Official Blog of Kristy Gherlone

Category: Uncategorized

• So…you’d like to take a cruise…

  Posted at 12:50 pm by writergherlone, on July 25, 2017

  

  So…You’d like to take a cruise…

  by Kristy Gherlone

   

  My husband and I have just returned from a two week vacation, that a few weeks ago, we didn’t even know we’d be taking.

  We had to take a trip to Florida to care for relative, and while we were there, we’d thought we’d take a little last-minute break and hop on a ship bound for Mexico.

  I’d like to tell you about it, as I think some of it is note-worthy. I will share this piece before going back to my fiction stories.

  Now, I like cruising. I have been drawn to it since I was a child, intrigued by episodes of “Love Boat.”  I have been a few times, and I always have a good time. I don’t think there’s a cheaper way to see so many different places or eat so much you feel like you’re going to pop.

  However, there are some things I want to point out for people who have never been, but have always wanted to. There are some hidden costs, and some other things to consider before planning your vacation.

  This is what I learned: (this is my perspective, anyway…yours may be quite different)

  July was not an ideal time to go.  The heat wasn’t the issue. (That was actually a bonus for me, as I’m from Maine. This summer it has been chilly and rainy in the northeast, but you can always count on sunny, hot weather in the tropics.) The issue was the amount of children on board(Summer vacation! Oh boy!!!).

  I like children, but not one thousand and three seemingly parentless children at a time. They were everywhere! Running up and down the halls all hours of the night, taking over entire pools and turning them yellow by the end of the day…Every single hot tub and pool was filled to the brim with runny-nosed, happy children. (There was an adult only pool, but the occasional child slipped in here and there.) So, I lost some sleep and had vengeful thoughts in the middle of the night that I’m not usually prone to. Sleep deprivation can do strange things to your mind…also…I’m a bit of a germ-phobe. Ships are not good places for people with germ issues. I did alright, considering. I’m just trying not to think about it, though I have a sore throat and I’m starting to think I have caught malaria, or at the very least, a cold…

  

  *There were lots of things for the kids to do. Free ice cream all day. Movie nights with popcorn…. games..and..oh,  I don’t know since I don’t have small children anymore, but they looked like they were having the time of their lives whatever they were doing.

  Hidden costs: You book from Expedia or your go to sight and it seems pretty cheap but remember…there are other fees. I’ll mention a few, but yours maybe more or less:

  Airline tickets

  Airport parking (two weeks cost us over $500.00 bucks!)

  Rental car if you are doing anything more than plane to ship.

  Parking at the ship docks (I think ours was $80.00 for the 4 days)

  Drinks on board. Alcohol and soda are not included. However, juice, coffee, tea, lemonade, and iced tea are free. A glass of wine cost me $8.75. A very tacky but true occurrence on the ship is at dinner when a waiter comes by with a big tray of shots for anyone who wants to purchase them to go with your steak or lobster…

  Tips, tips and more tips. Tips for the bartenders. Tips for taxi’s and shuttle drivers in port. Tips for excursion leaders…tips for well…tips. Anyone who offers you help or goes out of their way to help gets a tip.

  Pictures. On board, someone is always snapping your picture. They will place those pictures on display and hold them ransom until you manually throw them into a bin or buy them. We bought a few and spent about $200.00 for on the boat pics.  Also, for pics for excursions. We did “swimming with dolphins.” If you think you can just take your own pictures, think again… no cameras allowed! They will take your picture and you will buy them. We spent $43.00, but left most behind.

  

  

  

  Shopping. There is no way to avoid it. The ship has stores and you will buy stuff. Plan on it. Also, a lot of the countries you visit are poor. They count on your money to make it through the year. The ship dumps you in the middle of shopping centers and the people there will compliment and badger you simultaneously until you go into their store, and make you feel like a jerk if you don’t purchase at least one small item. A word of advice: your treasures will be cheaper just before the ship is getting ready to re-board. Last minute purchases will cost about half as much. Make sure you offer them less. Much less. Never pay full price because, let’s face it…that jewelry did not cost them $500.00. They paid $20.00 and if you’re not careful, you’ll buy junk at a huge mark-up.

  Medical care. Thankfully, we didn’t need any, but some people do. A visit to the ships medical center is not covered under insurance. You will pay out-of-pocket for your sickness or boo-boo. (which reminds me:) “Don’t drink the water or get ice-cubes in your drink” is a pretty common caution in Mexico, but did you consider that Pina Colada? It’s crushed ice and you will not feel well later if you get one.*See Medical care…

   

  It may not seem like it, but our trip was actually pretty fun. There are definite perks to cruising which will keep me going back.  I love hot weather, visiting foreign lands, and making new friends and believe me, you will make friends. They may be drunk friends, but they are happy, and happy to meet you. I saw a woman drinking an entire pitcher of margarita at 9:00 a.m. She told me I was without humor and then went on to say that I cracked her up.  I saw a man stumbling down the stairs with a bottle of beer in every single pocket of clothing he had on, but he was smiling. With the ship being so closed in, you get chummy with the people who frequent the same places as you. I like that. We exchange emails and talk about our lives at home. You get friendly with the staff. Some of their stories will break your heart…a tip might help? I hope so.

  I loved my dolphin, Frida. I will always remember her.  It was the opportunity of a life-time to swim with a dolphin. My heart went out to her for all of her hard work, so I didn’t make her lug me across the pool, like the dozen or so other folks did. I didn’t have the heart. Instead, I held her like a baby and spoke to her in Spanish. I think she appreciated the effort. I hope.

   

  Oh and here is my love boat moment…just like the show! Everyone always stands at the rail, looking out, contemplating life after an argument. My companion was fabulous.(He better be since he’s my husband), but we did have a little tiff in the middle, just like Love Boat. We made up at the end. It was all very romantic.

  

   

   

  Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged carnival, cruises, cruising, florida, fun, hiddenfees, nonfiction, summer, vacation

• Twelve Urns (Excerpt)

  Posted at 12:12 pm by writergherlone, on July 15, 2017

  

   

  Today I thought I would share an excerpt from one of my novels. Twelve Urns can be found on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and at River Run Bookstore.

   

  Twelve Urns Excerpt

  by Kristy Gherlone

  The first time Adolph saw Magdalena, he was a small child. He had been sent outside of his home to play in the cool spring air. Bundled up in the itchy wool coat and hat Mama made him wear, he sat on the steps, licking an icicle that had fallen from the house.

  He heard a noise and turned to look. A woman stood in the snow outside of the house next door. He was tentative as she called to him from across the yard, holding a cookie in her hand. She was beautiful, with long, reddish blonde curls flowing down her back. Even from a distance, he could see her blue eyes. The snow reflected on them and made them appear like some of the jewels he had seen in Mama’s special box. Her dress was like none he had ever seen before. It was long to the ground, and seemingly made of shimmering gold. He could see her bare feet that peeked out the bottom, and her toenails were decorated with silver jewels. She was speaking to him. It sounded strange. He did not understand her words, but she wanted him to come closer, that much he knew. He was hungry and wanted the cookie, so he got up from the steps and walked to the edge of his yard.
  A dog, large and growling, ran toward her from across the icy road and bared its teeth. It wanted the cookie also. Skinny and starving, its bones were visible through tight yellow fur, and its tongue hung from its large gaping mouth, dripping with white foam. The dog was almost to her, and for a moment, he feared the cookie would be lost, but the dog, close enough to drool on her feet suddenly stopped. It yelped and began to whine, then dropped to the ground. It rolled onto its back in a submissive pose, eyes pleading and wet with sudden fear. Magdalena looked over toward Adolph to see if he was watching. A small smile played on her lips. She placed the cookie on the stairs and turned toward the dog, which was writhing at her feet, quite seemingly in pain. She uttered a few words in a strange language Adolph was not familiar with and pointed a crooked finger over the dog, swirling it around and around, as though she were stirring coffee. Its belly began to swell. Bigger and bigger it grew. Adolph’s eyes widened as he tried to get a better look. He was fascinated. The dog’s gut was so tight with pressure that the tiny hairs lining its belly jutted out like a porcupine. Blood began to trickle in small lines that looked like tiny red rivers. Magdalena extracted a shiny object from her pocket. A knife? A letter opener like Papa had on his desk? He couldn’t see it clearly. He craned his neck, but he was too far away. He wanted to see, so he went closer to watch. Magdalena bent over and suddenly jabbed the object into the lower half of the dog’s stomach. It made a whooshing sound, like air letting out of a balloon. The dog made a small guttural sound. Its face registered both surprise and fear before it fell silent as she cut it up to its neck. It was still twitching, legs kicking wildly in the air as dark red blood flowed out and stained the snow. She squatted over the dog and placed her hands within the cut. Adolph could hear its ribs cracking as she spread the dog’s body wider. He was mesmerized. She grabbed hold of something inside the dog and tugged slightly. He stepped closer still, almost to her then, but just out of reach. He felt tingly. The tiny hairs on his neck tickled him. It was frightening, but it excited him too. Magdalena stood up. She had something in her hands. Closer. Closer. He was right next to her then and could see that Magdalena held a small, squirming puppy. It was beautiful. He’d always wanted a puppy. Papa vowed that he would never have one. ‘An unnecessary burden’ he had proclaimed. She placed it in his arms, and it began to lick his face. Magdalena patted his head, her hands still wet with blood. “ Gudkinsic ”, she said. He didn’t know that word, but she was smiling at him. He carried the puppy the last few feet to her house and snatched the cookie from the stairs, quickly shoving it into his mouth. She laughed, and opened her door for him to go in. “Happy Birthday” she offered in his language. He didn’t know how she knew.

  Posted in Uncategorized | 2 Comments | Tagged autism, book, geneticengineering, horror, linguistics, novel, science, thriller

• Speed Limit 25

  Posted at 10:20 am by writergherlone, on July 11, 2017

  

  Speed limit 25

  By Kristy Gherlone

   

  Old Speed Limit 25 had seen a few things in his thirty years of keeping guard just on the outskirts of Zephyr.

  The highway man had stationed on a fickle stretch of road that didn’t have the sense to know whether it wanted to be straight or curvy.

  He stood day after day next to the fields that, back in the day, used to hold flowers. They were pretty little things, delicate and bright as they sat preening in the sun, and he didn’t mind admitting, even as modest as he was, that they used to flirt with him on occasion, powdering him with perfumed kisses in the springtime. Now the fields had gone to hay, and all they did was sneeze turbulent fluff his way whenever the mood would strike them.

  When the summer would wane, and the days would grow shorter, the chill air from the east would grow bored from being so idle and kick up a spat with the west. They’d throw dusty words around, stinging him as they flung their insults. Eventually, though, the rains would come and cool things off a bit, or if the time was right, winter would be the one to settle in, scolding with icy fingers, leaving feathery prints on his face and sending blankets of snow to smooth things over.

  In his time on his stretch of the road, Old Speed Limit 25 had seen his share of accidents. The screeching tires and twisting metal made his post ache and his bolts go to rust. Some were worse than others, and though he tried to prevent them, all he could really do was give his advice. It was up to them whether they wanted to follow it or not.

  He’d seen wild fires blow in and scar the landscape with their meanness, promising to melt him with their anger. He’d felt the wrath of thundering storms that tried to push him over or rip him from the ground, but he dug in further and held fast. He had a job to do.

  Back when Zephyr buzzed with life, local kids would drive by him, music thumping so loud it would nearly shake him loose. Sometimes in their youthful aggression they’d chuck rocks at him, dinging his metal and leaving a few dents here and there.  He’d even been shot once or twice, but the highway man would always come and patch him back up. He was a nice old sort with a gentle touch. He’d brush him with a new coat of paint and set him straight whenever he needed it, and sometimes he needed it a lot.

  In the heat of the summer the highway man would hack away at the once innocent fronds that grew around him and playfully tickled his feet in their delightful infancy, but became poisonous devils as they grew, snaking up his post and threating to choke him. He’d even give him a shine now and again when he was feeling a little dull, and nowadays that was more often than not.

  It had been quite a time since he’d seen any real traffic. Just an occasional car that whizzed by, completely ignoring him. No one really came by to visit him anymore, with him being so far off the main road and the town dying out. Even the highway man, eventually, had stopped coming by. There was a fence post that sat up a little ways and he’d talk to him every once in a while, but he didn’t know much.

  He missed the family of five that used to live nearby. They always visited him whenever they walked by. The big kids would hold up the little ones so they could trace over him with their chubby fingers, reciting each number and letter in turn, before skipping off again.

  The truth was he wasn’t much needed anymore, and he knew it. There wasn’t enough traffic to warrant a speed limit of 25.  He supposed he’d be retired and sent off to scrap before too long.

  Sure enough, one morning, just after the first dew frost of the season began to melt into tear drops, Old Speed Limit 25 heard the rolling of familiar tires coming his way. It was his time. Some things he would miss, and some things he wouldn’t, especially the loneliness.

  The highway man got out of his truck. His wrench glistened in the sunlight as he walked on towards Old Speed Limit 25.

  “Come on, old feller. You’ve done your time. You’re coming home with me.”

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

  Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged familyfriendly, fiction, highways, nostalgia, shortstory, travel

• Introducing Sassafras!

  Posted at 12:16 pm by writergherlone, on July 7, 2017

  

  I’m not sure of how serious a venture this is, but I do enjoy writing small stories about my duck, Sassafras. 

  She is a willing participant and has been very popular on Facebook! I hope you find these occasional small stories enjoyable as well.

  Sassafras and…

  Home Is Where The Love IS

  by Kristy Gherlone

   

  

  “Mama, I have a question. Does everyone live in a house like ours?” Sassafras asked one spring morning.

  “Goodness, no,” her mama answered. “There are many different types of houses. Let’s take a walk around and see what we find.”

  

  “I think I found a house!” Sassafras called out excitedly. “At least it looks something like a house, but it’s very small.”

  “Right you are!” Sassafras’s mother said. “That is the chickadees house.”

  

  “I found another, but this one is blue!”

  “Very good! That is where the thrushes live.”

  

  “What about this, Sassafras? Do you think this could be a house?” Her mama asked.

  “Hmm,” Sassafras pondered, looking at the big pile of sticks. I didn’t look like any house she had ever seen. “I’m not sure.”

  “It is.” Her mama said. “This house belongs to a raccoon. Some creatures use leaves, sticks, and mud to make their homes.”

  Sassafras wrinkled her nose. “That doesn’t sound very comfortable.”

  “Well, I’m sure they think so,” her mama laughed.

   

  

  “I know this is a house!” Sassafras exclaimed proudly. “I’ve seen Mrs. Robin sleeping here.”

  “Great job, Sassy! You are right! You have found the Robin’s house.”

  “When her eggs hatch, maybe Mrs. Robin will let me babysit,” Sassafras giggled.

  

  “There is a hole in the ground. Could something live here?” Sassafras asked.

  “Watch for a moment and see if anything comes out,” her mama said.

  Sassafras stood over the hole and waited. “Ants!” She cried. “I think this is an ants house!”

  “Very good, Sassafras!”

  

  “I found our house again!” Sassafras cried. “I like it the best.”

  

  “Just remember, Sassafras…It doesn’t matter where you live as long as you are loved.”

  Posted in Uncategorized | 3 Comments | Tagged childrensstory, ducks, education, familyfriendly, fiction, nature, pekin, picturebook, shortstory

• It’s Lobstah Stew!

  Posted at 1:15 pm by writergherlone, on July 6, 2017

  

  It’s Lobstah Stew!

  by Kristy Gherlone

   

  If you’ve ever been to a social function in Maine, chances are, there was plenty of food.

  People come in droves, toting tupperware and casserole dishes filled to the brim with steaming, aromatic dishes to share. Cake carriers, tinfoil covered pans, and plates heaped high with cookies march in on parade.

  Everything is set out on rows of tables. The hot and cold dishes on one, along with the homemade breads and rolls, and the deserts on a smaller table off to the side.

  People visit with one another while they’re waiting for the food to be served. They talk on and on about ailments and weddings, babies and break-ups, until it gets so loud in there everyone has to shout to be heard!  Everyone hears the announcement, though, that, “Dinner is ready! Come and get it.”

  Inevitably, during the meal, through all that gossiping, silverware clanking, and chewing, someone will call out,”This (such and such dish) is delicious! How did you make it?”

  Well, there are two things Mainers do well, cooking and gossiping.  Unless, it’s gossiping about a cherished family recipe. So the quick answer to ‘how did you make it?’ will be a haughty,  “Oh, a little of this, a little of that.”

  If you can pin down the chef of a favorite recipe, and they like you well enough, you might get, “a pinch of this, but not too much, mind you, and a couple-few teaspoons of that.” A navy drill-sergeant couldn’t get a prized recipe out of an old-school Mainer!

  Lobster Stew is one of those recipes. While most people’s recipes don’t vary all that much, there are some slight differences and they want you to know that theirs has distinction, and boy oh boy their lips are sealed!

  Oh, and God forbid, please don’t confuse Lobster Stew with a chowdah. It ’tain’t the same ‘tall!

  So having said all of that, I’m going to make things easy for you, and share my recipe with out too many pinches and smidges nonsense.

   

  Family of 4 recipe

  Steam 3-4 lobsters.

  When cooled to touch, break them down, being careful to save the claw juice when you’re cracking them open. (This is very important.) Set the juice aside in a cup to add in later.

  Cut lobster into bit-sized chunks, but save a few bigger claw pieces for appearance.

  Throw the pieces into frying pan with a stick of butter, the juice you saved, some salt(to taste), pepper and paprika. Sauté for 3-4 minutes, then add about 3 tablespoons of cooking sherry. Cook about 2 more minutes and throw in some fresh parsley.

  Throw about 4 cups of whole milk and 2 cups of heavy cream into a sauce pan. Cook until scalded, but not boiling. (little bubbles will form on the sides.)

  Add in the lobster-butter mixture. Stir well and let it sit for a few hours to soak up the flavor.

  *Now, if you didn’t save the juice, (like I told you), you can always buy Bar Harbor’s Lobster juice. It comes in a glass bottle and you can get it at Hannaford’s. It will work the same, but it won’t be authentic! 

  So there we have it! Just don’t ask me for my Yummy Cake recipe, cause I ain’t sharing.

   

  Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged barharbor, cooking, gossip, lobster, maine, recipe, shortstory, stew

• Jericho

  Posted at 9:49 am by writergherlone, on July 5, 2017

  

  Jericho

  By Kristy Gherlone

   

  I spend a lot of time talking and writing about my home state of Maine, so out of fairness to the place I actually live now, I thought I would write about a fantastic adventure here in New Hampshire.

  Jericho Mountain State Park is just about my most favorite thing here. It’s only two hours from home, but miles away in terms of ambience. You can get there a couple of different ways, either from the town of Gorham New Hampshire or from Berlin, NH. Each town offers a range of accommodations, and I have found the people there welcoming and accommodating. No matter where you stay, or how you choose to enter Jericho, however, you’ll not be hiking, or driving… you’ll be riding an ATV!

  *I’m definitely not a travel blogger, and I don’t sell vacations, but I always have the time of my life here, so I thought I would share.

  

  People come from all over the world to ride the trails there. Both towns allow the riding of ATV’s on the public road ways, so you can ride right down the main streets and park in front of any restaurant or store and even park in front of your hotel!

  

  The towns are connected by a trail so you can skip from one town to the other, but be sure to stop to see the waterfall along the way!

  

  The park itself, is vast and diverse. The terrain can range from easy, to what the park classifies as black diamond trails. ( very difficult and dangerous) The main speed limit is 25 on most trails, but you won’t be able to go that fast in quite a few places.

  

  *This is the exit to one of the black diamond trails that my husband tried. I opted out, as I’ve had recent surgery and the trail is riddled with large boulders, steep drops and dangerous terrain throughout.

  Jericho is a gorgeous park, rugged and wild, with a lot of the same sights and smells of my own home state. The flora and fauna are abundant. We’ve seen moose, and deer, which is surprising if you consider how noisy ATV’s actually are. You’d think the animals would be scared away, but they don’t seem to mind.  If you take some time to look around in the mud, you can find the tracks of coyote, and all sorts of creatures.

  

  *Fresh moose print. We didn’t miss her by much

  

  *Moose droppings (definitely not fresh)

  

  When I enter the forest there, tangy pine and wild flowers perfume the air in a way that completely envelops the senses.  The sights take my breath away. The mountain range is deep and layered. Though I try, I’ll never be able to capture the beauty with a camera. You’d actually have to stand there and take it all in yourself. Mount Washington hails in the distance and is only about a twenty minute drive from Gorham.

  

  

  

  

  

  Miles of riding takes you through the park. There are maps at each junction that give you the layout and direct you to off-shoot trails that thrill.

  

  There are many twists and turns along the way. The road will rattle your teeth, jiggle your insides, and fling mud all over you, but it’s exhilarating!

   

  There is a warming hut that is open year round for viewing, but is there mainly for the winter snowmobilers. The view from the door-step is astounding!

  

  

  And on top of a rise, there are wind mills. Five of them, if I remember right. They sit high up on a hill, their blades causing shadows across the landscape as they rotate as quietly as a whisper.

  

  

  Bridges cross over rushing streams and stagnant bogs. I know there must be a trout or two hanging out in there, so next time, I intend to bring my fishing pole!

  

  

  After our two days of riding, I was absolutely exhausted. I may have taken on too much, but to me, it’s like eating an entire cake. It’s bad for you, but so hard to resist! My body is still feeling it two days later!

  We went back into town, cleaned the mud off our faces, took some ibuprofen, changed, and debated about where to eat for dinner. As it turns out, Gorham was hosting a carnival!

  It has been a few years since I’ve been to a small town carnival. In my home town, when I was a child, one would come every year in April. It always gave me a thrill.

  We decided, all at once, to grab some dinner at the fair and then I just had to ride one ride. The one I always chose when I was a kid…The Scrambler! Not quite as exciting as I remember, but fun just the same.

  

  

  

  Anyway, it was a great trip. If you are ever up this way, I would highly recommend it!

   

   

  Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged atv, fun, Jericho, nature, newhampshire, riding, statepark, trails

• Cold Comfort (Conclusion)

  Posted at 6:09 am by writergherlone, on July 3, 2017

  

   

  *I thought I would try my hand at a ghost story. While not my usual genre or style, it was fun to write! I especially enjoyed the research that went into it to make it as authentic as possible.

  This story was delivered in parts, as it is a bit long and still needs a little work.

  I try to use all of my own photos, but this proved difficult for this piece. For parts III and IV, and the conclusion, I was able to snag photos from my own stock! III and IV is a picture taken by my daughter’s friend, Sierra Palmer. The photo featured on the conclusion is my grandson.

  Also, my editor is usually not on duty for my blog posts. If you happen to find any errors in spelling or grammar…I’m sorry! I do what I can, but often miss things. Thanks for your patience!

  I truly hope you have enjoyed reading my first ever ghost story!

   

   

  Cold Comfort

  The Conclusion

  by Kristy Gherlone

  San Diego California-Present Day

   

  “You made your bed, you lie in it,” Victoria Combs griped into the phone. She lit a cigarette, though she’d just butted one out not even a minute before. She sat with a grunt in the cheap, aluminum lawn chair she’d thrown onto the beach and lathered on a glob of tanning oil with her one free hand.

  “Mother, I’m not asking for a whole lot. I just need to get some sleep tonight. All I need is for you to come over and give me a hand for one stinking night! I’m not asking you to raise him!”  Shelby Combs argued.  Her mother was ridiculously selfish. She always had been, but Shelby was exhausted. She had to try. She never knew that having a baby would be so absolutely draining. She’d only been home from the hospital for a couple of days, but it was already taking a toll. Not that her mother would be a whole lot of help, but it would have been something.

  “I told you having a baby was a bad idea. You know what the cards said. I don’t know why you never listen. They were pretty friggen clear,” Victoria scolded. She began to cough loudly and was forced to wait until it subsided before adding, “We both knew your man wouldn’t stick around.”

  “Sometimes they’re wrong.” Shelby sighed. She knew she was fighting a battle that couldn’t be won. Born into a family of clairvoyants, Shelby had learned from a very young age to ask the tarot cards before doing anything of importance. They didn’t always give her the answer she wanted, but they were almost always right.

  “Ha! Not in our family. Grow up, Shelby! Accept your responsibilities. Bye.” Shelby heard the phone click. Her mother wasn’t coming. She never could count on her and didn’t know why she expected any different this time.

  “Damn it!” Shelby screamed into the air. She almost threw the phone, but stopped.  She’d need it to call a nanny service if things didn’t get any better. She could deal with just about anything except for that incessant crying! That’s all Joshua ever did, it seemed. He was fine at the hospital, but as soon as she’d brought him home… day and night! It didn’t matter if he’d just eaten or been changed, or was being held. He cried until he lost his breath and Shelby couldn’t take it.

  She wanted the baby. It was as simple as that, which was probably why she didn’t listen. She was getting older. At thirty-four, the chances that she was going to marry were getting slim. The chances of having a baby were even slimmer. She felt like if she didn’t do it, she never would. She’d wind up a childless cat lady even worse off than her own mother.

  Shelby went to the freezer to take out a dinner that one of her customers had prepared for her for after she’d had the baby. She was grateful for the gesture.

  Cecile Craig, the one who’d provided her with all the food, was a sweet lady, but a bit of a kook. She was a religious follower of Shelby’s, coming in to her office once a week to have her palm read, or in dire circumstance, to have the tarot cards read.

  Shelby often wondered what went on in her head to think that she needed so much help from beyond. A woman of eighty years shouldn’t need so much guidance, but she’d come in and ask for advice about which brand of dog food she should get, which program she should watch on TV, or who she should vote for in the election. Shelby suspected she came in out of loneliness, but it wouldn’t have been good for her pocketbook to set her straight and she didn’t really mind the company.

  As she stood waiting for the microwave to ding, she felt a whiff of cold air. She’d been feeling it off and on since she’d brought Joshua home from the hospital, but she’d been too tired to address it.

  “I know you’re here and I want you to leave. I don’t need your kind of help,” Shelby called out with agitation.

  The spirits often came to her in bursts of cold. It was how she knew they were there. If she didn’t ignore them, they’d get worse, bugging her all hours of the night.

  Joshua began to fuss loudly. Shelby could hear him starting in, in the living room where she’d set up a portable bassinet. He’d hadn’t even slept an hour. She was tempted to let him cry it out. She’d fed and changed him before putting him down so he couldn’t possibly really need anything.

  He wailed fiercely. It set her nerves on edge, but then he suddenly stopped.

  Grateful, she went back to seeing about dinner but something about his silence bothered her even more than the crying.

  The dinner forgotten she hurried into the living room. It was freezing! She could hear the whispers of a song. A lullaby lingered in the room so faintly, it almost wasn’t there at all.

  “Get out!” Shelby screamed. She reached in to snatch the baby out. He was shivering, but relatively ok. “Go away. You can’t have him,” she said into the air.

  A shot of frigid air reached out and touched her cheek. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling. Joshua began to fidget in her arms. His lips puckered into a horrible little pout before beginning to cry again.

  “You may not know it, but you’re dead! This is my baby and you can’t have him.”

  Dinner could wait. This was too important. This one meant business, and if she didn’t do something about it…

  She set Joshua down and opened the drawer on the coffee table, pulled out the tarot cards and then ran back into the kitchen. She picked up the phone. “Cecile? Can you come over? It’s an emergency. I need to do a séance.”

   

  Later that evening, after Cecile had left, Shelby placed Joshua in his crib. She turned on the baby monitor and went to lay down in her own bed. She wished she had someone to watch over him while she slept. She didn’t trust that spirit. Something about her aura seemed too desperate.

  She’d just drifted off when the sounds of a lullaby woke her. She knew immediately what it was. She raced into the baby’s room.

   

  Isabelle held her baby and gazed lovingly into its little face.

  “Don’t you cry, now. Mummy is here. Mummy will never leave you,” she soothed.

   

  “Isabelle? Isabelle Hackney?” Shelby called out into the freezing darkness.

  Isabelle startled. She heard her name. Someone was calling her name, but it sounded so far away. So very far away. She ignored it, lost in maternal bliss.

  “Isabelle? That is not your child. He is mine. Yours was lost long, long ago. You’re dead, Isabelle.”

  It can’t be! Isabelle thought, continuing to rock. This baby is mine. Of course this baby is mine.

  “Mummy will never leave you. Anything you need, I’ll be right here.”

  “You’re dead Isabelle and your baby is long gone. Please leave before you kill him!” Shelby begged.

   

  For the first time, Isabelle took her eyes away from the baby. She looked up and only then did she notice how very different everything was. How strange. This was not her house!

  It was so cold there. She shivered despite the coat and scarf. She was so cold.

  She gazed down into her baby’s eyes. It wasn’t hers. She knew then that it wasn’t hers.

  Oh dear God, the morphine!

  “You’re killing him. You’re stealing the warmth right out of him with your touch and I have a terrible suspicion that in your ignorance, you may have done the same with others.  It’s cold where you linger. It’s always cold where the dead roam. Let him go, Isabelle, and don’t ever walk this way again. Your baby is gone. She cries for you from heaven.”

  Isabelle knew then the mistake that she’d made.

  “Oh my poor baby! Mummy is coming, little one. Mummy is coming.” She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

  Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged conclusion, fiction, ghosts, paranormal, shortstory, supernatural

• Cold Comfort Parts III & IV (Cont.)

  Posted at 12:04 pm by writergherlone, on July 1, 2017

  

  *I thought I would try my hand at a ghost story. While not my usual genre or style, it was fun to write! I especially enjoyed the research that went into it to make it as authentic as possible.

  This story will be given in parts, as it is a bit long and still needs a little work.

  I try to use all of my own photos, but this proved difficult for this piece. For parts III and IV, I was able to snag a photo from my own stock! This picture was taken by my daughter’s friend, Sierra Palmer.

  Also, my editor is usually not on duty for my blog posts. If you happen to find any errors in spelling or grammar…I’m sorry! I do what I can, but often miss things. Thanks for your patience!

  I truly hope you enjoy reading my first ever ghost story!

   

   

  Cold Comfort Part III

  by Kristy Gherlone

   

  London England 1947

   

  “What are you doing about, my love?” Thatcher James frowned as he walked in the door after a day looking for work. His wife, Elizabeth was in the kitchen, looking quite pale and tired.  He kissed her cheek and waited for an answer.

  “Effie’s left us. She was only paid up ‘til Tuesday. She stayed an extra day as it was. Anyway, she’s confident that little Thames is in good hands now,” Elizabeth stated, trying hard to sound positive, but knew she fell short. She turned her head away and held back the exhausted tears that threatened to betray her.

  At least she’d had enough sense to send Effie off to market before she took her leave. With the amount of rationing coupons she’d saved, she was able to secure dinner for the two of them anyway.

  “I’m sorry, my dear. I’ll scrape enough together to hire another mid-wife. You’re not ready for all of this yet after losing so much blood. You need to get some strength back. The doctor said it would take some time…”

  If they’d had the money, he would have taken Elizabeth to the hospital to deliver Thames. She’d never been a very strong woman. A bout of rheumatic fever as a child had left her a bit on the frail side.

  “No. Don’t,” she said quickly. “I’m actually looking forward to seeing to him myself. At least I won’t have anyone here telling me all of the things I’m doing wrong,” she chuckled thickly. She knew they couldn’t afford it, and there was no use in making him feel bad.

  “But how will you manage?” Thatcher asked, moving in to take over the dinner preparations.

  “Give me a little credit,” Elizabeth cried in mock indignation. She shuffled over to the table. She lit a cigarette and sat, grateful for the help.

  “One potato?” Thatcher questioned, looking around for another.

  “Yes, that’s to be the last of them too. There’s to be a ban soon, I hear.”

  “Where is the little monster anyway?” Thatcher grinned, asking of their week old son.

  “Napping in the pram.  I’ve set him out on the back stoop for some air.”

  “I don’t mean to sound like Effie, but isn’t it a bit cold?”

  Elizabeth rolled her eyes and gave him a look of exasperation. “Not at all. He’s in his bunting. My mother did the same with me, as I’m sure yours did with you. Babies need air.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to see the little fellow.” Thatcher set down the paring knife and went to get him.

  “Of course, but if you wake him, you’re changing him!” Elizabeth called out teasingly.

  Later that evening, Thatcher and Elizabeth sat in the living room listening to the The Adventures of Leonidas Witherall, as Elizabeth nursed Thames.

  As much as Elizabeth loved the mystery, she fought to keep her eyes open. She dozed off and on, giving in to pure exhaustion, as Thames suckled noisily.

  The episode ended and Thatcher got up to switch off the radio. “Let me carry him up.”

  “Fine by me. He’s eaten his weight,” Elizabeth laughed tiredly, as she handed little Thames off to her husband.

  “You go and get some rest. I’ll stoke the fires and put him down.”

  “There may not be enough coal to last until morning. You may want to start the electric fire,” Elizabeth suggested. “I’ll be glad when this blasted winter is over,” she added as she yawned, heading up the stairs to bed.

  The next morning Elizabeth woke feeling a bit stronger, but oddly at unease. She could tell by the light streaming in through the window that it was well past seven. She was alarmed that Thames hadn’t woken her in the night. It was quite unusual and all at once troubling. She got up quickly and went to check in on him.

  As soon as she entered his room, she could tell something wasn’t right. It was cold in there. Much too cold! Thames was unmoving. So still, and of peculiar color. She held her breath, fear and feelings of resounding dread washed over her.

  “Thatcher!” she screamed. “Get the doctor! Get the doctor quick! Something’s wrong with Thames!”

  An hour later, Elizabeth’s heart felt like it would never recover as the doctor delivered the news.

  “Classic case of crib death, I’m afraid,” he told them solemnly, listening with a stethoscope for any signs of life and finding none. “You mustn’t blame yourselves. There’s nothing you could have done. Third one I’ve had this year. Tragic.” He shook his head sadly and packed up his kit.

  Thatcher walked the doctor to the door, who then fished a bottle of medicine out of his bag. “Give her one teaspoon of this every few hours. It’ll help her sleep,” he said, eying him with meaning. He tipped his hat and took his leave.

  Elizabeth was inconsolable. “My baby. My sweet little baby,” she cried as Thatcher tried to comfort her. She buried her face in his chest, deep sobs wracking her body. He carried her off to bed as the doctor ordered.

  “There, there, now my love. He didn’t suffer. We can always have another,” Thatcher said, but he knew it wouldn’t be true. Elizabeth wouldn’t survive another.

  She blinked up at him, the tears unstoppable. “It was so cold in there this morning. He froze didn’t he? We’ve killed our son!” she cried.

  Thatcher wrinkled his brow in confusion. “My love, it was as warm as toast in there this morning. As warm as toast…”

   

  Cold Comfort Part IV

   

   1998 Maine

   

  Abigail and Jackson Shaffer were beaming with happiness. After nearly four years of marriage, a half a dozen fertility treatments, and two miscarriages, Abigail had just successfully given birth to their first child. Emory Rose was just about the most perfect baby they’d ever laid eyes on, and she was all theirs. They were taking her home after spending four days in the hospital as Abigail recovered from her C-Section.

  “The sweetest and most perfect baby there ever was,” Abigail whispered lovingly, planting a kiss on top of Emory’s nose as she carried her into their house for the first time.

  “Abs, let me help you into the living room and then I’ll make you something to eat.” Jackson smiled, guiding his wife towards the couch. He held onto her elbow as she eased down into a sitting position. She clung to their baby, unwilling to put her down for even a minute, though it was obvious that she was still in a fair amount of pain.

  “Thanks, baby. Isn’t she perfect?” Abigail asked, grinning proudly, not taking her eyes off from Emory’s face. Though she’d asked that question a million times already, Jackson readily agreed.

  “Yes, she is. She’s just like you. Perfect and beautiful and wonderful,” he confirmed seriously, kissing her on the cheek.

  Jackson saw Abigail’s face pinch with sudden discomfort as she adjusted her position.

  “I should probably get you some water to take your pills with. You don’t want the pain to get ahead of you, like the doctor said.”

  “No,” she protested. “They’ll make me sleepy. What if I fall asleep?” she asked, pursing her lips with concern. She clutched Emory in a protective hug.

  “That’s what I’m here for babe. I can wake you up if she needs to be fed. Abs, you need to take them. Doctor’s orders.”

  “Okay, okay. But you better make sure you wake me up if she cries in the night. And can you turn on the air? It’s hot in here.” Mid July in Maine could be a lot hotter and more humid than one would think. She unwrapped Emory’s blanket, checking for any sign that she was getting overheated.

  Abigail woke up with a panicky feeling the next morning. She reached out to feel around the covers for Emory. She vaguely remembered going to bed and Jackson placing Emory at her breast for her nighttime feeding.

  “Jackson! Where’s the baby?” she cried. She sat bolt upright and shook him. She leaned over and peeked at the floor next to the bed, terrified at what she might find. She was relieved that to see that the baby wasn’t laying there broken, having fallen off the bed in the night.

  Jackson rolled over and gave her a sleepy smile. “She’s in her room, in the crib. I figured since you both were sleeping so soundly, I’d put her in there and let you get as much rest as possible.”

  Relief flooded in, quickly replaced by anger. She gave Jackson a scathing look.

  “Don’t give me that look Abs. She’s gonna have to get used to it, eventually.”

  “Jackson!” Abigail protested loudly. “Not her first night!”  She jumped out of bed and was immediately sorry that she did. Pain ripped through her stomach. She doubled over.

  “Back into bed before you rip your stitches,” Jackson ordered, getting up to help her. “She’s not even fussing yet Abs. Calm down. I’ll go and get her if you want, but you’re going to have to learn how to relax.”

  Yawning, Jackson went first to the bathroom. He did feel a little guilty about having slept so soundly, but he hadn’t gotten a whole lot of sleep for the last week.  If the baby had cried in the night, he hadn’t heard her. He was both grateful and sorry at the same time.

  He flushed, washed his hands and went to Emory’s room.  He opened the door and was blasted with a burst of cold air. It couldn’t have been more than fifty degrees in there!

  He knew he turned the AC down just after he’d put her in her crib. He hadn’t wanted her to get too cool in the night.

  He half jogged over to her crib, holding his breath. Something about her didn’t look right. She wasn’t moving. She was just too still.

  He reached out to turn her over.

  Oh Jesus. Oh Jesus…

   

  Stay Tuned for the final chapter!

  Side note: This week I received word that a short story I wrote has been accepted by Short Fiction Break! It(Ice Cream or Moxie) will appear on Aug 2nd. Additionally, The Mystery Tribune read another story of mine(Thief) and requested it for their magazine. It is featured in their magazine now!

  Posted in Uncategorized | 3 Comments | Tagged fiction, ghoststory, paranormal, shortstory, supernatural

• Cold Comfort (cont.)

  Posted at 10:47 am by writergherlone, on June 30, 2017

  

   

  *I thought I would try my hand at a ghost story. While not my usual genre or style, it was fun to write! I especially enjoyed the research that went into it to make it as authentic as possible.

  This story will be given in parts, as it is a bit long and still needs a little work.

  I try to use all of my own photos, but this proved difficult for this piece, so the featured photo today is from The Lineup.

  Also, my editor is usually not on duty for my blog posts. If you happen to find any errors in spelling or grammar…I’m sorry! I do what I can, but often miss things. Thanks for your patience!

  I truly hope you enjoy reading my first ever ghost story!

   

  Cold Comfort

  Part II

  by Kristy Gherlone

  The baby was crying again. The sound wrenched her from a deep hypnotic sleep. Immediately on alert, her eyes flew open. Her heart began to thump loudly against her chest. Something was wrong! Something was wrong with the baby!
  Panicked, Isabelle threw the covers aside and jumped out of bed, nearly tripping on her night dress. Her feet touched the cold pine wood floor, making it creak. The baby hushed. Isabelle froze, her pulse pounding in her ears as she paused to listen. The silence was momentary.  The crying began anew. Soft beckons turned to billowy wails of fear and discomfort.

  She admonished herself as she snatched her dressing gown from the bed post and wrestled her arms into the sleeves. She shouldn’t have taken so much morphine! She didn’t mean to take so much. She only wanted to sleep. Just to sleep and to forget…

  She went to the nightstand, feeling around with clumsy fingers until she found a taper. Her hands shook as she lit a candle to see her way through the midnight blackness. Succeeding, she cupped the flame to keep it from whiffing out as she hurried into the long main hallway. The glow from the light snuck around her fingers, throwing shadows that danced on the walls, disorienting her. She turned left in the corridor. After only a few quick steps, she knew that it wasn’t right. The house seemed so different.

  Which way is it? Why can’t I remember?  She stopped, looking back the way she had come.

  Was it the east or west wing? Everything was so fuzzy in her mind.

  The baby’s fussing’s strengthened, turning into wounded howls.

  “I’m coming! Mummy’s coming!” she cried, spiriting back in the other direction. It was the west wing. Of course!

  She hastened her steps towards the baby’s suite just as its wails reached a crescendo. Filmy haze wafted in around her. She batted at it furiously, but it only thickened, making her cough. Stealing her sight, she was forced to feel her way and count the doorways. One, two…

  “I’m coming!”

  She could have sworn there were three doors! The sounds of the crying shifted as she’d reached a dead end and seemed to come from the other side of the house. She must have gone the wrong way! Confused, she turned and headed back. They never should have built a house so large!

  Dark figures lurked in the mist, hissing accusations as she breezed past, making her nervous and jumpy. She darted around them, moving quickly. The faster her feet moved, the more the hallway seemed to lengthen. Finally, she stumbled her way back into the main hallway and turned into the east wing.
  Her breath came out in wheezy gasps as she came to a door. The smoky condensation turned to icy crystals that frosted the air, but it went unnoticed. She tried the knob. It was locked! She felt around in her pocket for the key, but it wasn’t there. Frantic, she tried all of the doors, but they too were locked. The crying shifted again. The baby’s shrieks sliced through the windows, threatening to break the panes.  The sounds were coming from outside! Oh God! Her baby was outside! Someone had stolen her baby!

  “Mummy’s coming little one! I’m coming!”

  She thrust her arms into her coat, and wound a scarf around neck. She threw open the front door and bounded down the stony steps that led to the street.

  It was so cold. She steeled herself against it, but the sharp air stole her breath. She tightened her belt and pulled the scarf around her ears. It felt as if she would never feel the warmth again. She scurried down the street, letting the sounds of her baby guide her.

  The darkness of the night was broken by a light up ahead. She raced along the sidewalk on feather lite feet. The crying grew louder as she neared a house.  Her baby was in there!

  She ghosted through the doorway and up the stairs. She whipped open the door to the baby’s room and ran in to save her.

  “There you are. Mummy is here. Mummy is right here.”

  Isabelle reached into the crib and gently lifted her baby. Lovingly, she held it close to soothe the terrible cries.

  So relieved to have her baby back in her arms, she took her over to the rocker and sat signing to her until she quieted.

  Husha Husha daddy’s off to war, but mummy never leaves you while daddy’s on his tour.

  Anything you need now, I’ll happily provide. Just close your eyes and sleep now baby, baby mine.

  Stay tuned for more!

  Side note: This week I received word that a short story I wrote has been accepted by Short Fiction Break! It(Ice Cream or Moxie) will appear on Aug 2nd. Additionally, The Mystery Tribune read another story of mine(Thief) and requested it for their magazine. It is featured in their magazine now!

  Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged fiction, ghosts, ghoststory, london, shortstory, supernatural

• Cold Comfort

  Posted at 10:06 am by writergherlone, on June 29, 2017

  

   

   

  *I thought I would try my hand at a ghost story. While not my usual genre or style, it was fun to write! I especially enjoyed the research that went into it to make it as authentic as possible.

  This story will be given in parts, as it is a bit long and still needs a little work. 

  I try to  use all of my own photos, but this proved difficult for this piece, so the featured photo is from aboutbritian.com

  Also, my editor is usually not on duty for my blog posts. If you happen to find any errors in spelling or grammar…I’m sorry! I do what I can, but often miss things. Thanks for your patience!

  I truly hope you enjoy reading my first ever ghost story!

   

  COLD COMFORT

  Part I

  by Kristy Gherlone

   

   

  London 1873

   

  “I need me a couple of you Peelers to go down to the new Hackney manor and have a look over,” Chief Constable called out to his men. “Captain Hackney is off at war and no one’s seen hide ‘ner hair of the missus in quite some time.”

  “We’ll do it.” Tom Barclay, a third year on Bow Street, readily volunteered, nudging his trainee, who gave him a look of inquisition.

  “Take yer truncheons and look smart then,” Chief Constable advised. “Steer clear of Alsatia tonight, unless you want to be training a new one again tomorrow.”

  “What did he mean by that?” Samuel Lester asked nervously, adjusting his top hat.

  “Word has it, there’s to be a raid in Alsatia tonight. It’s to be a rough one, I hear. I thought this might be a little kinder to your training,” Tom explained with a chuckle, “and my disposition.”

  The Hackney manor was quite a few blocks from the station. The heels of their shoes clicked and echoed as they hurried over the cobblestone walkways.

  Set back from the main road, the Hackney Manor had been built not even a year ago, and was quite a spectacle. It was rumored that Captain Hackney had it built to suit his wife’s specifications, and by the time it was completed, had eaten up a good portion of his wealth.

  Tom had heard from his own gossiping wife, that Mrs. Hackney intended to fill the giant estate with children. Her plan was already underway, having just given birth to her first. It didn’t surprise him at all that no one had seen her. She was probably holed up in maternal bliss just like all the new mothers he’d known.

  “Well, here we are now,” Tom said as they approached the main gate. “Everything from here looks to be in order. The gate seems secure,” he noted, rattling the iron bars.

  “So we can assume there ‘twasn’t a break-in at least,” Samuel concluded with a fair amount of confidence.

  “Ah, but can we?” Tom asked, raising his eyebrows.  He reached up and unlatched the gate. “In this business, it’s better not to assume anything.” He opened it and motioned Samuel through.

  The manor was dark as they approached. Not a candle was lit in any window. Tom found that to be at odds as, at that hour, most of London would be enjoying their evening meal.

  “Mrs. Hackney?” Tom shouted, knocking firmly on the front door. “Mrs. Hackney, this is Constables Barclay and Lester. Could you come to the door please? We’ve been instructed to look in on you.”

  “No servants?” Samuel whispered, genuinely surprised. Surely a manor as such would require a few willing servants.

  “From what my wife tells me, Mrs. Hackney wouldn’t tolerate them.” He knocked again.

  Receiving no answering reply, Tom turned the knob and walked in. “Mrs. Hackney?”

  The smell was the first thing that Samuel noticed. For such a new place, it contained the stench of the dredges of London. It was also cold and very quiet. He shivered and held his jacket sleeve over his nose with a grimace. “Smells like rotting tripe in here.”

  “It’s not rotting tripe you’re smelling, I’m afraid,” Tom said with remorse. “If I’m not mistaken, you’re about to have a lesson I’d rather you avoided.”

  “Oh?” Samuel asked with cautious curiosity.

  “I’ll take the upstairs, you check around down here,” Tom ordered.

  “What am I to be looking for?”

  “You’ll know it when you see it,” Tom said.  It was turning out to be a most unpleasant task. He almost wished he’d gone on the raid instead.

  He took the stairs two at a time, and as he expected, the smell worsened as he ascended.

  It didn’t take him long to find Mrs. Hackney.  The door to her bedroom was ajar. He entered and found her lying motionless, the bed covers drawn up around her chin. He shined the light over her face. It was blue and bloated. It was hard to say just how long she’d been like that.

  At that moment, Samuel entered. “What is it? Is she…?”

  “Samuel stay here and don’t touch anything. My wife tells me she gave birth recently. There’s a chance…” But even as he said it, he knew there was none. It was too cold. Given the temperature and the lack of attention, the baby wouldn’t have survived long.

  Tom ran off down the hallway opening every door until he found the baby’s room. It was obvious even at first glance that it had expired. Poor little thing was lying on its side completely without covers.

  He walked over to the crib and reached out to turn it over. He choked back a sob. The sweet little thing still maintained a pout as if the only thing it had ever done on the earth was suffer. The little nappy covering its behind had been soiled before death, but had long since dried into a crusty mess.

  He didn’t know why, but he picked up the baby and cradled it in his arms. He tried not to imagine just how long it had cried in agony from cold and hunger before it succumbed.

  Sighing deeply, he placed it gently back into the crib. He took a moment to collect himself before returning to Samuel.

  “Did you find the baby?” Samuel asked hopefully.

  Tom nodded gravely. “We’ll have to have a look around. There must be a way to contact Captain Hackney. ‘Tis unfortunate, but he’ll have to be informed.”

  “There won’t be a need,” Samuel said. “I didn’t touch anything, but couldn’t help noticing that letter there on the nightstand,” he said, motioning towards the paper.

  Tom went over, and holding the torch high, began to read.

  We regret to inform you that your husband Captain John Hackney has been killed in duty….

   

  Side note: This week I received word that a short story I wrote has been accepted by Short Fiction Break! It(Ice Cream or Moxie) will appear on Aug 2nd. Additionally, The Mystery Tribune read another story of mine(Thief) and requested it for their magazine. It is featured in their magazine now!

   

  Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged 1800s, fiction, ghosts, ghoststory, london, shortstory, supernatural

• Search for:

• Recent Posts

  • Art in all Things
  • The Dollhouse
  • The Forest Fire
  • The Carnival
  • No Parking

• Categories

  • Uncategorized (63)
  • shortstory (4)
  • #prose (3)
  • nature (2)