By
Debbie Angelosanto
After being swept up in the busy world of everydayness. Time not belonging me, but to work, I decided to take a respite. My brain would not sleep, could not slumber without paranoia seeping in. Restless, long nights encompassed my world. I walked out into the moonlight.
The shadows of the trees created phantoms, which welcomed me into the abyss. In the eeriness of the black depth, I found strange comfort. The void it created between light and dark in the spidery vines encompassed me. I could not leave, not even if I wanted to, which I did not. The alluring darkness captivated me.
Out of the woods he came. A bright light, bringing starshine to earth. He wanted me to see what he saw. His square, angular face lined with a beard, held me in a trance. I could see my reflection sparkle in his intense blue eyes, set by the glow of the moon.
He spoke without a word, yet I understood.
I saw. I heard. I felt the eternal spirit of the wood, as it had been for centuries, never changing, ever captivating in this lonely, lovely world of night.
I needed to write. Every idea, every thought in my head should become my reality.
I saw him, his face bright in the ebony of the forest. Imploring me, beckoning me. I must make my world my own, as he did.
He extended his arm and reached out to me.
I took his ice, white hand. I knew who he was. I had seen his face many times.
It wasn’t a dream. I saw him in his waistcoat and rolled up sleeves, with his ruffled wavy dark hair, I knew Thoreau had returned home.
In my mind, I heard him say in a crisp voice; “You are what you are. Let you be yourself, as nature intended.” He released my hand.
He motioned to all the woods surrounding us, “you are part of this. This is part of you.” I looked at the trees and my heart sang, knowing what he meant.
Then he faded slowly away, before my eyes in the evening wood. Henry the spirit had vanished.
I needed to take a sabbatical. It was time to retreat from my old world. To see who I truly could be. In this moonlit wood, I knew
my journey had just begun.
Debbie Angelosanto
By
Debbie Angelosanto
I awakened in the dead hours of the morning. I could not sleep. I was staying in a cottage in the country away from my ordinary world.
I heard rustling in a large tree up ahead.
Then I watched as a sheep jumped out of the tree.
Odd yes. A sheep in full BAAA! It went scurrying off, crying all the way. It ran away across the meadow. I looked up at the oak, expecting to see, for some bizarre reason, another sheep. No sheep.
I saw a black paw hanging down. Draped over the branch like garland on a Christmas tree. It looked like a cat’s paw. Not just a cat’s paw, but a BIG cats paw. My eyes moved up the feline appendage. There, sleeping and snoring on a tree limb was a large, black panther. I could just make him out in the moon’s light. He was fast asleep. Clearly, the sheep was able to make his get-away. Why the big cat fell asleep before he started on his dinner I’ll never know.
But the sheep was safe.
Now, most people would be afraid. Here was a wild cat that could have me for dinner, just a few feet away. He had been deprived of his dinner, after all, and I would imagine I would look pretty tasty to a panther. I don’t think he’d spit me out. Put it that way. I should hide, I should call the zoo. He must have escaped, but I was fascinated with the creature.
I couldn’t move. I should get my camera. This would make a great photo after all. But I couldn’t. I could only look at the beauty of this exquisite animal. I was hypnotized by it.
There was sound behind me, a snap of a breaking twig. It was probably someone, something. I was not interested in whatever it was. There was the most majestic, stunning animal I have ever seen in this oak tree. At the sound of the twig snap the panther’s eyes opened in alert. He glared at me. Was I done for? Probably. Should I run? I didn’t know. He jumped out of the tree and my heart raced. I had nothing with which to defend myself. I was to be devoured by an animal I only hoped to admire. I was to die an unpleasant death. He ran towards me. I froze. I was doomed.
The panther snarled and he lunged at something behind me. Turning, I could see it was a man with a crazed look in his eyes clutching a gun and walking towards me. The beast charged at him. I could hear the wild animal devouring his flesh. I could smell the salt of his blood, I heard his screams, his cries. Finally, the shrieking stopped.
Should I have run?
Naw! This is better than watching reality shows. It WAS the real thing and honestly this guy deserved to be cat chow. Wow! So that is what a liver looks like? Mr. Panther are you sure you want to eat those intestines? Yuck! His heart sat nearby still beating for a few beats until it slowly stopped pulsating. His gory guts and what was left of the man lay in front of me. The animal withdrew. It looked at me as it slinked past. It was understood. I knew. It meant me no harm.
In the distance across the meadow I saw a young woman wearing a tan uniform waiting for the animal. It ran towards her. Not sure where she came from. Why are there so many people and wild animals out tonight anyhow? Well, she wasn’t there for long. When the panther reached her they both evaporated into nothing.
Guess I had been pretty lucky. Someone heard the screaming man. Soon a cruiser pulled up. The police told me they had been searching for the man who was now panther chow. He was an escaped convict who preyed on young women. One of the cops, who looked like he had dreamed of too many donuts, told me the criminal shot a girl feeding a black panther at the zoo. When the animal growled at him, growing agitated in his cell, the convict shot the panther, killing it.
They saved my life. Where the sheep came from, I don’t know. Maybe it is what ghost panthers dream about.
Debbie Angelosanto
By
Paul Angelosanto
When I gaze at you all I see,
is the ghost you will be
I know you would want to haunt me,
because of what I could make you see
I’m afraid to make you die for me,
because your ghost would never let me be free
Still, when I gaze at you, part of me,
longs to set your ghost free
THEY NEVER RETURN
By
Paul Angelosanto and Sandy Bernstein
“Someone messaged me about coming to the next writer’s group,” Sandy said.
Across the library Paul looked up from his laptop. “Oh, they’ll show up once and never return.”
“You’re probably right. Our group is like a black hole for writers,” Sandy said. She leaned back in the cozy leather chair. They both had been coming to this monthly writers group for many years. Always meeting at the same library. Sandy and Paul were the only two that remained. Everyone else who joined usually left after a meeting, sometimes two. A small number had actually lasted a little longer than a year. Eventually they too, never returned. Sandy really had no conception of what drove them off.
“Well, do you want to read something that you’ve written, before one of us falls into a black hole?” Paul said sarcastically.
“Sure. This is from the novel I’ve been working on. You know, the one about the ghost that haunts the library,” Sandy said.
“Great. I love that one. I’m glad you’re going back to it. I think it’s the most terrifying thing you’ve ever written,” Paul said. He got ready to take notes. Of course it was the goal of the group to provide constructive, honest, critiques of each other’s writing.
“Thanks. I decided to add some more things to it. A group of writers meet at the library. All the new members keep disappearing,” Sandy said. Her smile was quietly understated.
“Does sound a bit familiar. Have you figured out why these people in your novel never return?” Paul asked. He had his own theory about why people never returned to Sandy’s group.
“Well, if I tell you, will you still keep coming to the group? I need your feedback you know.”
Paul felt a shiver when Sandy spoke.
“I’ll keep coming back as long as you let me,” Paul said. He was doing research for his own novel. It was about a cursed group of authors. He couldn’t quite figure out the ending.
“I’ll explain more about the plot as I read it to you. By the way, I picked a name for the book, it’s called “They Never Return,” Sandy said.
Paul settled back into the leather chair to wait for whatever came next. Or didn't.
By
Paul Angelosanto
I’m Little Miss Witch,
not a little b***h.
I could make you rich,
or make you itch.
I’m always a little witch,
but I’m not always a little b***h.
Sometimes I’m a big b***h!
By
Paul Angelosanto
Happy Halloween. Your costumes are wonderful. Now, you’re a cowgirl aren’t you? How delightful. And you, young man, you’re a scarecrow. What wonderful costumes, yes wonderful costumes.
What’s that?
Oh, the skin hanging loose on my face? The sores? The boils? Oh, that’s just part of the Halloween season isn’t it? We must look scary, unless of course you choose costumes such as wonderful ones you’re both wearing.
Why does my grisly appearance look so real? Well, I put care into it, yes I do.
Don’t you still want some treats? You do? Oh good.
Here you can each have one of these.
Don’t they glow so pleasantly? Such a shiny emerald glow. Carry them in your hands as you go from house to house. They’ll keep you warm, and help light your way.
Later when you get home leave them out for your parents. It’ll be a fun trick.
Oh don’t worry about them working. You’ll know they’re working when you hear your parents screaming.
Happy Halloween!
By
Sandy Bernstein
They guard their gems and jewels
as if their lives still depend on it,
directing and misdirecting
those who brave the sea,
challenging fate
to the cobalt depths below.
Dare
Today’s treasure seekers
chasing dreams of their own,
risking it all
while provoking ghosts;
ah, the infamous sea scoundrels
who went down centuries ago,
claimed by the lore of the sea,
Their stories untold
Their treasure hidden
Until now
The salvagers arrive, knowing
it is a battle of wit and luck
against time and nature,
in an effort to explore
what lies hidden in sand and silt,
twisted up with weeds and debris.
What glittering gold of yore
yearns to be free,
patiently waiting,
trapped far below the waves,
protected and cursed
by vengeful lost souls
who once ruled the sea,
And still do.
By
Sheila Foley
BY
Sandy Bernstein
All that was left of the playwriter was her right sandaled foot. It was awkwardly sticking out of the monitor, her pink flip flop flopping in the gusty breeze spewing from the screen. Then the screen went dark, save for the green and red swirls floating in cyberspace, lighting up like a creepy Christmas tree. A few last screams echoed from the computer, as the hard drive frantically chomped away. Finally, the monitor turned to a murky dark red. Blood. It swirled on display as Calissa’s last gasping words echoed out.
“My co. . .computer h - hates me,” she whispered. And finally, in a louder voice, she said; “I hope someone gets m - my mess . . .message. Pleeaaasse. . .” she spat as the screen faded, silencing her.
“What happened?” Her hunky boyfriend asked the older gray - haired detective, who stepped into the living room several moments later.
“That is a question for you,” the detective said with a smug look. “A neighbor said she heard bloody screams coming from this apartment. Are you the boyfriend?”
“I am."
"How long have you been here?"
"I got here just before you did."
"So, where is your girlfriend?"
"I don't know. She wasn't here."
"Hmm," the detective narrowed his eyes at young man. "What were you doing here?"
"Waiting for Calissa. We were going to rehearse our lines for the upcoming play we're in. Calissa wrote it and we are the stars,” said the tall handsome actor.
The computer suddenly moaned.
"What's that?" The detective asked, glancing at the screen. It was blank.
“I don't know, but Calissa always complained about her computer doing weird things. Like it didn’t like her.”
The detective raised a bushy eyebrow. “How’s that?”
“Like it was alive or something. She claimed it knew her thoughts or took her writing to heart and tried to . . .”
“What?” The detective smirked. “Try again.”
“Yeah. . . Well, she wrote most of the plays we often stared in when we couldn’t get anyone good enough for the roles. Anyway, it was like the computer didn’t like her or something. Or maybe it didn’t like her stories. Hell, I don’t know. It sounds strange, but that’s what she told me.”
“You’re right. It sounds strange. What kind of drugs are you taking?”
“I’m not.” The young actor grinned, sweeping his long curly bangs from his penetrating blue eyes.
The detective shook his head. “Look kid. . .”
“My name is Rob. And you can see for yourself that nothing happened.”
“All I see is a dark screen. Oh, actually, now I’m seeing something else,” said the detective as he bent closer to the monitor. I see an image of a foot. It looks . . . weird. Are you guys writing some kind of horror story?”
Rob looked closer. Now the foot was back, almost as large as the monitor. Still, it looked like nothing more than an image, and not the ghastly scene it was only moments before. The last of Calissa the detective didn’t see. “Hmm.” Rob scratched his forehead. “I don’t know what to say.”
“So where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“Something doesn’t add up. How about you come down to the station with me for questioning.”
“Why? Far as I can tell nothing happened, just some nosey neighbor calling the cops on us because we were rehearsing. It’s happened before.”
“You just said she wasn’t here. So, what did the neighbor hear? She swears screams were coming from this apartment.”
“I don’t know. Calissa might have had the TV or radio on.”
“But not now.” The detective observed skeptically. “So, where is she?”
“I don't know. She told me earlier she might be late.”
“How convenient."
The actor said nothing.
“And the TV wasn’t on when you got here?” The detective asked in an accusatory tone.
“No. But come to think of it, I heard something from the next apartment. Sounded like a TV show. Maybe that’s what the neighbor heard.” Rob shrugged, turning his attention to one of the police officer’s as he came out of the bedroom. The other one nodded to the detective and left.
“Detective Smart. We haven’t found a body and there is no evidence of foul play. And nothing seems amiss in this room either. We checked it out before you came.”
“Did you see or hear anything, like the TV? Asked Detective Smart.
“No. Nothing.”
"Okay, you can leave now, officer Crafty. I’ll be along in a few.”
“I guess you don’t need me either, do you?” Rob asked, with a deadpan look.
“Not now. But stick around kid. I’ll want to question you later.”
“Okay.” Rob said, as he saw the cops out. He closed the door and leaned against it. “Whew, that was a close one,” he muttered as he ventured back into the living room where the computer sat on a small desk. He noticed the hard drive was still at work, chirping away now, making disgusting slurping sounds.
“Gross.” Rob said, seeing the light flash quickly on the tower, indicating it was updating or working on something. Or someone. The screen lit up and Rob stood there dumbfounded for a moment as words in large red letters began to appear on the screen.
“Rob. I know what you’ve done. You programed my computer to kill me. I know you like Jen, the redhead from the Wheaton Theater. She told me you came on to her and that you wanted her to play the lead. I told her no. I had to play it. I needed to keep an eye on you. You’re mine! No one is getting my man. My handsome, soon to be famous boyfriend. No one!”
The words faded on the screen as Calissa conveyed her thoughts one last time. This time speaking her line as if she were on stage. “You will pay for this my love,” she spat. Her voice but a haunting whisper while Rob laughed.
“Let’s see if Detective Smart Ass and Officer Crafty can figure this one out.” He said with a grin. Rob put a finger to his lips then to the screen. “Goodbye my love. Sweet dreams in never never land.” He smiled. It was a sick twisted smile only an actor or sadist could muster.
Just then a knock came on the door. Rob knew it was Jen. He turned toward the door, but before he could take a step, he heard a gawd awful noise. A guttural growl coming from the monitor. He went to turn off the speakers, but they weren’t on. “Damn,” he said as he turned. He looked down and saw blood splatter on his white sneakers.
A hand reached out from the dark monitor and grabbed Rob by the collar. He tried to pull away, but the awesome strength that came from within was vengeful. “Nooooo. . .” he screamed. “My program can’t turn against me.”
But it did and Rob was quickly pulled into the never never land of cyberspace with his girlfriend Calissa.
Jen came in just as the monitor went completely dark and the computer began making strange masticating sounds.
Jen heard Rob scream when she entered the room just as everything shut down.
BY
Sandy Bernstein
Following a well beaten path in the woods, I strain to see shadows hiding behind tall trees in the fading light of day.
Twilight. A signal to days end. Or the ending of days.
Glancing around, I see familiar faces. They are young and restless. Driven by youth and desire. Lust. Days of fun and energy; trust and misguidance.
Somehow, somewhere along the road everything fades. Given way to the staunchness of middle age and the frailty of old age. Feels like I’m being chased by my own withering shadows. A mysterious waning energy.
The stealer of time.
Now, the trees are thinning. Their leaves shriveling in the once dense forest. They appear haggled and tired. They have chased me out of the wood, clinging to the remnants of youth.
I am alone, standing at the edge of a clearing. The light is dim. Only a thin veil of gray surrounds me. Emptiness abounds.
In the stillness of my own breath, I watch the shadows continue to dance. Yet, they too are vanishing, playing hide and seek with my soul. They only want to taunt my dreams and suck the life out of me.
Twilight.
I must move on. I see the end of the road. Then it will be dark.
DON'T GO THERE
By
Sheila Foley
A neighbor is draining his pool
The river runs down the street
The sewer gargles and spits it out
Somewhere down beneath
Where does it go from there
What creatures does it meet
The streamlet sparkles above
No need to think too deep
