The Perfect Pumpkin

By T.K. Millin

With Halloween being a week away I knew I had little time to find the perfect pumpkin to gut and carve for the scariest jack o’ lantern contest at work. This year that prize money was going to be mine, no matter what.

Having lost the last three years’ contest I decided I needed to find a new place to buy my pumpkin. It seemed over the years finding one that wasn’t bruised, crooked or puny in the grocery store had become more and more difficult.

I knew in order to find the perfect one it would have to be locally grown, so over the upcoming week-end I planned on going to the Farmer’s Market in town to pick out the cream of the crop.

            ^^^^^

My alarm clock announced the rising sun sooner than I expected, but wanting to beat the early morning crowd, I jumped out of bed and threw on a pair of worn jeans and t-shirt. 

The lawn was glistening with droplets of dew and the air had turned cool and crisp overnight. I traipsed across the slippery grass praying my heap would crank up.

“Come on damn it!” I pressed on the gas and turned the key again.

A tap on my window startled me. My neighbor was sipping on a steaming mug and motioning for me to roll the window down.

“What do you want Mr. Turner? I have somewhere I really need to be.”

“It looks to me, Mary, as if you’re not going to get somewhere very fast.”

   

I turned the key and the engine cranked. “Yes!”  Then it sputtered, backfired and died. “Shit!”

“I came over to see if you needed help.” He placed his mug on the roof and said, “Pop the hood.”

“Thanks, I really am in a hurry.” 

            ^^^^^

By the time he got my piece of junk started, two hours had passed. I panicked the whole way toward town at the thought of being pulled over for speeding and, worst, only finding pumpkins left that no one wanted.

The parking lot was packed, but I managed to fine one lone spot in the front hidden by a large truck. Following the pumpkins, gourds, and more signs I weaved my way through the crowd, passing table after table of antique tools, holiday crafts, and fresh farm eggs. Finally I spotted a table with a display of apples and gourds.

“Do you have any pumpkins?” 

The elderly man who looked as though he rode into town with his sidekick, Tonto, simply shook his head.

“Please you have to help me. You see, there’s this contest, and well I have to win, and well I don’t want to go to the grocer for a pumpkin, and well that’s why I’m here.”

He sat expressionless, shaking his head.  Suddenly, a man’s voice from behind said something foreign. I spun around and my heart stopped.   

“Sorry, my grandfather doesn’t speak English. How can I help you, Mrs.?” The tall dark hunk said.

Damn it, I wish I had taken time to at least put a smidge of lipstick on. 

“It’s Miss . . . Mary.”

“Hello Miss Mary, I’m KoKo. How can I help you?”

“That’s an interesting name.”

“It’s Blackfoot, means night.”

I smiled at the elderly man. “I was just explaining to your grandfather that I’m desperate.”

KoKo raised his lush brows.

“For the perfect pumpkin.” After an awkward moment of silence I added, “It’s for a contest.”

“I’m sorry but we sold out.”

“Oh KoKo please, can’t you help me? Time is running out.”

He paused and then nodded. "Follow me.”

             ^^^^^ 
“KoKo may be the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on, but I think he may be a little off his rocker.” I thought as I placed the satchel and pumpkin seed in the freshly dug hole.  

I walked back to the house and poured a stiff scotch and sat by the fire. Who ever heard of planting this late in October and expecting to have a full grown pumpkin in a week? But, then again, he is an Indian and he said the seed came from fertile ground.

Every night for the following week I went out into the garden after work and watered my pumpkin seed, waiting for some sign of life, and every night panic would consume my every thought.

The night before the contest I again headed out to the garden, eager to see what I would find. “Damn that son of bitch! I bought that stupid Indian hocus pocus with the last of my week's allowance.” 

I sat by the fire and poured another glass of scotch, wondering what I was going to do. All week long I bragged about how mine was going to be the scariest face. I slammed my drink and poured another when, suddenly, I realized I forgot to make a wish like KoKo told me to when I placed the seed in the ground.

I shoved on my garden boots, grabbed a flashlight and trotted out into the garden. Perhaps there’s still time! I bent down and grabbed a handful of dirt, made my wish and gently blew the dirt back to the ground. “That should do it.”

I wasted no time falling asleep, because if I wanted to win the contest I’d have to rise early to get carving. Something woke me before the alarm and I rolled over to check the time. “Oh my head. I shouldn’t have had that last scotch.” The glowing green numbers said 6:05. “Damn!”

I flew out of bed, ran to the bathroom and switched on the light. I screamed in horror when the only thing I recognized were my eyes peering out from behind the most perfect pumpkin I had ever seen. 

Shit, why did I wish for the most perfect pumpkin head?   

Deciding not to waste a good thing, I walked into the kitchen, picked up a carving knife and began to gut and carve my perfect pumpkin. 

Word Count: 999 

Dying to Win

By T.K. Millin

The wheels of the plane sat down on the tarmac with the screeching announcement that Vincent Peele’s lifelong dream had finally come true. He made it to his Mecca; Las Vegas, Nevada, and the land of promised riches.

 

The Captain thanked everyone for choosing Lucky Air and the rowdy passengers broke out in applause and high pitched whistling. Not Vincent. He sat watching the plane pull up to the terminal, knowing deep down inside that this time there would be no more broken dreams. 

He switched on the lamp, which obviously wasn’t used to brighten the room, and threw his duffle bag on top of the bed and turned to what was supposed to be a closet, but instead was made into a bathroom, and took a piss.

Not bothering to waste time unpacking or checking to see if the room was up to par; because to Vincent having a bed, with any sheets, and a toilet and a sink where high enough standards, he switched off the lamp and ventured out into the vast territory of promised riches.

           ^^^^^

Feeling lucky, Vincent bellied up to the twinkling machine and before he knew it the thirty dollars he allotted for the quarter slots had dwindled down to fifty cents.

 

“Are you sure you’re not wanting anything to drink?” The scarcely clad waitress asked a third time.

“I told you I don’t drink when I’m working. Now go away.” He ran his palm across his balding forehead and dried it on his pants.

Taking a deep breath and holding it in, he slipped the quarter into the machine and pulled the lever down. Apples, cherries, sevens and cartoon looking stars whirled before his eyes and one by one they came to a sudden stop.

“Damn it!”

Being a superstitious man, Vincent shoved the last quarter into his shirt pocket, along with the two dollars he always kept for emergencies, and headed toward the poker table knowing his last five hundred would make him a lucky man. He sat down at the table and neatly stacked his chips in front of him and waited for the game to start.

The dealer looked around the casino and shrugged, “Guess it’s just you and me pal.” He flung the cards between the two of them. “Where you from?” 

“Nowhere, now hit me.” Vincent grumbled.

                              ^^^^^

Vincent threw the last of his chips at the dealer and grumbled, “Hit me again!” He sat watching him turn his cards over as if in slow motion and then flew across the table. “You cheated!” 

The Pit Boss grabbed Vincent by the back of the shirt and tossed him out onto the sidewalk where ripples of heat greeted him. He held his right arm up to block the scorching sun and pretended not to notice the passersby’s’ glances.

He stood and brushed the day’s events off his clothes and made his way down the strip. All he needed was one more chance to prove himself and all the Pit Bosses around would be begging for him to come inside. He knew it with all his heart.

“You look as though you could use a break.” The deep voice echoed.

Vincent looked up at the sign and read aloud, “The Pit Boss.”  He looked around and realized he had ventured off the main strip.

“Come inside, I believe I have what you need.” The mysterious man turned and disappeared into the shadows.

Hesitating, Vincent decided to follow the man through the darkened entryway and down the long unlit corridor. He paused to take a breath before entering the main casino floor. And when he did, a sudden exhilaration overcame him, because everywhere he looked the neon signs repeatedly flashed; everyone is a guaranteed winner.

Vincent reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his emergency fund and walked up to the dealer decked out in a pinstriped suit and derby hat.

“This is all I have left. Is it enough to place a bet?”  He slapped it on the green felt.

 

“You’re money is no good here.” The pale faced man said.

Vincent looked around the barren room and gulped. “Look I came all the way here from nowhere that matters. This is all I have left. Please, for once in my life I just want to win it big.”

The dealer flung the cards between the two of them. “Here at The Pit Boss we do not measure a man by how much money he has to lose, but more by how much of himself he is willing to give in order to win.”

Vincent smiled, because he knew all his dreams were about to come true.

          ^^^^^

““Hit me again.”  Vincent shouted. “Yes!” He reached out with both hands and pulled his winnings to his chest.

The mysterious man who led Vincent inside walked up behind him and tapped on his shoulder. “It is time to ante up.”

Vincent turned, “No problem man, I’m on a winning streak!” He slid a stack of chips toward the dealer.

The dealer looked at the chips and then Vincent. “I told you your money is no good here.” 

“Come on I’ve never won this big before. I can’t stop now.  Everything has a price, name it.” Vincent pleaded.

“Are you willing to bet everything you have?” The dealer asked.

“Yes. I want to win it all!” 

The walls began to tremble and the room shook with the violence of an earthquake. Suddenly, the floor opened up and Vincent felt himself falling backwards deeper and deeper, surrounded by flames of fire.

He watched the two men standing over the pit, smiling, and reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his last two dollars and twenty-five cents.

“I’ll bet you I can climb my way out of here!”   


Word count: 967

Dear Diary - Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Angelic Knight Press released this week the final version of the cover to their upcoming anthology, Satan's Toybox, in which my short story, Mr. Jingle, will be published.

The e-book version is scheduled to be released, October 15, 2011; with the paperback version to follow soon after. So stay tuned!   

Want to see why my tail hasn’t stopped wagging all week long? 

Image courtesy of Angelic Knight Press

Isn’t it pawsome? The cover artwork was done by Rebecca Treadway. In addition to designing book covers for Angelic Knight Press, Rebecca also offers her services to others in need of a book cover designer. You can find samples of Rebecca’s work, here, and more about her, here.

This week’s theme for Vamplit Publishing’s Friday Flash is, Death Wildcard, meaning the authors get to choose. I hope you’ll check back on Friday to see what, all things scary, I come up with!

Fangfully yours,  

Efi Loo

The Cat Vamp

Tales from the Mine

What Lurks Below

What appeared to be room enough for twenty more researchers quickly became a suffocating entombment to Professor Neudahl when their hired guide closed the steel door of the hundred year old elevator shaft and the only light of day disappeared as they descended. 

She turned and gripped the only loose material she could gather from the form fitting shirt of her assistant, Daniel, and closed her eyes as tight as shutters. 

She held back the urge to scream as the infinite darkness became filled with the screeching sound of metal meeting rock, because if there was one thing Professor Neudahl hated more than descending over two thousand feet into the earth it was admitting to her student’s her fear of the dark.

The guide unlatched the safety bar and slid the door to the left. “Watch ya step folks.” He stepped out first into the damp and odorless void, letting the three researchers exit one at a time.

“It doesn’t look so bad down here.” Professor Neudahl said, relieved to see the mine brightly lit.

The guide pointed to the right and then the left. “When the excavations started about a year ago they started installing lights, but they never got to finish." 

“Why’s that?”  Daniel asked.

The guide stepped back into the elevator, smiled and said, “Don't really know. Maybe the dark got to them.”  He pulled down the safety bar.

“You’re leaving!” Professor Neudahl said.

“For now. Don't worry, I'll be coming back." He slammed the door and the elevator started its screeching ascend.

    

           ^^^^^

The research team decided to separate to gather samples of the rare rocks, minerals and crystals the mine was famous for keeping buried.  

“Quickly, over here, I’ve found something!” One of the interns shouted.

Professor Neudahl shouted back, “Patricia, where are you?” Their echoes becoming one.

The intern’s screams suddenly filled every opened crevice, drowning out the Professor’s pleads to find her. Professor Neudahl waited for her echoes to silence before shouting out again. “Daniel! Greg!”

What the hell is going on?

She turned on the light to her helmet, grabbed two glow sticks and slowly made her way to where the end of the spot lights met the beginning of utter darkness. 

Far in the distance, she could hear footsteps approaching, but her helmet's light only bounced off the blackened emptiness. She tossed both glow sticks into the dark, casting a shadow against the dimly lit figure. 

“Daniel . . . Greg . . . is that you?”

The only response was shallow breathing from the figure and echoing screams from Daniel and Greg from somewhere in the darkness.

“Oh my God, we’re not alone down here!”  

       

The faster Professor Neudahl ran the faster each spot light went out one by one. Before the last one turned off she spotted a small opening and darted inside to hide. Afraid to look, she stood listening to her frantic breathing. 

I need to calm down.

She took her helmet off and shined the dim light around. There were three chairs, two wooden crates and a withered table with a framed picture in the middle. She picked up the faded black and white photo and screamed in horror when she saw the handwritten date of a hundred years ago and their hired guide, looking just like he did today.

The Coal Miner's Ghost

Hank hated having to deal with the drifters who wandered through town looking for work. They never stayed long enough to see the job done and then he had to start all over again.

But he felt differently about the new guy he hired named William. Even though the rest of the men thought he was strange and gave him the nickname, Willie the loner, Hank thought him to be someone who seemed they were going to stick around for a while.   

Today began the same as every other day for William. He arose at four in the morning, graciously accepted a cold cup of coffee and a stale cheese sandwich from his boarder before heading out to the coal mines to begin his fourteen hour shift. The only hope he had was the promise of tomorrow being the same.

The rail car descended its way deeper and deeper into the mine, the air becoming denser and colder as the men found other things to think about besides the harshness of their reality. 

“Hey Willie, why you’s still hanging around here?” Delbert, one of the miners, shouted over the screeching echoes.

Willie shrugged, keeping his distance from the men.

Each man stepped out of the rail car and headed in opposite directions to spend the next fourteen hours pounding and grinding and digging their way to their next meal, and if they were lucky, a cold beer and a smoke.

Needing a break, Delbert reached into his pocket and pulled out the small remnants of a smoke and a match. He flicked his nail across the match and nothing happened. He flicked it again and this time he heard and felt someone’s breath blow across his face.

“Who’s there? Are you’s too afraid to show yourself?”  

“You are the one who should be afraid.” Willie stepped out of the darkness, "For forty years I’ve been protecting coal miners from a fool like you who killed me and thirty other men. But today, only one will have to die.”

Today began the same as every other day for William. The only hope he had was the promise of tomorrow being the same.


           ^^^^^

Total word count: 912  

What Lurks Below - 551

The Coal Miner's Ghost - 361

Dear Diary - Tuesday, September 6, 2011

I'm back with pawsome news!

Now that August is behind me and my short story completed, I’m excited to be back blogging, writing Friday Flash Fiction and as you can see, decorating for fall. This week’s theme for Vamplit Publishing’s Friday Flash is Death Personified, and I think I’m off to a good start!

Now for the really paw licking, paw kicking and tail twitching news: The short story I wrote for submission to Angelic Knight Press’s upcoming Anthology, Satan’s Toy box: Demonic Dolls was accepted for publication!  Check out a sneak peek of the cover-

Cover art property of Angelic Knight Press

Is it not pawsomly spooky!  My story is titled, Mr. Jingle, and he is truly an evil doll. I am so honored to be given the opportunity to work with the great team at Angelic Knight Press and I can’t wait to read all the other spooky doll stories! I’ll keep you posted on its debut!

One thing I learned during my leave of absence from the blogging world is how much I miss being connected to my writing friends. Ghostwriting can be such a lonely world, so I guess it’s a good thing I have friends to bounce ideas off of and take out my frustrations on. Meet Dandy, T.K. calls him Dandy Wandy, but I call him fat boy. 

He’s super sweet and he knows to stay away when I’m working, but, the only problem is I think he stays away eating my portion of morsels! Do you think he can see his paws?

I'm glad to be back and I hope you stop by this Friday to read my Flash Fiction!

Fangfully yours,

Efi Loo

The Cat Vamp

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

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

Blaze McRob's Tales of Horror

Angelic Knight Press

Angelic Knight Press Facebook Page