeper duties, for this night he planned to commit murder. 

Some locals have told of how he waited months to carry out his plan because he knew by mid November you could count on there being a storm on Lake Superior almost nightly. If it’s true what the locals said, his waiting paid off because that night brought a ferocious storm upon the lake. So he waited patiently for the Elizabeth Dame’s lights out on the inland sea, knowing the Captain would be relying on the flashing beacon of the Twin Rock Lighthouse.”

“How did he know which lights would be the Elizabeth Dame?”  Little Jimmy asks.

“Ah, good question young lad.” The tour guide continues…

“Having been the keeper for a long time helped, but he didn’t have to be the keeper to know the Elizabeth Dame’s route, for you see the ship’s Captain, Barry, was his brother.

So as planned, he saw the ship’s lights through the swirling waves and then he slowly burned out the lantern’s flame and sat quietly in the dark listening to the crashing of waves, and the Elizabeth Dame, against the cliffs.

But, the story doesn’t end there. Once he made sure his brother was out of the way, William Young descended the lighthouse stairs, walked to the tool shed and picked up a pix ax. He walked into the tiny house you saw on the way in and just as he probably had always done through the years as the keeper, walked into the bedroom after completing his nightly duty only this night he didn’t intend on sleeping, this night he intended on hacking his wife up into tiny little pieces.”

The crowd gasps, “Why’d he kill ‘em?” Little Jimmy asks.

“Ah, another good question lad. But again the story doesn’t end there.” The tour guide says before continuing . . . .

“Why it was no secret in town William’s brother was having an affair with his wife Elizabeth, only William was the last one in town to learn of the secret and the locals said he went crazy when he found out. 

Once he carried out his plan, the keeper walked to the edge of the cliffs and joined his brother and the crew of the Elizabeth Dame, which was named for his wife.

Legend has it he still roams the grounds reliving that night over and over. It’s also said every so often a ship will report seeing a beacon coming from this lighthouse.”

“But you said it’s no longer used.” Little Jimmy says.

“You betcha!”      


William Young tosses and turns under his sheets, hearing a whispering voice repeatedly say, “I shall never forget.” . . .

Total word count:  997


Tuesday, July 5, 2011

Dear Diary - Tuesday, July 5, 2011

What a fang-tasticlly delicious Fourth of July!  

First, I celebrated our freedom by sinking my teeth into some fresh steamed Florida Key West pink shrimp.

Then I followed it up with the catch of the of the day: 
GROUPER!  It was the cat's meow!

I have to say though, after devouring all that seafood I was thirsty!

Then I nestled down for a nap before the night came alive. From my superior feline perspective I find it hard to understand why humans feel it necessary to celebrate with such disturbing noise. Isn't it enough the only superior being to me celebrates by opening the sky with tears of joy and makes me run in fear when it stomps its feet! 

T.K. Millin said we have lots to do this week, now that her niece has gone back home (I hate to admit it, but I already miss her). Here is what I have on my TO Claw At List for this week: revise two chapters in Summertime Chills, write blog post for T.K.'s blog, The Unknown Author (found here) and write this week’s Friday Flash Fiction. So it looks like I’m going to have a pawsitively busy week, but since I am a feline ghost writer, I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Just found out this week’s theme for Friday’s Flash is Lighthouses and I’m already twirling a spooky tale around inside my superior brain. So far it’s enough to make any cat tail twitch! 

Fang-fully yours,

Efi Loo
The Cat Vamp