My newest release, A Titanic Tale,
went on sale April 15th, exactly 100 years to the day of that tragic
maritime disaster. On this blog tour I planned on talking about the Titanic,
and I still will, but today something else has been on my mind.
Easter was a while ago, but my kids
still have their baskets hidden away. Why are they hidden away, you ask? It’s
because I’m a candy fiend and they’re not. They’ll eat a piece here and there,
leisurely enjoying the bounty of chocolate bunnies and those delicious jelly
beans. Not me. I’ve already sniffed out their hiding places and unbeknownst to
them, because I’m crafty, I’ve eaten most of it. Usually, in the middle of the
night, I start my commando mission. I wake up and tell myself, “Not tonight.
No, you’re stronger than this.” Two minutes later I’m tiptoeing into their
rooms and silently rifling through the plastic green grass for those little
pieces of paradise.
I wake in the morning surrounded by
the brightly colored foils of Ghiradelli Chocolate eggs and feel remorse, shame
and guilt wash over me as swiftly as Willie Wonka’s wonderful waterfall washes
over the rock candy in his factory of caloric hell.
I’m an older woman—fifty-two-years-old, when will this
insanity stop? I know admitting I’m a candyholic is the first step, but I guess
if lying to, and stealing from my own innocent children is not my bottom, I’m
destined to wallow in the chocolate river of aforementioned movie as a
bottom-feeder, forever.
When they were small, I’d hide the
box of Ho-Ho’s I bought at the grocery store, lest they see them. When the
craving for chocolate came on, I’d grab one, (or God help me, two or three,)
from the box and slowly retreat to the bathroom and close the door. Unwrapping,
as quietly as I could, I’d hear breathing on the other side and see the shadow
of pint-sized feet under the crack.
“Mommy, what are you doing?” I’d hear.
“Nothing,” I’d mumble back with a mouth full of chocolate
goodness.
“Can we come in?”
“No, I’m almost done.” Swallowing, I’d wipe my mouth on a
towel, shove the wrappers deep in the wastebasket, flush the toilet for effect
and walk out.
“I smell chocolate,” one of them would say in childlike
innocence.
“I took a laxative.”
“Oh,” they’d answer in unison, a look of confusion washing
over their faces, and walk away.
Not too long ago my youngest was
talking to me while standing next to my bed. Her hand inadvertently found its
way between my mattress and box spring and she pulled out wrapper after wrapper
of damning evidence. I’d been found out. My adrenaline rose, our eyes locked
and she screamed for her sister like a banshee on a mission. My oldest came
running in and they both glared at me as if I were Arthur Slugworth, the
villain hired by Mr. Wonka to fool the children into selling the gobstopper as
a morality test. And I felt like him, too. Or, should I say, I felt like one
who’d failed his said test of integrity.
How low will I go? When will it
stop? What am I doing to my family, my children, my home? I wish it would all
come to a brilliant cinematic end. Me, finally admitting I can’t take it
anymore as I renounce my love of candy. In the multi-directional
glass elevator, I’d take flight out of that
chocolate river of guilt infested waters for the fresh blue skies of healthy
living. I’d renounce my candy and sweets binging, cravings of green vegetables
and ripe fruits my new normal. What an ending…what an ending. Nope…not going to
happen.
Blurb:
Beautiful Cornelia Bainesworth cared only about herself and her own life
the night the Titanic went down. A curse brought on by a woman who witnessed
her selfish behavior that evening destroys her, but it doesn’t stop there.
One hundred years later, the curse rears its ugly head in the life of
small-town teenager Callie. As if the tragedy of her boyfriend’s death wasn’t
enough, strange occurrences bring her to the brink of insanity. Callie’s search
for answers is unsuccessful until a nerdy schoolmate takes up her cause and
together they experience frightening apparitions, unexplained phenomena and
chilling truths. These truths turn Callie’s life upside down and reveal a
shocking ending to a story that began on the deck of a ship doomed the moment
it saw light.
Excerpt:
Callie went
to her window and stared out at the streetlight in front of their house. Lost
in thought, she caught a quick movement, but ignored it. When she saw a small
child peek out from behind a telephone pole and looking up into her window,
however, she grew concerned.
“What the
hell?” She watched the little figure’s head dart from behind the pole, look up
at her and quickly retreat back. It seemed to either be playing games with her,
or trying to hide.
“Hey, you?
What are you doing up so late?”
The child
gave no reply. She walked out of her room, down the stairs and opened the front
door. I bet some neighbor kid walked out
of their home and can’t find how to get back.
Stepping out
on the porch, she wrapped her arms around herself. The air was still hot and
muggy, but it was worry, not chill that had her hugging her body.
“Hey? Where
are you? Come here.”
No movement,
but she saw an arm still visible from around the pole. Gathering some bravado,
she stepped off the porch and walked toward it.
“Hello.
Don’t be afraid. Are you lost?”
The person
stepped out from behind the pole.
Callie’s
eyes had adjusted enough to see a boy with light hair and fair skin. His
clothes, if that’s what they could be called, were rags. A gray suit, that had
to be several years old, hung off his skeletal frame.
“Hi, honey.
What are you doing out here so late?” Callie squatted and held out her arms for
the boy, hoping to show him she meant no harm. His dirty, drawn face held the
soul of an adult, although he couldn’t be older than three or four years.
“Tis late?”
“Yes, it’s
two-thirty in the morning. Where do you live? Where are your mommy and daddy?”
“I don’t
know,” he said shyly.
She caught
the distinct brogue of the Irish in his speech. “You don’t know? Well, where do
you think you live?”
He pointed
down the road.
“Is it close
by?”
He shook his
sad little head. “No.”
“Okay, look,
come with me. I’ll get my car and drive you home. Do you think you can find it
if we drive and look for it?”
The waif
nodded, yes.
Once in the car, she
drove for about a mile. Every so often, she glanced at the boy to see if he
recognized anything.
“Nothing looks familiar,
huh?”
he child shivered.
“Are you cold, honey?
Here, I’ll put the windows up.”
“Thank you kindly,
ma’am.” He sat up, straightened his legs and looked out the window, obviously
searching for something familiar. His thin hands were folded neatly in his lap,
but rose occasionally to point the way. Callie realized he was leading them to
the neighborhood where the Coopers lived, Bainesworth Manor. It butted up
against a large field that turned into woods further back. On the other side of
the street were miles of barren farmland, waiting patiently for the inevitable
McMansion to be built. However, they drove past Bainesworth Manor and about a
half mile down the road he spoke.
“Here it is,” he said timidly.
She pulled into a dark,
park-like area barren of any homes. Her blood ran cold when, upon closer
inspection, she noticed it was no park, but a cemetery. Not just any cemetery
either, this was the kind of cemetery where skeletons wandered and witches made
their brew. The kind where werewolves hid behind gravestones and hands reached
up from the netherworld, searching around for the ankles of unsuspecting
mortals stupid enough to be in a graveyard after dark. She pressed the gas
pedal, but instead of moving, the car died.
“What?” Frantically, she
turned the key and the engine turned over once and stopped. After several more
tries she realized if she continued she’d simply flood the engine. She reached
into her purse for her cell phone. In her panic, she’d forgotten her passenger
and looked across at him.
“Sweetie, this is a
graveyard. It’s not your home.” Unable to find her phone, she dumped the
contents of her purse between the driver and the passenger seat.
“Dammit. This is not
happening.” Without even glancing his way, she apologized for her use of foul
language.
Resigned, she sat back
in the seat and stared ahead. “Great, I guess we can walk to the Coopers.” She
put all the items back into her purse. Slinging it over her shoulder, she
grabbed a flashlight out of the glove box and stepped out of the car.
“Come on, honey. I know
some people who live a bit down the road. We can wake them up and hope they
won’t be too pissed off.” She glanced at the squirt. “I’m sorry, again. I mean
angry.”
This cemetery was
unknown to her, but from the looks of the dates she spotted as they walked, it
had filled up long ago. The new one, where Blake was buried, was on the other
side of town.
She glanced up at the
full moon. “Queue the howling.”
Attempting a bravado she
didn’t possess, she closed the door and moved away from the car. The moon cast
enough light to see perfectly.
“I’m fine walkin’. My
home is right there.”
“I don’t see any
houses.”
He pointed into the
cemetery.
“You live past the
graveyard? Are you sure you don’t want me to walk with you?”
“If you be a wishin’
to.”
She smiled at him. “Come
on, let’s get you home to your mother.” She put her hand reassuringly on his
shoulder.
“Me mother is dead.”
“Who do you live with?
Your daddy?”
“Never been knowin’ me
dad.”
“Well, you must live
with someone.”
“All the kind people.
They don’t know me, but when I get to cryin’ someone will rise up and come to
me.”
Large prickly gooseflesh
covered her body from head to toe at that comment. Something wasn’t right.
She’d suspected it the first time she’d laid eyes on the boy, but now, she knew
for sure.
He began to walk. In the
middle of the graves in a noticeably older area, he stopped and turned toward
her. He seemed to grow paler, thinner, and sadder. He took a couple more steps,
stopped and stared down.
“I be home now, mum.”
His expression was heartrending, his large eyes rose and met hers.
“What?” She looked at
him. “There’s nothing here but weeds.”
“I’m home. Tis my home
‘til the curse be lifted.”
Stunned at his words,
Callie backed away. “What are you talking about?”
“The curse, ma’am. It’s
stickin’ good.”
A wind picked up and,
before her eyes, he metamorphosed into a mist, which swirled about for a moment
before sinking into the ground.
A cold sweat broke out
on her skin and a crippling fear stabbed roughly at her chest. An ugly, wintry
fright came close to bringing her to her knees and impaled her to the spot.
Paralyzed, she willed herself to breathe.
“How…why?” She gathered
her courage and backed away, clutching her stomach, forcing the urge to vomit
away.
“Dear, God, what just
happened?”
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