Posts Tagged ‘NaNoWriMo’

A couple of things to note before I post this here: this was one of my first completed NaNoWriMo novels (2012). It came to be out of a dream I had. It is one of my favorites. It is Young Adult. It is copyrighted by moi.

Oh, and when I copy/paste, WP does not recognize paragraph indents. Sorry.

Last, please don’t just “like” and move on. If you like it: why? Please comment. Give feedback. Postive, negative, neutral – I don’t care. Just have the courtesy to comment. A comment gives me incentive to go like YOUR blog and follow YOU.

*Image courtesy of Pexels

Princess Boo

Charley Duman came across the littered parking lot, hands deep in his jacket pockets. Charley was wary, walking hurriedly, his eyes scanning the perimeter of the old factory warehouse. He was watching for any sign of life in the five-acre compound, specifically life that threatened him.  Charley and his best friend, John, always came in by a break in the chain link fence along the greenway, crossing the narrowest portion of the parking lot to the west entrance. There were other ways in, but this one was the most isolated and was never monitored. It was, John said, the forgotten way into the old warehouse.
Other people used the old factory as a hang-out and Charley was watching out for himself at the moment. There was no sign of gangs or the occasional vandals today. The homeless man who had been crawling into the stairwell beside the loading dock had been rounded up by the cops a few days past, so Charley didn’t have to worry about the old lecher. Charley didn’t like the stinky old man and he didn’t trust himself to be alone with the guy. What if he was a perv? Or some kind of serial killer?
Charley was not a big boy. He stood just under five feet tall and weighed 98 pounds, exactly. He failed at everything athletic. The jocks at school loved to bully him. Girls didn’t even look at him. His father had been a short man and Charley had no delusions about his future. His family could not afford martial arts classes and he was pretty certain his lack of athletic prowess would have doomed him anyway. He could hide, and he could hide quickly, and that was the talent that kept him from being pummeled by the “in” clique at school. You couldn’t beat up someone you couldn’t find.
John, on the other hand, was tall and wiry. John could run, he could bat, he could even throw a baseball in a straight line. He couldn’t do much else, but the ability to play baseball saved him from a lot of the bullying that Charley had to endure. His status as a ball player and his size helped protect Charley from the worst of the bullying. Charley knew that. He was thankful for that. But he fervently wished he was someone else most of the time.
The old warehouse once belonged to a clothing manufacturer but was  abandoned sometime in the late 1970’s. It sat near the back of a five-acre plot of asphalt and concrete, surrounded by chain link fence and razor wire. Three sides were surrounded by newer industrial buildings and the west side backed up to a narrow greenway that also (conveniently) backed Charley’s and John’s homes and the school they attended. It was an easy escape from school to the old factory. Signs dangled from the chain-link warning of electrical shock and guard dogs.
There were no dogs and no electric current. The fence itself was a deterrent, but there was the break in it along the west side, conveniently close to a thicket of trees (this was the entrance used by John and Charley). Another break was in the front of the compound, where the main gates could be breached by a talented lock pick. The gates were on wheels: when the gangs came in, they often picked the lock, rolled the gates open and then closed them behind themselves so they would look like they were still locked. The dead give away was always a car parked somewhere in the vast empty parking lot. The gangs could not walk anywhere, they always had to ave a car.
The derelict building had corrugated metal siding and a flat roof, three fire escapes, a loading dock with a stair well next to it, a west-facing entrance, a south-facing entrance and a main entrance close to the center ell – all locked. The windows on the first floor were heavily boarded up, and any entrance near the fire escapes was also boarded up. There was no easy way into the old building. Most of the hoods who trespassed, climbed the fire escapes or hovered under the protection of the awnings over the doors where they could smoke cigarettes or pot in relative shelter.
Charley and John and been no different until John discovered a window on the south end of the west wing that had loose plywood nailed to the inside. The glass on the outside was broken, but the boys could push the plywood inward to clamber over the sill and into the building. Once inside, they pushed the plywood back into place so nothing looked odd from the outside.
The place was not popular. It was considered a haunted building. Once, some of the bravest members of the Varsity football team had decided to test the haunted theory. They crawled under the fence in the same place where John and Charley entered. They prowled the exterior of the building, looking for a way in when IT happened.
IT was a rumor. It happened twenty years earlier, in the 1980’s. Some said Coach Harper was one of the boys. Mr. Dreiger, the druggist, was another one. Phil Gonzalez, a local contractor, was another one. John’s dad was another. John’s dad would not talk about it unless he was extremely drunk.
Charley knew of the event from his mother and through the myriad of rumors surrounding it. He trusted his mother: she was single, worked hard, and didn’t pander to a lot of gossip or tall tales. She believed in IT.
John knew more: his father would get drunk and recount the tale, embellishing it every year.
The story kept most good kids away from the old factory. The cops didn’t try the doors unless there was a car in the parking lot: Sheriff Hockings was another one of the youths who had attempted the break in on October 31, 1982.
Personally, Charley thought they were idiots for trying anything on Hallowe’en. Every one knew Hallowe’en brought out the strangest behavior and accentuated anything eerie and dark. There was a reason slasher movies were always set on the 31st of October.
He was near the dumpster now and no sign of John. He steeled himself. John was about to jump out from behind the dumpster and startle him…
“YEAH!!” John leapt up from a cat-like crouch, grinning as Charley jumped back. “Gotcha!”
“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Charley grumbled.
“But it’s fun.”
“It’s bullying.”
“You know I am going to do it. Why do you jump every single time?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” Charley grumbled.
John just laughed, as he always did. “Coast is clear, I’ve been here five minutes and no one is around. Let’s get inside.”
They walked to the boarded-up window and pushed the board in, quickly clambering in. The room they entered was a small room with a dust-covered desk and three tan-colored aluminum folding chairs, the sort that were stacked under the elementary school platform in the gymnasium. A white bookcase was pushed up against the wall. The boys kept a a stash of supplies, including a deck of cards, a flashlight, cigarettes, and some snacks hidden inside the big grey metal desk. Light filtered through a second broken but un-boarded window, high on the wall and too small to crawl through (assuming one could sneak a ladder onto the grounds and reach it).
The boys never stayed in the building after dark. They were truants, but they were also good kids, kids who tried to be at home for dinner with the family (Charley’s family consisted of himself and his mother; John had both parents and a little sister), and they did not want to be caught in the open parking lot when the gangs were hanging out. Or the Seniors, because the Seniors inevitably chose after dark to “haze” someone by daring them to break in and spend the night.
Charley, especially, did not wish to meet the older youths in the parking lot when they were high on ego and in hazing mode.
Today, John was the first in the room. He retrieved their stash of items from the bookshelf while Charley reset the board in the window. It always took some time for their eyes to adjust to the dim light and John liked to retrieve everything before the board shut out the extra light. “I brought a second flashlight,” he said, producing a small black LED flashlight. “It’s pretty bright and the batteries last longer.”
A stack of old 12-volt batteries were hidden inside the coat closet, along with the litter from the boys’ snacks. They had no particular reason for hiding the items, but John was a neat freak. They didn’t want to carry the trash back out, so they hid it.
“I’m so tired of Mr. Mack,” Charley grumbled. “You know he told my mom that if I miss any more classes, he’s going to make me repeat the class next term?”
“Yeah, my dad threatened me with that, too.” John lit a cigarette. “We’re not the only kids who skip his class all the time. I think they should fire the old geezer.”
“Yeah.” Charley watched John as he smoked. They had no agenda. Hanging out inside the creaky old building was slightly better than enduring another science lecture or taking part in yet another humiliating Phys Ed class, and a world better than showing up at home early and having to carry out the trash . For the past six months, the boys had been sneaking out to the factory to skip a class here or a class there. They tried to keep from creating a pattern, but inevitably they skipped Mr. Mack’s Freshman Biology course more than any other class.
They settled down to watch a video on Charley’s iPad when they heard shouting outside in the hallway. Quickly, they stashed everything. John pressed his ear up against the door and signaled to Charley to do the same. He frowned as he listened.
Charley faced John, his left ear pressed against the hollow door.
“Die! I said, die! Dammit all!”
There was a thump, and then some more thumps, a clatter, and what sounded like chains rattling. The noise was coming from somewhere near the end of one of the halls.
“Die?” John mouthed the word, his thick eyebrows knit into a uni-brow. His eyes wee wide. “Gang fight?”
“Let’s get out of here.”
A roar not unlike the roar of the male lion at the zoo reverberated from above. The door reverberated, as did the plywood in the window slot, and everything else in the room.
“Let’s check it out.” John said. He cautiously turned the door knob to peer into the hallway.
“Let’s not.” Charley looked nervously behind him. He edged away from the door.
“No one is out here,” John whispered. He stepped into the hallway, leaving Charley alone. Charley hesitated, then grabbed one of the flashlights and followed John out into the hall.
They were standing in the west wing, near where the building made a ninety degree turn. The entrances were all boarded up and the hall was dark and silent. A sound like something heavy being dragged or pushed sounded from the south wing. The boys hurried to the corner and peered around it, John from a standing position, and Charley, crouched and poised to retreat.
The door into the stairwell at the very end of the south wing was open, letting in a sliver of light as something bulky was dragged through the opening. It was just a shadow thing. The door clinked shut, but they could still hear sound of a struggle moving up the stairs. There was no longer any shouting, but something very large and bulky was being dragged upward.
“I bet he’s got a body he needs to dispose of!” John left the shelter of the wall and headed to the opposite side of the hall, where he quickly padded toward the stairwell.
Charley followed in hot pursuit. “John! Use your head! If he’s killed someone, he’s gonna kill us, too.” His whisper sounded too loud.
John ignored him. Rolling his eyes, Charley hurried to keep up, trying to keep his shoes from making flapping noises on the hard hall floor.
They stopped by the stair well door. Charley was breathing hard. John’s heart was playing staccato in his ears. They pushed the stairwell door open together.
It was slightly lighter in the stairwell. They heard a door above click shut.
One hand on the wall and moving slowly, with their backs toward the wall, they climbed to the third floor. A large window opened to the outside here, as did one on the fourth floor. They knew the source of light, at least. The sounds of struggle were beyond the third floor entry.
They crossed the second floor landing which was boarded up with plywood sheets from inside the stairwell. John’s legs felt like rubber as he led the way to the next landing. They could go no further: the stairs up to the fourth floor were barricaded off with a sheet of plywood.
“AHA! Now you die!” A man’s voice, muffled by the door, sounded. A final “whump!” as someone or something fell heavily against the floor (or wall) and the long, drawn-out wheeze of what seemed to be a final breath.
John put his hand on the cold aluminum knob, his heart pounding almost as loudly as the muffled thumps and bumps from beyond.
Then silence. Interminable silence.
Charley, who wore a watch, timed five minutes. He deemed that a reasonable time to allow a villain to escape. It was certainly enough time for a villain to escape before he and John peeked and found the corpse.
Five minutes is a very long time in a dark and silent and small enclosure, but neither boy had his mind there. Both envisioned finding the bloodied corpse and notifying the authorities. Wouldn’t they be the heroes?
They would tell the investigators how they heard the struggle and the final blow, and swear they could recognize the villain’s voice if ever heard again. They would play key roles in the investigation, raised from petty suspects in the crime around the neighborhood  and elevated to heroes. Their photograph would appear in the local newspaper wit the headlines:
The futuristic headline ended their reverie: they were, after all, skipping school. Charley’s mum, especially, would be unimpressed. He could hear her now…
John turned the doorknob lightly. He inched the door away from his body and into the third floor South Wing. The hallway was littered, but perhaps that was a body? He pushed the door open and let himself and Charley through.
Charley was close on his heels. A pile of rags was piled on the hallway floor. When John reached out to touch it, it rattled like newspaper and they both jumped. Charley’s hand flew to his heart.
“Just newspaper,” John whispered, relieved. He approached the nearest door and tried it. Locked.
Charley studied the floor of the hallway: the dust was undisturbed. He thought that if something had been dragged through here, specifically a large body, the dust would be stirred up.
“Gimme that flashlight,” John ordered, wresting the lantern from Charley’s fingers. He aimed the beam down the hall.
Charley knocked the light down. “Gawd! He’ll see it, you idiot! What if he has a gun?”
“Did you hear a gun?” John answered crossly. “There’s two of us. What’s he gonna do?”
“Kill us, too?”
Reluctantly, John snuffed the light. He did not relish walking down the dark hallway. “What do you think we should do?”
“Wait and see if anyone is reported missing,” Charley hissed. “Let’s get out of here.”
They left the darkened hall for the stair well. They were still feeling heavily oppressed and walked back down quietly and slowly, ready to run if the door above opened again. They crossed the second floor landing. John glanced at the door and stopped: it was not boarded up, but a large padlock held the door fast. He pointed at it, but Charley was already halfway down to the first floor.
Feeling prickles across the nape of his neck, John hurried to follow his short best friend back to their room. They gathered their things and left, each one deep in his own thoughts. Not until they were back through the break in the fence and walking towards their homes did either one speak.
“I’m gonna keep an eye on the news,” Charley said.
“I think we should call the cops anonymously.”
“They can trace your call. If the call turns out bogus, you’re in trouble for filing a false police report.” Charley shook his head.
“We could use a pay phone.”
“Yeah, like where is a pay phone?”
“Oh.” John brooded.
“We don’t even know a murder was committed. We never saw anything. We just heard something and that doesn’t prove anything.” Charley was pacing now, leaning into his thoughts as if they were a fifty-mile an hour wind he had to counter. “The dust on the floor wasn’t disturbed. There would have been tracks or marks in the dust.”
“The second floor door went from plywood to a padlock.”
Charley stopped so suddenly that John ran into him. “What?”
“The second floor door. You saw it. It was all boarded up with plywood when we went up the stairs. When we came back down, there wasn’t any plywood, only a big old padlock.”
“I don’t remember what it looked like,” Charley scratched his chin. “I was so freaking terrified we were going to get shot.”
“Well, I remember.”
“That’s not possible, you know.”
“That I remember?”
“No, that it went from boarded up to having a padlock on it, only.”
“It’s also not possible that something as big as we saw being dragged would leave no marks on a dusty floor.”
“None if this is possible. How did anyone get in there in the first place?”
“We get in there.”
Charley shook his head. “They didn’t come in the same way we did and you know that. I am officially freaked out.”
“And I’m not?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Look, I’m saying that we need to not skip school for a couple of weeks. Let the dust settle. Let someone file a missing person’s report. Then we go back.”
“It will be Hallowe’en in two weeks.”
“Oh, for!! We don’t go back on Hallowe’en. The place will be crawling with pranksters. November first. We’ll go back on the irst. Everyone will be bored with the old place and whatever happened will be long gone. And we’ll throw the truant officer off.”
“Great. We go back on the Day of the Dead…” Charley looked away, down past the trees and at the backs of the homes along the street where they both lived. “Shit. My mom’s car is in the driveway. She’s home early or my watch stopped.”


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So far, I have failed to meet my personal writing goals. I blame that on the failure of hardware, and must accept it as Fate. It’s not the end of the world, however: I have polished up my little YA novel, painted a nice book cover, and saved it for future use. I still have a goal of at least submitting it somewhere for publication before the end of 2018.

I changed the title to The Adventures of Ella Peabody, Book One: Magic Mice.

The book and missed deadlines aside, I am currently storing with my laundry room storage on the kitchen table. We had to tear out the faux-wood cabinets in January when the water heater decided to finally (and, I must say, suddenly) give up the ghost. We discovered this when I noticed the formerly dry laundry room floor was flooded.

We replaced a water heater back in the 1990’s, in a singlewide manufactured home with a tiny slot. Purely a DIY job, and except for some bloody knuckles and the cold rain pouring down on us, we got it installed with a mere plethora of swear words. Our marriage survived.

We figured it was still simple, so we hied down to Home Depot to discover that 1) it’s not that simple and 2)not that inexpensive. The new water heater takes up more space than the 25 year old former resident, and the faux-wood shelves no longer fit into the space. Now, we’re searching for a suitable replacement.

That’s the bad.


This is where it gets good. I’ve done some networking since the end of January. Okay, within the last two weeks. Details.

I have a list of potential events.

I finished one commission, plus the tentative cover to The Adventures of Ella Peabody, Book One.

This Wednesday, I am going to a “Meet the Makers” event at a local coffee shop/art gallery. I met the owner of another coffee shop/art gallery over the weekend, and I adore her (she doesn’t know that, yet). Her shop is the first place I am going to try displaying art, not just because I adore her, but because she’s the New Kid on the Block, and she had a lot of really good advice for me at our first meeting. She also hosts art shows, art events, and her own “Meet the Makers” events. Plus, the coffee was par excellence, and I am a coffee snob (as in Starbucks is only so-so, and Dutch Bros. is hardly any better).

I did this on my own. This is huge for an INFJ, and HSP. If you aren’t familiar with those acronyms: INFJ is how my test results always come out on a Meyers-Briggs Personality test (so, if you don’t especially buy into that, I’ve been taking it for over 30 years, and I am still INFJ). HSP refers to my results on a Highly Sensitive Person test by Elaine Aron (I routinely score 100%). (In short, I am an Introverted mess, but you wouldn’t know unless I was a really close friend and confessed it to you. Or you read this.

I have three weekend art events I am applying for, plus a national art event in Grand Rapids, MI. I won’t announce where those are unless I get accepted.


Hey, it goes without saying, doesn’t it? I garden. I’m passionate about my garden. It’s almost March and plant-buying season. I’ve pruned my crazy grape vine back (this is Year 4, so we should get grapes this year!). Deadheaded half the flower beds. Raked up the neighbor’s oak tree leaves in the same flower beds. Set out the bird baths.

The bad: I am feeling my age. Not sure I can keep up the energy required to dig out more beds and a pond. May have to hire a professional.

The good: Spring begins (officially) in 3 weeks.


Watch for more new flashes on my 2017 NaNoWriMo Novel. I really hope to get further with this one than I have previously gotten, even if I missed all the early deadlines for reviews and self-publishing through NaNoWriMo connections. I’m considering publishing under a pseudonym from my youth: Seymore.

Here’s a sneak preview of the cover.



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I’m Back!

Three weeks ago, the power supply unit went out in my HP: desktop. I’m not super geeky, but I searched YouTube, asked my son, and even let my friend’s 30-year old geek look at it. It needs a new power supply unit, and I will have to learn to repair my own in the near future. Meanwhile, I bought a re-furbished HP off of Groupon, and waited for it to be delivered.

Meanwhile, our water heater gave up the ghost. My laundry room is still spread out over the kitchen table because when we lost the water heater, I lost all my storage in the laundry room. I’m waffling between something I found on Houzz and something I found on Wayfair.com.

I fell into a mid-winter funk and have not created anything in a fortnight. My novel is waiting for the final touch-ups.

Oh. My novel. Back-up, back-up, back-up. I had everything saved to an external hard drive when the power supply unit went out. *Everything* Music, novel(s), short stories, and all those precious photos. However, I lost my key to my photo shop program (I use Corel’s PaintShop), so I will have to buy that. I had the old version, anyway, and the 2018 version costs the same. KEEP YOUR PRODUCT KEYS!

Fortunately, I use a free watermark download (Visual Watermark). I think I may have paid for the full version, but I have yet to search emails for that. It’s not that much.

Now, I need a new keyboard (inexp;ensive), because – wouldn’t you know it? – my ancient Gateway keyboard is not comp;atible with the new HP:, and the new keyboard has a faulty p;P:p;P:p;P: key. I am getting tired of backspacing every thing I type “p;”

News on my novel to come – I have 13 days left to meet the NaNoWriMo deadline to have it reviewed for possible submission. Only minor edits left, a new title, and artwork for the cover. It’s hustle time.

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*I decided I needed something to introduce the reader to Ella, when she still doesn’t believe in magic. Here it is.*

Ella Peabody walked home in the twilight, her worn green backpack slung over her shoulders. She walked on the left side of the road, facing traffic, so she noticed when two of the four squad cars of the Fall City PD passed her, apparently headed to a silent alarm. She stopped at the crosswalk in front of Miss Sophy’s home, but not before waving at the figure hidden behind the sheer curtains. Miss Sophy waved back, but didn’t quit spying. No doubt, she was curious about the emergency, too.
Fall City was a remote mountain village, set deep in the Cascades, with a two lane highway in and out, and only seasonal tourist attractions in the form of summer cabins along what was referred to as Fall Lake, but which was little more than a mosquito pond.. There was really no industry of any kind: a little logging, a lot of hunting and fishing in season, some outlying ranches, a dying main street, and one sad little strip mall. The bowling alley still attracted local teams. Cell reception sometimes was lost for days when a good winter storm blew in and the passes were snowed in.
Ella looked both ways and proceeded across the street. She was almost clear of the last lane when a big white van blew past her, going well over the 25 mile-an-hour speed limit and crazily close to the teenager.
“Jerk!” she muttered, too shy to shout it.
Ella wasn’t just shy: she was socially inept, according to her best friend, Billie.
“You spend too much time in the science lab,” Billie would say. “Why don’t you come hang out at the skate park with me and the guys?”
The guys were Dustin (“Dish”) and Gran, Ella and Billie’s childhood friends. Ella had a crush on Dish, but she didn’t dare tell anyone, not even Billie. Billie was a little spitfire, totally out-going, and only a so-so student in school. Billie also already had a date lined up for the Winter Ball, and Ella had – well, nothing. She doubted Dish would ever try to ask her out: she was just ‘one of the guys’.
Fall City had a decent skate park. The city fathers built it to keep teenagers out of trouble, and it worked for some of them. Others hung around at the skate park and smoked cigarettes before leaving to shred sidewalks around abandoned businesses. There was also a dirt BMX bike track that got used by mountain bikers and BMX riders, but it wasn’t sanctioned by the town council and was always in danger of being bulldozed over.
Ella loved Fall City with the sole exception of the widely-held belief that it was a haven for witches and practioners of magic. She once spent an entire summer convincing tourist kids there was no such thing as magic. She did this by setting up a booth at the Farmer’s Market and offering to debunk any magic trick they tried to prove. She’d done quite well, too, much to the amusement of the good citizens of Fall City (most of whom liked their spooky reputation). However, her endeavors had further isolated her from school mates who now looked a little askance when she neared. Ella the Nerd, they called her.
Mr. Gist, who lived four houses down from the Peabody’s, backed out of his driveway so quickly that he nearly hit Ella. She jumped back and was surprised at the angry look on the little man’s face. He was usually such a nice man!
She walked up the long walkway to her home, a late 1800’s Queen Anne, shaking her head. She was still pondering all the odd events when she let herself in and smelled dinner cooking. Lasagna, her favorite. She dropped her back pack and tossed her jacket onto the coat tree near the front door.
“I’m home!”
“Great! Now we can eat!” Her little brother, Aric, pushed himself out of the gaming chair he had been ensconced in. “I’ve had to smell that for, like, an hour. Pure torture.”
Dinner was good, and her parents were in good humor. Ella cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher, before going upstairs to her bedroom to study for her Advanced Science course. She fell asleep in the wee hours of the night.
She dreamed there were distant sirens and someone was walking down the middle of the street, pointing a magic wand at houses and sending them up in flames. Ella wrapped herself in a robe and floated out her bedroom window to the street, and held up her Advanced Science book as if to repel the cloaked stranger.
“Magic does not exist!” she shouted. She shouted and shouted until she woke herself up, mumbling in her sleep and gasping.
“That was weird,” she told her stuffed cat. “Of course magic doesn’t actually exist.”

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There are a few things I would like to say as I close out NaNoWriMo this year:

Thank you to the many followers I’ve gained, and the many bloggers who have liked most of my posts. I have checked each and everyone of you out, and some of you I have set to follow. I’d love to know how your own NaNoWriMo has gone – you don’t have to share your story with me, but please tell me how many words you managed, where you got stuck, and what your final plans are for your novel.

I got stuck on Day#27. It’s awful. I’d like to erase that entire post. In retrospect, I’ll change the setting, which will require me to go back through the entire novel. I can do that.

What about dialog? I screwed up with Madison & Dylan. They started out as great skater bunnies, but I lost the dialog as I wrote. Bad move. You need to keep your characters “in character”.

I’d like to expand my novel by exploring the other “safe houses” and how the characters got to be in those houses. I’m not certain (at this point) if that requires sequels or not. Miss Sophy is definitely someone who needs development, as well as the Beaman twins and Missy’s crush on Aric.

I really dislike violence. I couldn’t see a way around it when the teens were faced with the toad and the rats, and then the Yokai. If I can rewrite those sections without violence, I will, Sometimes, however, the story takes on its own character, and Aric was busting for some physical warfare.

I’d love to develop the crush Ella has on Dish and how he fees toward her. I need to work on why Dish is such a sallow character. I know this.

I am happy with the plot twists. But I am not happy with the overall setting: the governor closing down a state. I will be changing that scenario to something more close-knit.

This story deserves more than 50,000 words. I’ll work on revising and editing (thank you Mary!) before I decide what to do with the ms.

I truly thank you for following me. ♥♥

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A black SUV with heavily tinted windows pulled up to the curb in front of the State Capitol building. Three men in dark suits and red ties got out, looking slowly around the town. Their expressions told nothing, and they walked up the wide stairs to the Capitol doors.
An old woman wearing a pink parka stepped out from behind a pillar. Her pink floral dress covered her legs down to the fuzzy mukluks she wore. “You won’t get in,” she said.
The lead man looked her over, eyeing the grey hair blowing out from under the parka hood. “Who might you be?”
“Mrs. Swainson. I come down here to complain because one of my cats got into it last night with an owl, and all the owls’re supposed to be dead. Doors have been locked since 9:ooAM, and no sign out.” She spat off to the side.
“Killing owls would be a Federal offense,” the man said.
“Keep the cat indoors,” another one of them said.
The third man walked up to the doors and pulled. He banged on the glass and waved at a teenager walking by inside. He pulled out an official looking badge and held it to the glass.
The boy was in a red t-shirt, shorts, sandals, and wore a white ball cap turned backwards. He eyed the badge and nodded. He turned the manual lock on the inside of the doors and pushed them open.
“I’m just headed up there, myself.” He held the door open for the men, but closed it on the old lady. “Sorry, Mrs. Swainson. Open later.”
The men walked past security scanners that were inoperable and security officers who were tied up with zip ties. Teenagers milled about in the hallways, gawking at paintings. The boy with the white ball cap jogged to catch up with them.
“Sorry, son, but you will need to stay down here,” the first one said.
“But I’m with Ella Peabody’s team in the governor’s office!”
They shook their heads, and Deke had to sit at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for his friends. He was furious.

Federal agents arrived at the different police stations in town, and a S.W.A.T. team roared in to surround the building being used as a detention center. Detainees were set free, and officers in charge were arrested, in a wide-spread reversal of fortune. It was all very professional, and like a scene out of some movie.
Phoenix Peabody snatched the cage in which a yellow parakeet was held, much to the objection of the newly-arrested Officer Conley, who had grown fond of feeding the bird (and thinking it was Miss Sophy).
“I am afraid it is Goldie, and Miss Sophy is most likely worried to death about where her parakeet has gotten to,” the doctor told the young officer. He added, “Did you really think you could capture a master wand maker?”

The public confession of Governor Eric Hicks was held on the courthouse steps at precisely 0100 hours. Federal Agent Jack Peabody informed the public that the perpetrators of this reprehensible act of dividing the public had been brought to a close by the heroic actions of a group of teenage wizards and two adult wizards who had guided them, and who had connected all the dots behind the scenes. The method in which it was brought to a close was never mentioned, and the wise never asked.
The body of the Yokai was presented to the Press, along with the three tails, and a brief explanation by one retired librarian, Richard Nagasaki. It would seem that the only way to destroy a Kitsune fox was to cut off all of its tails. No one knew the whereabouts of the missing press secretary, Fred Gist. (Mrs. Collins wept a little then: she had always imagined Fred as sweeping her off of her feet. She was a widow, of course.)
The skill and talent of the youths who had so brazenly broken into the Capitol building and disabled all communications and security was lauded, in particular, the pair of previously delinquent Goths who had disabled the entire electronic system of the building and over-ridden the automatic doors.
Parents were reunited with children, bus drivers were acclaimed as heroes (or not), and Ella skipped out on the limelight with Aric, Gran, Dish, Billie, and Twerp in tow. Someone was interviewing Kyle about his role in saving the teens in the woods and in saving young Tito after his head injury. Not once was being an animal mentioned, as Kyle was a very good story teller.
“Come on,” Ella whispered. “Let’s get to my house before my folks do! We’ll surprise them!”
It was not to happen: Richard informed the parents of the teens about the plot to surprise them, and he told the Peabodys about where they might find the contents of their attic. The teens were surprised by a reception at the Peabody house – a reception which included Uncle Jack and his two FBI counterparts, all wizards. Uncle Jack revealed the truth of the rescue in the privacy of the Peabody house, and Ella was forced to make a speech.
“Um. Yeah. Just so you know, magic didn’t solve this,” she said. “Logic and a little sleuthing did.”
Everyone groaned.
“But, magic did play a good deal into it, and I want to thank my friends for opening my eyes to the possibilities of something outside of what can be easily explained away. I mean, Twer- er, Deacon – managed to transform us all into mice and we overcame a lot of weird things as mice. Aric even killed the governor’s own familiar, an evil toad named Venemo, or Vennie.
“We met Kyle, and caught up with Dylan and Madison. Dylan’s mom protected us. Richard – Mr. Nagasaki – was key in keeping us safe. And I will hate rats for the rest of my life.”
Everyone laughed.
Champagne and sparkling cider were served. Mrs. Peabody waved a wand and created a buffet of wonderful hors d’oeuvres. Miss Sophy arrived with the three Beaman children: Missy, and twins Mike and Tito. Kyle’s mother and father wandered in, and a round of hugs and celebrations went out.
Kyle was forced to explain what happened both in the woods when he saved Ella and crew, and why he was inside the walls after Tito had been severely injured.
“We couldn’t perform any magic, just yet.” He was humble and shuffled his feet. “But I know something about concussions, and I helped Miss Sophy keep Tito awake. We had to get ice from the ice maker to put on his head, and she sneaked through the war zone and back with an ice cube. Must have froze her fingers off.”
She waved it aside. “Point is, young Kyle was a hero.”
“Oh, and she gave me my wand before everything happened,” he said proudly. He pulled it out to show everyone. There were a few tut-tuts. But most accepted that Miss Virginy Sophy had known what she was doing, with or without the boy’s parents.
Deke told how he battled the cat with Horace and Natalie, and perhaps he exaggerated his role a little (Natalie merely smiled). He sniffed when he related the tail end of the tale, especially since everyone now knew Mrs. Swainson’s cat had returned home wounded, but very much alive. Horace was a good owl, familiar, and friend.
There was also the tale about how he came to be in possession of the wand that had belonged to Fred Gist, and how Ella had solved the cryptogram using just logic. Deacon attributed the ability to turn everyone into a mouse to the fact that he had found the wand. A toast was made to the missing Fred, and his generosity in leaving the wand for someone to use for good.
Ella, Gran, Dish, and Billie caught up with Aric, Kyle, and Deke in the kitchen.
“We should all sneak up into the attic and see if everything really is back up there,” Gran suggested.
“We could get our cell phones back, too.”
They went up the stairs as if they were going to Aric’s bedroom, but turned down the hallway where the attic ladder dropped out of the ceiling. Gran pulled it down and they all climbed up.
“So much easier than the first time I was up here,” Dish play-shoved Ella’s shoulder and winked.
Everything was back in place, even the mannequin and the old mirror. The wands were hanging above the trunk in the same order they had been before Gran took them down. It seemed a disappointment. Nothing had changed, and yet – everything had.
Ella walked over to the mirror and stared at it. She saw nothing more than her own reflection, and the reflections of everyone in the room looking over her shoulder. Even after they turned the mirror around, it reflected nothing that was not there. Ella touched it. “I guess it doesn’t want to talk right now.”

The party broke up, and everyone drifted off to their own homes to clean up and restart their lives. Tomorrow would be another day, and with just a little magic, everything would return to almost the way it was before. Ella sat by her window, staring out into the night and listening to an owl hoot.
But I will believe in magic in the morning.

Aric went to bed and stared at the ceiling for a long time.
I was born to be a warrior.

Kyle curled up in bed and smiled.
I have friends who like me.

Dish went home and hugged his father. They played cards into the night until Dish fell asleep on the sofa, dreaming of the girl he wanted to ask out: Ella.

Billie walked home with Gran, and Gran asked her to go to the winter dance with him. She said, “Yes.” She wasn’t worried how she’d tell her former crush, Mike.

Deacon walked out into the backyard and stared up at the moon. Somewhere, an owl hooted, and he hoped it was Horace. He reached into his pockets and pulled out the magic wand left to him by Fred Gist. It was beautiful.
It was not the only thing he’d found in the street the day that Fred Gist disappeared. He hadn’t wanted to show anyone, because they were always making fun of him for his collections, and this was just one more thing. It wasn’t magic; it wasn’t special; it was just pretty to look at, and right now it glowed slightly in the light of the full moon. Deke held it up and studied it.
It was a perfect blue sapphire crystal.

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The cat trotted out into the open. It gently dropped the little creature onto the lawn and waited. The little creature did not immediately move, but the cat expected that. When the thing did move, it was slowly. The tabby expected that, as well. The cat wasn’t worried. The little thing would provide entertainment soon enough.
The cat batted at its new friend: no claws, that would be most uncivil. It just wanted the little thing to wake up and shake it off.
Deacon shook his head. He had his magic wand, but did he dare use it? It would probably alert someone, and the mission would be lost. He needed to think. He rolled over when the cat prodded him, and found himself looking up into its whiskered face.
“Can’t you just be a familiar, like Horace?”
The cat blinked.
“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.” A tinny voice called from behind, and the cat turned to look. A little beacon of light crossed the cat’s face. The cat knew this game: chase the little light.
It looked back at the little creature, considering options: little light game? Or new friend?
“Kitty, kitty.”
New friend wasn’t moving very quickly, so the cat turned its attention on to the little light.
Deacon stood up as soon as the cat turned around. He saw the light in the grass as well, and could hear Natalie calling the cat.
They’d come to save him! Simultaneously, he wondered: what about the mission? How many others were out there?
The cat pounced in the direction of Natalie, but the light went dark before it landed. The light popped on, again, off to the left, and another voice called, “Kitty, Kitty.” The light danced in the grass, which made it more fun, and the cat danced along with it, waiting to make a final pounce.
Deke could make not out the capitol building He didn’t know how far the cat had carried him. He just needed to make it back to the building. He ran, zig-zagging, through the grass. The cat landed in front of him.
“KITTY KITTY KITTY” Natalie shouted and flashed her light in the cat’s face again. Natalie had also moved closer to the capitol building.
Before the cat turned, it flipped Deke up into the air, caught him as he tumbled back down, and batted him overhead into the branches of an azalea. Deke’s arms helicopter out as he tried to gain purchase on the stems of the little evergreen. He caught himself just above the ground.
The cat abandoned Deke (for the moment, Deke, knew), and pounced playfully after the little beacons of light in the grass. Deke saw one light fly over the cat’s head and go off.
Natalie called. “Run toward my voice, Deacon!”
Deacon dropped to the ground, dusted himself off, and called, “I lost my flashlight!”
“Just run toward me!”
He dashed. The cat dashed. Horace jumped up in front of the cat. The cat caught Horace with both paws and landed on top of him. Horace squealed in terror.
“Nooooo!” Deke changed directions and ran at the cat. “No, no, no, nooooo!”
Natalie tried the distract the cat, but now it was fixated on the little creature running at it. It held the mouse under its paw, and waited.
“Deacon, you must follow me!” Natalie ran forward, to intercept Deacon. “Horace can handle this!”
“It’ll kill Horace!” He cried as the older mouse caught his arm.
“Yes, and it will kill you. It’s a cat. That’s what they do.” Natalie pulled Deke back. “We have a long way to go, to get back to the rest of the group.”
“But – Horace!” He looked over his shoulder in time to see Horace transform into an owl, and push the cat off.
“I’m telling you, Horace can handle this. Come on!” Natalie pulled Deke in the direction of the capitol building.
The cat jumped back in alarm when the mouse changed shapes before its eyes. It hated the big birds, and knew them to very dangerous. It arched its back and hissed, all thoughts of play abandoned.
Horace opened his wings and hissed back, hopping forward with great yellow claws open.
The cat fought back with a strong swipe of sharp claws, and a long, drawn out growl.
Deke could hear them fighting as he ran, tears streaming down his face. How could Horace hope to win over a creature so naturally evil as that cat?! The sound of the battle followed the pair of mice all the way to the capitol building, when it ceased altogether. Deke turned and stared out into the dark lawn. The sun was beginning to come up, and he was a long way from his friends, and from Horace. He slumped his shoulders and followed Natalie.

“Who goes there?” A light shone in Natalie’s eyes, then Deke’s.
“You guys have clothes on,” the voice added. “I thought we were supposed to be real mice.”
“We are real mice,” Deke grumbled. He bet the other voice had never been down a mouse hole, and he had.
“I might ask who you are,” Natalie replied, cooly. “Turn the light off, or you’ll attract the cat.”
The light flipped off. “Th-there’s a c-cat?”
“Who are you, again?”
“Oh. My name’s George. I’m with the front door patrol. We’re supposed to take down Security at 0900 hours.”
“George? Not Gran’s brother, George?” Deke peered around Natalie.
“Is that the Twerp?” George grinned. He was dressed in camoflage, right down to his hunting cap.
Natalie intervened. “Natalie Woodhouse. Deacon and I were way-laid by a particularly hungry feline.” She stressed Deacon, and Deke thought he could hug her. “We lost our group. Where is yours?”
“Oh, this way.” George led them behind a tall plant with sword-like leaves. “We’re digging out our entrance so we can get into the building and hack the security system. I’m on sentry duty. Hey guys!” he called ahead. “I found some more allies!”
Natalie glanced at Deke. “Some sentry,” she whispered.
Deke grinned, the sting of having lost Horace temporarily gone.
The leader came forward when George called out.
“Goodness. Natalie Woodhouse! So good to see you. We’ve just broken through and we’re going in. Where is your group?”
“Long story, Sharon. May we join you?”
George’s group consisted of two more senior high school boys; a pair of Goths; two girls from the high school girls’ basketball team; Mr. Howard, the art teacher; and Sharon, the public librarian. Sharon had a last name, but she’d never used it, and Deke couldn’t remember what it was.
They climbed into the duct work and everyone squeaked, “What now?”
“You climb.” Deke grabbed an Ethernet cord. “Tell me where we’re going?”
The rest followed him, dubiously. “Have you done this before?” complained someone from far behind Deke.
“A time or two,” he answered, irritated.
The plan, Mr. Howard explained to Deke’s tail, was to get into the main security office, and lock all the doors into and out of the building at precisely 0900. They needed to disable all computers and telephone lines.
“Server room,” Deke muttered. Where his own team had been headed, according to Ella. He hoped they would make it in time.
They came out inside of a cabinet. Deke could see footprints in the dust.
“Okay, we’re clear,” Natalie peered out of the cabinet into the darkened room.
The first mice up the server tower were the two Goths. George and his friends explored the top of the cabinet, relaying the information they found on the schematics. The rest fanned out to take up positions in case someone came into the server room. The basketball girls found a conference room chair in poor condition. This was shoved by group effort into place under the door handle, to keep anyone from breaking is easily.
Deke wandered off by himself, looking for tracks from his friends. He needed to think, to devise a way to rejoin them. He felt terrible that Horace and Natalie had followed him out into the grass, and now Horace was gone. He’d let the team down!
He sniffled, once. If only he could have used his wand! But it was safe in his pocket.
“What’s this?” squeaked Sharon. “It looks like someone got caught in a sticky rat trap!”
Deke ran. Sharon, Natalie, and Mr. Howard were standing over one of those traps Aric’s dad used in their old house. Only this trap held a surprise: a very dead rat with a safety pin stuck in the side of its head, and its nose between a pair of black lace-up boots in the shape of mouse feet.
They all looked at each other.
“We stick to the plan, and hope they got past the rat,” Natalie said, decisively.
Deke sank in a heap, wondering whose boots were stuck in the green goo, and who had thought to use a safety pin as a weapon. He hoped it was the same mouse, and that mouse had made it to the governor’s office.

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