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Posts Tagged ‘monsters’

I come from a long line of body snatchers, probably the top-notch body snatchers in America. No, make that the world. Some people might think it’s gross digging up bones or corpses, but who asked them? It’s no big deal, but then I’ve been doing it since I got out of diapers.

On Amazon books

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Generally speaking, witches’ parties are no fly-by-night things.

1. Never insult a witch at the party, no matter what she says; you could be turned into a frog.
2. (Number 1 leads to this one) Don’t eat the frog legs – you might be eating someone you know.
3. Skip the punchbowl, unless you like eye of newt or bat wings, etc.
4. If some witch asks how you clean your kitchen floor, say a mop or vacuum. Brooms are a no-no since they are touchy about anyone using their travel mode for such menial labor. Think of a BMV mopping the floor.
5. Avoid any witch discussing magic spells with a twitching nose or one with a cold who sneezes – who knows, you might end up in Hades or Timbuktu.

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1.  Dress up as a tree for Halloween or a fire hydrant

2.  Give him your cheek to kiss, he might take out your neck

3.  Necking is definitely out

4.  Throw a stick  (makes them mad-insults their dignity)

5.  Invite them in on your white carpet on a rainy day

6.  If they try to hump your leg-well, let them

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Well, today I was thinking of old friends and situations.  Some odd.  Not the friends, just the events.  Debbie was with me when I got trapped by a  gravestone.  We were looking for a witch.  We didn’t find the witch, just bruises and scares.  Charisse was with me when I saw the spaghetti headed monster at the bridge.  Debra M. was with me when we snuck up on a parking couple at our Lover’s Lane (which was down by the bridge-same bridge with the big headed monster).  We scared the couple so badly that the guy pulled a gun on us.  Well, maybe it wasn’t our brightest of moments.  Anyway, I’m glad I survived those years and am thankful to have such great friends who put up with my over-active imagination.

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I’m an odd duck well not really a duck, but odd yes.  I’m an idiot in math, a Neanderthal in technology, computers hate me (that’s another story), but now for the good stuff.  I’m an artist, sculptor and an award winning author.  Sometimes my readers ask how I come up with my stories since I mainly write paranormal romance for adult and young adult (I also do a little romantic suspense with a twist-there’s always a twist and some humor as well).  Now about my supernatural stories.  It wasn’t just one step that put me on the road of the paranormal journey.  Remember Robert Frost, “The Road Not Taken”- hey, I took the unknown road….werewolves, vampires, gargoyles, trolls…the whole lot.  One of my first memories of the supernatural was when I was in high school.  I was the girl who was known as “the girl who saw the spaghetti-headed monster.”  One night we went to find the monster.  He was supposed to live in the cemetery.  Three boys and three girls.  My girlfriends believed me about the monster, the boys just wanted to make-out.  Typical right.  Anyway, my boyfriend was trying to kiss me when I heard it!  Then saw it!  Red eyes glowing in the utter stillness of the ebony night.  I screamed, which put Hyde off kissing me.  Pointing, I told him, it’s the monster!  The others ran over to us, and I explained that the spaghetti-headed monster had been replaced by a werewolf.  Of course, my girlfriends screamed.  The boys made brave noises about hunting the creature.   I really was curious.  LIke a cat.  Maybe I even had seven or eight lives.   We bravely headed in the direction of the Wolfman of Fort Phantom Lake’s last known location.  As we scrounged the schinery (that’s like really scratchy bushes and mesquite trees) the boys got more and more nervous.  Something LARGE had broken through the bramble bushes.  The buys were starting to believe in the unknown.   I could tell by the way their eyes darted nervously around, and their breathing grew tight.  They should believe.  We had not only one monster at the lake, but two!  Our town would never be the same.  A few minutes later we arrived at a farmer’s field.  It would have been so Stephen King, fields of corn and all, but it was peanuts.  The soil in our area was too sandy for corn.  However, it grew great peanuts and monsters, I guess.  Anyway, we carefully moved in as to not alert the werewolf.  Suddenly, my girlfriend groaned and pointed.  I moaned in terror.  There was a large object, half-hidden in shadows on a cross-like thing.  My girlfriends started to cry and I tried to make sense of it.  Werewolves didn’t sacrifice their victims, they ate them.  Feeling secure, I tilted my small flashlight at the object.  My boyfriend chuckled.  It was a scarecrow.  And not a pretty one.  Or typical.  It had a hairy face and big shoulders.  The eyes were closed and so was the mouth, but I just knew there were fangs there. Shakily, I approached and moved the flashlight to the hands.   Dirty, big – really big, hairy and the fingernails were claws!   My boyfriend said it was fake and I started to argue with him.  Really, what kind of nut had a werewolf for a scarecrow?  I knew better.  This was another werewolf the farmer had killed and hung to scare away other werewolves.  Suddenly, howling filled the air and we ran.  Later, everyone decided my spaghetti-headed monster was a scarecrow with a really bizarro hairdo and a gray beard.  The howling had been ole man Schmidt’s bloodhounds.  Sure…I had to quit dating my boyfriend because he couldn’t see the werewolves for the scarecrows.  Or the paranormal possibilities of the world.  Life’s tough in high school.  It’s tougher if you know the truth about the monsters under the bed.  They aren’t just under your bed!

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