Dick hates Christmas. This year
more than ever because he's been dumped by his boyfriend. There's only one way
to prove to Zack he's serious about their future together: coming out to his
family. Dick might be willing to do that, but what if it's already too late?
Excerpt:
“What are you
doing here?”
I flinched at
the harshness of his voice. He was early, and he’d approached in his silent and
stealthy way, like a wild cat, cornering its prey. That was pretty much how I
felt. Taken by surprise, I stood there frozen, my carefully prepared “speech”
completely forgotten. Zack was his usual beautiful self, with those huge green
eyes and long eyelashes and that cute, pouty, oh-so-talented-and-versatile
mouth; and that made me feel like even more of a loser.
“I asked what
you’re doing here,” my lover (well, technically my ex) repeated in an unusually
angry voice, looking at me like I was some kind of cockroach. I swallowed my
saliva and opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. I tried again,
closing and opening my mouth like a fish washed ashore. Still nothing.
“Go home, D,”
Zack finally said with a sigh. His anger seemed to evaporate suddenly, and he
looked exhausted. I wanted to reach closer and wipe the tiredness away from
that sweet-looking face, but I knew he didn’t welcome that kind of gesture
anymore. We were supposed to act like strangers now.
Despite his
tired plea, I tried to get closer, making a couple of hesitant steps until only
one more step separated us. I dared cupping his cheek gently and, to my
amazement, he closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. Maybe all was not lost.
Maybe we could still build something together. Maybe he’d forgive me and we
could go back…
“No. Stop.”
He shook his head and stepped away from me. All of a sudden, the magic was
broken, along with my foolish hopes.
Zack turned
his back on me and moved toward his front door, then unlocked it with hurried
movements.
“Go away.
It’s over,” he mumbled, struggling with the lock.
“Zack!” I love you.
“I said go
away!” he almost yelled. And before I had time to react, he banged the door in
my face. The metallic sound of the door locking felt like a prison sentence. I
knew he was there, listening behind that door for my retreating footsteps, for
I didn’t hear him move. We just stood, each on his side of the door, until I
was so frozen I felt paralyzed. I eventually moved.
I swear I
heard him sigh in relief when I finally stepped away. I guess that meant we
really were over…
Author
Bio:
Shayla made her debut in the
writing world during elementary school with a heart-breaking story about how
her grandma’s chicks died from an unknown disease. It was published in the
school newspaper, spurring a significant amount of pitiful looks directed her
way. Being a stubborn Aquarius, she kept on striving, publishing cheesy love
poetry, an endeavor that thankfully proved to be far more successful. Her
writing life changed dramatically when she read her first yaoi manga and
discovered her real calling. Imagining guys together has become her favorite
pastime. Aside from writing, daydreaming about men and devouring any M/M book
she can get her hands on and, she also loves manga, kpop, jrock, classical
music, crafts and art. An earnest romantic, she’s always been convinced there’s
a soulmate out there, searching for her. It appears he’s been lost. Maybe word
hasn’t gotten to him that cars are faster than white horses. In case you’ve
seen a prince on a white horse (though a sports car would be preferable),
Shayla would very much appreciate if you let her know.
Boughs of Evergreen is a
two-volume collection of short stories celebrating the holiday season in all
its diversity. Penned by authors from the UK, the USA, Scandinavia and Eastern
Europe, these are tales of the young and the not-so-young from many different
walks of life.
Themes of family, friendship and
romance take readers on a journey through some of the major holidays, both past
and present, including Thanksgiving, Advent, St. Lucia Day, Hanukkah, Eid,
Saturnalia, Winter Solstice, Yule, Christmas and New Year. In each we find at
the very least hope, and often love, peace and happiness.
Each story will also be
published individually as ebooks on 1st December, 2014.
Proceeds from sales of this
anthology will be donated to The Trevor Project. The Trevor Project is the
leading national organization [USA] providing crisis intervention and suicide
prevention services to lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and questioning
(LGBTQ) young people ages 13-24.
For more information, visit: www.thetrevorproject.org.
THE STORIES: (links go to
samples and author biographies)
Many a
dream can be realised with a little forethought. The characters in this
quartet of stories are intelligent, sensitive and literary. They are also
supremely voyeuristic and open-minded. Their intelligence is counterbalanced by
inhibitions, which they can only lose by premeditated seduction scenarios,
which relate intimately to their professional, creative and cultural lives. The
great effort each couple puts into arranging a scenario seems to enhance the
quality of the experience. A great source of inspiration for this and other
works has been the novel The Girl Beneath the Lion by André Pieyre de
Mandiargues.
Seductive
Semaphore: Fashion Designer Bethesda and journalist Hector live opposite each
other, with windows facing. They make initial contact through visible,
provocative gestures. Soon afterwards, they get direct contact when Hector
assists Bethesda with her folio. She invites him round to model for some of her
fashion creations, and proceeds to seduce him. The seduction continues with a
ritual visit to a sports centre, and then to a beach. They leave it open as to
whether their relationship could ever become long-term.
The
Heroine and the Author: Dreamer Hecate discovers she has a terminal illness.
She wants to make the most of the time she has left by being celebrated in literature
as a charismatic, legendary figure. She meets Ferdinand, a ghost writer, who is
happy to undertake this massive project with her. In the process, She gets an
idea of his physique through jogging and the fitness centre. Then there is a
seduction scene inspired by the literary models of Sappho and Donne. Being
‘open-minded’, they make a pact for each one to go and have a sexual adventure
– his hetero, hers lesbian. Their relationship is enhanced by this extra
dimension.
Dreamtime
Sensuality: Romona, highly literary and highly inhibited, goes to an exotic
island location. She deeply desires a passionate encounter. At the Pension
where she stays, she meets Stefano, who fulfils her requirements exactly. The
proprietress of the Pension picks up on Romona’s shyness, and gives her
reassurance, including some practice in the art of kissing. Romona orchestrates
an elaborate beach seduction scenario, and they are both fulfilled. They never
meet again, but their exchange of emails and text messages goes on indefinitely.
Dancing
with Danger: Verona is a Scriptwriter and Gareth an archaeologist. They both
have ‘retreats’ near the coast, and discover their common interests. Verona
contrives a half-seduction on a deserted beach, wearing 18th century retro gear
– related to their common interests. After some further encounters, they give
each other a ‘dare’ to go and have a really risky encounter with someone really
dodgy. Gareth finds a young woman on the run. Verona has a rapturous encounter
with someone who gets hauled in by the police, suspected of terrorism. She uses
her charm on the interrogating police officer to extricate herself. So Verona
and Gareth both meet up again, to tell their respective tales.
Ferdinand
responded to the prompt; he knew what he had to do—gradually, at intervals, he
removed his garments one by one as she breathily read the hypnotic, seductive
phrases.
His
garments came off with ease and grace, he obviously had some long-repressed
desire to do this. At last, he stood before her, beautiful, naked, and slender.
Somehow, his spirit prevailed over his earlier reticence, he shed his shyness
with his clothing. Since she saw him in trunks, Hecate anticipated this moment
with such relish. If the pool had been empty when they were there, she would
have taken them off there, or in the shower. Perhaps something could happen, or
even be premeditated in the future, on a deserted beach, secluded amid the
dunes.
She
handed him a volume of the collected poems of John Donne. “Now, I think you
know which one I want you to read me. Hmm…while we’ve been working together, I
bet you’ve had some reveries of me undressing, you undressing me.”
“I
have to admit that is so and I know which poem you mean, it’s Elegy Nineteen—To
His Mistress Going to Bed.
“We
really are on the same wavelength darling. I had learned of that poem as a
young girl, with a desperate desire one day to enact it. Every word of it
struck home as I disrobed alone, for years I yearned for that lovely partner to
give me those instructions live.”
Ferdinand
beamed, then quoted from near the end of the poem referring to the poet’s
nakedness at the beginning of the action. Then he proceeded to read, with his
lovely, hypnotic voice.
He
really made Hecate’s girdle feel like Saturn’s rings As she undid her sash and
cast it down, she felt her abdomen was bathed in heavenly light, visible only
to spiritual eyes.
The
request to remove her ‘breastplate’ gave her an etheric shudder. Taking off the
brooch at the top of her dress felt like casting away a shield, affirming that
strife and combat had been replaced by love.
In
response to the exhortation to unlace, she felt deliciously nervous as her
fingers twitched on her zips and buttons.
As
the gown went off following the next command, Hecate felt she had emerged from
a perennial cocoon, that she was the sun liberated from the constricting veils
of night.
As
for a ‘coronet’, Hecate was only wearing a slide, but removing it certainly
helped her locks flow freely.
It
was great to feel liberated from footwear; earlier on her high heels had felt
so sexy. But now her stockinged feet tingled with electric desire.
With
her underwear, admittedly she found nylon, calico and silk sexier than linen,
but the word, so sensually uttered, really relevant. (from The Heroine and the Author—Story
2)
Author Bio:
b. 1940.
Resident in the UK. Writer of poetry, literary criticism, speculative fiction
and romance. Main poetry collection Prickling Counterpoints (1998);
poems published in online International Times. Main
speculative works High Wired On (2002); Rock Bottom (2005). Translation of
Spanish epic La Araucana, Amazon 2013. Romances: Self’s Blossom;Explorations;
Further Explorations; Therapy Rapture; Darlene, An Ecstatic Rendezvous (all
pub Extasy (Devine Destinies). Singer-songwriter/guitarist. Main CD albums: Bacteria
Shrapnel and Kaleidoscope Concentrate. Many
tracks on You Tube, under ‘Dave Russell’
Okay, well as you may or may not know last week I wrote the last episode of Sentinels Of Varvuse 1: When The Walls Come Tumbling Down. It was sad to see the story end, but I wanted to let you all know it isn't the last we'll see of them.
In January 2015 I will be starting Sentinels of Varnuse 2: Wind Walkers... where we'll follow Arron & Vayne on their search for Simian... though they aren't the main characters. that's still Raven Blue & Crimson Redhawk. We'll also see Crimson's brother... Nico and his mat Dominic.
You'll still have to forgive my grammar & punctuation because apparently I still suck at it... LOL... #2 will probably have the same cover as #1 I'll just change the headings and titles.
I’m Selina Kray, a
first-time author whose new book, Like Stars, is out now from MLR Press and all
fine eBook vendors. A huge thank you to N.J. for hosting me today!
My historical M/M
romance, Like Stars, is set in the Edwardian era, so for a
Christmas dinner scene, I had to do a bit of research. It was a time when the
commercialization of Christmas really took hold, where the businesses that had
been founded during the industrial revolution learned to monetize the holidays.
Prince Albert and Charles Dickens’ enthusiasm for the holiday helped popularize
it. Toys and decorations flooded the market like never before, but, curiously,
the season’s biggest mascot had not yet found universal acclaim:
“Father
Christmas had been a figure in English history since medieval times. He
represents the Christmas spirit of goodwill, but he did not bring gifts. He
came from Odin and wore a blue-hooded cloak and white beard, and had an
evergreen wreath around his head. St Nicholas, the Christian saint, visited
Dutch children on Christmas Eve and left toys and candy in their straw-filled
clogs. If the children were bad a birch rod would be left instead of sweets. By
Edwardian times, Father Christmas and St. Nicholas had merged together, and
Father Christmas was pictured in a red suit and brought gifts to good children
who hung up their stockings on Christmas Eve.” [Source Link]
For the upper
classes, Christmas was yet another chance to flaunt their wealth, with lavish
decorations, opulent gifts, and of course a feast fit for the King—if he
happened to pop round for a visit. The usual nuts, fruits, cookies, and minced
pies were prepared for nibbling, while Christmas dinner itself could sometimes
be a 14-course affair, which might include oyster soup; vegetables in aspic;
duck liver terrine; and a roast bird stuffed with apples, chestnuts, and pork.
The piece de resistance was a flaming plum pudding, though some also served a
Buche de Noel. With lots of fruitcake. In England, as everywhere, you can never
have too many desserts.
The Edwardians were
also known for playing games at Christmas, some family-friendly, some
decidedly… not. One of the most famous is Snapdragon. Some brandy is poured
into a large bowl, sprinkled with raisins, then set aflame. The aim of the game
is to pick out the raisins without, say, lighting your cuff on fire. Nothing
says Christmas like a second-degree burn!
In Like Stars, the Christmas festivities prove even
more hazardous to one character’s well-being. A few months earlier, Nathaniel
Thredgold returned to Ravensworth Hall to reclaim his place as heir to the
estate and family fortune. Only problem is, he was supposed to have died in the
war eight years earlier. Some members of his family believe his story, and some
think he’s an imposter. His youngest brother Frederick falls squarely in the
latter camp, and he decides Christmas dinner is the perfect place to prove
Nathaniel a fraud once and for all. Even Nathaniel’s long-lost lover, Wesley
Douglas, isn’t certain it’s really him. There’s only one sure way to prove his
identity—reveal their boyhood affair—but that way leads to the gallows.
No matter how
you’re celebrating this holiday season, I wish you a very merry one, indeed!
-Selina
BLURB:
What if your true love walked
back into your life five years after his death?
Nathaniel Thredgold has finally
returned from the war. Or has he? His lover, Wesley Douglas, isn’t sure. Wesley
must put aside his engagement, his disbelief, and his anger to give his
professional opinion. The truth about their relationship isn’t an option. But
is this stranger really the Ravensworth heir and Wesley’s long-lost love? When
your heart’s at stake, there’s no room for doubt.
Set in the Edwardian era, Like
Stars is a tale of mysterious identities, scandalous family secrets, and lovers
in a dangerous time.
EXCERPT:
Summer, 1907
Dr. Wesley
Douglas' entire world unraveled and re-spun itself the instant he saw the
hooded man looming in the doorway of the Raven's Claw Inn. It was not his
custom to stare so openly, but neither was he accustomed to seeing a ghost with
the face of his long-dead lover under the midday sun. Haggard as the grim
reaper himself, his face half-concealed by the drape of his long black hood,
this specter from his past stole down the side alley that led to the main road.
The sight was so unexpected, so breath-stealing, that Wesley nearly plowed into
an overhanging sign as he turned to follow him.
He shut his
eyes for a second, indulging in a violent and hopefully unseen shiver. Cursing
under his breath at his susceptibility, he steered his horse around the man,
then veered into an about-face confrontation. Rallying his senses, Wesley
looked again, staring flagrantly at the man's few discernible features,
scrutinizing every visible curve and slope of his visage for confirmation of
the dour-clothed stranger's identity. When a lone, dark eye flickered into
view, Wesley's heart leapt in his chest.
His shock was
such that he dropped his horse's reins. Bracer reared, his flailing hoofs
threatening the sheep that clotted the street like blow-off tufts from a cotton
field. If Wesley had not been suffering some form of spook-induced paralysis,
he might have flown off his horse and chased the scoundrel down. He might have
gripped him by his collar and spat in his face. He might have struck at him
with little more than his long-kindling agony and a riding crop. As it was, he
could only gawk at what must be a ghost.
If it were a
commonplace occurrence to encounter Nathaniel Thredgold's ghost whilst
traversing the small, shadowy lane between the dressmaker's and the inn, Wesley
might have patronized the area more frequently. As it was, the herd of ornery
sheep stationed themselves, with airs of glowering intimidation, before the
butcher's shop, thus blocking all traffic, equine and otherwise, on the high
street. This was not an uncommon occurrence in the picturesque yet somnambulant
village of Haversham, a close-knit and somewhat cloistered community in the
wilds of Derbyshire. Nestled a touch too snugly between two towering hills,
village life flowed at the same pace as the current of the tranquil river that
arced around it to the east.
With shaking
hands, Wesley gripped Bracer's reins and heeled into his flanks, urging the
horse to vault over several clusters of sheep, who baaed indignantly. Soon, he
was galloping down the country roads at such velocity that wind blew through
his hair, even on a stagnant midsummer day. It was only once they jumped the
stone fence into the courtyard of his cottage home that he dared draw breath,
dared let his shock overtake him, dared wonder what manner of mischief now
stalked the path to Ravensworth Hall.
By the time he
shucked his boots and crept through the side door, Wesley was a good way to
composing himself. The unseasonable humidity, never welcome to one of his fair
complexion, had made him so woozy that he had fallen victim to fanciful
imaginings of the most pedantic and fruitless sort. What, after all, had he
truly seen of the man? A veiled visage? A lurching step? A sallow cheek, its
edges darkened by the drape of his hood? No scientist of merit could form a
concrete notion, let alone a hypothesis, based on such scant evidence. Servant
to logic and rational thought that he was, he could only conclude that, once
again, his damnable emotions had colluded to deceive him, to make real what he
very well knew could not be.
A dry,
strangled cough from the parlor broke his reverie; he took a moment to further
scold himself, then sought out the patient he had ordered home some three hours
ago. Beatrice, alas, was exactly where he had left her, bundled up to her red,
flaky nose on the divan, a bowl of steaming, cheese cloth-covered water cradled
on her lap. With a sigh, Wesley dropped his saddle bag, then moved into her
line of vision. Bea met his stern look with a defiant one, which would have
been almost comical, given her puffy pallor, if his ride home had been without
incident. With a huff of annoyance, he plucked a recently used thermometer from
the side table and studied the mercury line. Dissatisfied, he gave it a violent
shake, then plunged it back under her tongue before she could protest.
"I pray
you've cancelled the remainder of my appointments?" Bea nodded, scowling.
"Very well. Another hour's rest, and then I must insist upon escorting you
home."
When she opened
her mouth to protest, the thermometer fell out, rescued from a fiery bath by
the cheese cloth. "I mean to spend the night on the ward, Wesley."
"You will
not. Your mother and aunt are far more capable, not to mention eager to coddle
you."
"More
capable than a medical doctor?"
"At
coddling, yes." He snatched up the thermometer and stuck it back in her
mouth. "I might remind you that a doctor's office is supposed to be free
of sickness, that we take a care not to infect further illness on our patients."
Unimpressed,
Bea spat the thermometer out again.
"As I
might remind you that Mother and Auntie would gladly concede the right to
coddle me if it meant you showed sign of the devotion you oft proclaim, but, to
their minds, regularly fail to demonstrate."
Wesley
swallowed a grunt of irritation, then collapsed onto the far end of the divan,
narrowly avoiding her toes. He considered this a moment, then glared in her
direction. "Do I truly, or is this a ploy to evade their questions,
nagging or otherwise?"
Bea frowned.
"It is a ploy. But only because they have been so relentlessly inquisitive
of late. You promised them a wedding."
"And I
mean to deliver one. You know very well it has only been a year since I repaid
the last of my father's debts. If we are to live comfortably, then the lavish
wedding they expect will have to wait a while longer. A state of affairs that
is not helped by your languishing in the patients' ward when ill."
Beatrice
sighed, which brought on another hacking fit. Wesley sprang to his feet,
fetching the cup of tea that cooled on the side table. A few sips calmed her
throat. He rubbed soothing circles into her back; she straightened to
accommodate him. He wished he could offer her his shoulder. It was of great
comfort to him that they did care for each other, even if their impending
marriage was one of the utmost convenience.
"It is
just such a trial to endure them, even when well," she griped. "If I
had known they meant to drape me from head to foot in ribbons and lace, then I
would have agreed to flee to the continent and elope."
"You must
allow them their fun, if only in the name of preserving the illusion of our
romance. Though I can imagine the effort it requires when feeling poorly.
Still, we cannot take advantage of their laxity in chaperoning us. That, too,
discourages local nobles from calling on my services."
"Aye,"
Beatrice acknowledged, though she looked the more miserable for it.
His aggravation
having fled with the rise of his sympathy, Wesley found himself more amenable
than before to compromise.
"I shall
fetch them here," he concluded, with a pet to her blanketed head, "so
long as you swear to confine yourself to this parlor and the guest quarters for
the better part of a week. That, I trust, will give us both ample opportunity
to demonstrate our boundless affections, and I will bear some of the endless
questions in your stead. Does that suit you?"
"Infinitely
well," Beatrice smiled, her relief and exhaustion plain. She reached for a
clean handkerchief then, using it as a barrier against infection, and clasped
his hand.
Once again,
Wesley found himself grateful for the friendship between them, one that not
only permitted their strange, face-saving partnership, but was also of immense
comfort to him in times of doubt and strife. Sensing her fatigue, he tucked her
into the divan, then set about boiling more tea. Though he craved a moment's
introspection, a private examination of the day's events would have to wait on
meddling law-mothers and flu-waylaid fiancees.
Author
Bio:
Selina Kray is the nom de plume
of an author and English editor. Professionally, she has covered all the artsy-fartsy
bases, having worked in a book store, at a cinema, in children’s television and
in television distribution, up to her latest incarnation as a subtitle editor
and grammar nerd (though she may have always been a grammar nerd). A
self-proclaimed geek and pop culture junkie who sometimes manages to pry
herself away from the review sites and gossip blogs to write fiction of
her own, she is a voracious consumer of art with both a capital and a
lowercase “A”.
Having long ago realized that
she was the Salieri to the lit world’s Mozarts, she has embraced her love
of erotica with intricate plots, complex characters, and lots of heart. Whether
she has achieved this goal is for you, gentle readers, to decide. At present,
she is hard at work on future novels at home in Montreal, Quebec, with her wee
corgi serving as both foot-warmer and in-house critic.
Ken's
dog, Jake, is frightened of Halloween yard decorations, but when Ken tries to
show him that the enormous face, partially emerged from a front lawn, is nothing
to be scared of, he gets the fright of his life when the eyes open and gaze
interestedly at him.
Ken, while walking his dog on
Halloween night, discovers a half-buried face and unearths a fifteen foot troll
in a neighbor's front yard. This is Grendel, who has come up from the
underworld, he says, to look around. Entranced by the troll's magnificent
physique and surprisingly gentle nature, Ken befriends him and takes him home.
But the pair soon discovers they are at odds with the forces of law and order,
and must fight not only for their relationship, but eventually for their very
lives. During this struggle Ken discovers more about his own dark passions than
he ever guessed existed.
About the story and its origins: The story is a MM
romance in the horror/supernatural/humor genres.
I am a recent arrival in the field of MM romance
writing, my principal literary field of interest being sci-fi and supernatural.
Grendel is to date the
longest work I have had published. I am working my way up to submitting a
full-length novel, Grendel
being just short of the 60,000 word novel category threshold (it's 43,000 words
long).
I completed Grendel
this past summer in what is for me record fashion—two months—principally while
sitting on the backyard patio with our two dogs, under the sun umbrella,
enjoying the mildly warm summer we had with a cold drink or hot coffee by my
side, my laptop on my lap. That was pretty nice, but even nicer was how, for
the first time, a story just seemed to write itself.
It was summoned into existence by a call for
submissions by MLRPress, wanting
stories on a Halloween theme. Thinking about story ideas, I remembered the
experience I'd had several years ago while walking my dogs one evening around
Halloween.
They were young dogs at the time, and tended to
react when frightened by something. It was dark and quiet on the street, when
suddenly they went nuts in response to something in someone's front yard.
Peering into the shadows I received a shock of my own as I saw what looked like
an enormous head partially emerged from the lawn. I remember it was quite
effective, and I found the entire experience really entertaining.
So now I asked myself, what about if the head had
been real? The story just kind of went from there: the main character and his
dog trying to figure out what the thing was (it's just fake—no, wait, it
isn't); being motivated to action; digging it up, and releasing the full person
(a fifteen foot troll of tremendous, uh, proportions); befriending him,
cleaning him off, taking him home, and finally dealing with the situation of
having a fifteen foot troll living in the back yard of a quiet suburban
bungalow (he's too big get in through the door).
The possibilities for sex (challenging), romance
(again challenging), confrontation with social norms and the drama that would
arise from that, just poured from my imagination. And when I'd finished it and
my principal beta reader said he liked the story's humor and plot twists, I
realized I had a story that could please readers other than myself (at least
one, anyway), so I submitted it to MLR
(my first submission to them) and was delighted when the offer to publish came
back.
To me the story is a kind of homage to my first
boyfriend, who was big and burly and really besotted with me. It's also an
exploration of a fairy-tale horror figure (the bogey-man), transfigured into an
erotic romance in which everything is turned upon its head. If the story is
well-received I have an idea for a sequel all ready. -G.P.Keith
Grendel
by G.P. Keith… Published by MLR Press 2014 on 21 Nov 2014
Excerpt
from chapter 1
It
was dark and quiet when they left the house, the only sound being the rapid
click-click of Jake’s nails on the sidewalk. Ken inhaled deeply and smiled. He
loved the fall, with its fresh smells and the magical beauty of the shadowy
houses with their leaf-covered lawns.
Several
minutes into the walk a series of firecrackers went off in somebody’s backyard
and Jake started and froze. But in the silence that followed this he soon
resumed his interested trotting along the sidewalk. Seeing this, Ken began to
hope that his little dog was starting to toughen up with regard to the horrors
of Halloween.
After
that, the walk was so peaceful and pleasant that they ended up going further
than usual. Ken was still careful to cross the street whenever they approached
a house that looked like it had yard decorations, though. By doing this, he
ensured there were no incidents, and as they were approaching home Ken began to
feel that walk had been a complete success. And they had gotten through another
Halloween.
He
was just congratulating himself on this, when Jake exploded in a fury of barks
that caused Ken to jump several inches into the air. Groaning, Ken
automatically pulled back on the leash as he peered forward into the darkness.
He could just make out some kind of lawn decoration between two cedar bushes.
Walking forward to get a better view, he recognized with a sudden frisson of
horror, what appeared to be a large head partially emerged from the lawn.
When
this reaction had passed, Ken sighed. It wasn’t the first “buried head” he’d
seen. Two years ago had been his first—and it had given both him and Jake quite
a fright. Last year there had been two of these things, and he avoided those
houses ever since. And nowhere was another one! While he appreciated their
effectiveness, he also knew that Jake nursed an abiding horror of them.
So,
keeping a firm hold on the leash, Ken came up to where Jake was standing, legs
spread sturdily, barking defiantly at the thing. The “head” was composed of
four separate elements: a nose, two closed eyes, and a broad forehead between
straw eyebrows and straw hair, all protruding from the grass.
Ken
was struck by the realism of this “face.” Though it was smaller than the others
he had seen, being only about three times the size of a human face, it was more
convincing. Squatting down, he petted Jake reassuringly, and was pleased when
this appeared to have an effect. Jake’s barks became intermittent. Maybe the
little dog was getting inured to
Halloween!
Thinking
this, Ken decided to remain where he was a couple of minutes, so that Jake
might finally come to dismiss the thing. It seemed a better plan than pulling
him away and so leaving another traumatic Halloween memory in his canine mind.
As
he continued to pet Jake, Ken looked the face over. It struck him as curious
that the face wasn’t larger. While it was definitely creepy, it lacked the
sense of something truly monstrous, which he thought was the point of this type
of decoration.
And
as he continued to ponder this, Jake’s barking became less and less. He seemed
more curious than afraid now. Thinking that this might be the opportunity for
him to learn about these things, Ken let the leash out.
“Go
check it out, boy!”
Jake,
however, wouldn’t move forward. And he continued to bark every few seconds.
Ken
shook his head. He would have to demonstrate. He stood up and took a step
toward the feature of the face that was closest—the nose—and looked back at his
dog. Jake, after hesitating a second, crept up behind him.
“Brave
dog!”
Ken
took another step forward, and Jake, again, crept forward after him. Ken looked
at the face again. From this close, he was even more impressed with the realism
of the features. The eyebrows and hair, which had looked like straw from further
away, now looked more like—well, coarse straw-colored hair. And the facial
features, while caricatures of a human face, the closed eyes being too big for
the nose, and the nose itself too pudgy, were very complete in their details,
such as the eyelashes and the texture of the flesh, quite realistic in fact.
One
more step and Ken was right next to the nose, which stuck up about eight inches
from the grass. It was, he decided, probably made of Styrofoam, painted to look
like flesh. He almost nudged it with his sneaker, but then decided it would
impress Jake more if he touched it with his fingers. So he squatted down and,
after making sure Jake was watching him, reached out to the tip of the nose.
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