Saturday, October 15, 2022
Welcome back to the Teagan Zone, everyone.
I’m working some blog magic and being in two places at once. Or rather I am on Sunday — Actually I’m embarrassed. This is the second time I’ve gotten that date wrong, thinking it was the 16th. when I’m visiting Teri Polen’s Bad Moon Rising event On October 19th. She’s asked me some fun questions. I hope you’ll click here to visit us and join the conversation.
I’ve been working like a demon on a “long-short story” that grew into a novella. (Read more and you’ll see how appropriate “demon” is.) As of this afternoon, it’s finished, and the e-book is available at Amazon!
Wheew just barely in time for Teri’s post Sunday! In plenty of time for Oct. 19th! Haha. Joke’s on me since I stayed up all night working.
Today I’m bending the method I’ve used for the “Weekend Shorts” (which became the Spook-tober short stories, as of October). As a companion post to Teri’s interview, this weekend I’m using my own images, because I’m sharing a snippet from my Halloween novel titled, “A Peril in Ectoplasm.”
Following are two excerpts from the prologue.
From the beginning of
A Peril in Ectoplasm
Just Once More
Starshine silhouetted a line of palm trees on the horizon. A pale sliver of light divided the black of the treetops from the deep slate blue of the heavens. Venus rode brightly above that line, glowing in the Coral Gables sky.
In that between time, just before dawn, spirits could move freely. Trench boots, despite five rows of hobnails and iron plates fixed to the heels, moved silently on the Heriz Persian rug. They made no imprint on the geometric design of the wool pile.
“Lance Corporal Cuddy Norris reporting for du—” a youthful voice started in confusion, but then he saw the sleeping figure of a woman. “Balls, that’s right… I’m dead. Don’t worry, my love,” he murmured as he looked away from the sleeping woman and at something, or perhaps someone, in the unseen distance.
“I know that saving this woman will also save you. I’ll help her. As much as I can anyway. I’m just afraid it won’t be enough… for either of you…” his sad whisper trailed away.
Unseen, the spirit moved to the old mahogany secretary. A fine vapor surrounded the desk. The front cover dropped down. From the cubbies within, stationery and envelopes scattered to the writing surface and onto the floor.
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Then she felt it — the presence. Daphne’s eyes were drawn to the séance table. In the predawn light, she could see little more than outlines, but she was certain that something was not as she had left it. Stiffly, she rose to her feet.
When she moved to the table, she saw the spirit slates were at its center. Those consisted of two chalkboards bound together which, when opened, could reveal messages written by spirits. The slates were a separate tool from the séance table. She kept them put away when not in use.
Even so, the spirit slates were on the table, next to the horn. More specifically, it was a ten-inch-long triple twist bugle with a Wurlitzer stamp, and it had been used in the Great War. Daphne had found it in a junk shop, but she felt a psychic resonance from it.
From the open curtain she saw the first glimmer of dawn. The wan light fell on the bugle and it levitated three feet above the table. The horn sounded the notes of Taps.
“But that’s played at the end of the day, and the sun is rising,” Daphne murmured, but then she remembered that it was also played at funerals. “Is it a warning?”
Yes. An earsplitting warning! she amended that thought, covering her ears as the song became impossibly loud.
End of snippets
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Seances, a psychic medium, warnings from a ghost, a manipulative fiancé, a woman who can’t go home, an older woman who might lose her job and home, a freakishly strong woman with a soul tie to an evil entity. All these things and people come together in 1920s Coral Gables, Florida.
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Here’s the link to Teri’s Bad Moon Rising post:
“A Peril in Ectoplasm: Just Once More” is now available.
Universal Purchase Links:
♦ ♦ ♦
Of course, I used my “Author Tool Chest” slang dictionaries.
Universal Purchase Links
Speak Chuckaboo, Slang of the Victorian and Steam Eras
Speak Flapper – Slang of the 1920s
Hugs on the wing!
Copyright © 2022 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene
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