My Second Blog

Hey Everyone,

Just a quicky post to let you know I have finally started writing on my second blog 'The Victual Vixen' ( http://thevictualvixen.blogspot.com/ ). The VV is geared toward food, fun, places to stay, and things to do--like date nights! Check it out, and don't ever lose your sense of adventure!

Cheers,
Nishi

The Bilge Parts Three and Four!

 

Thank you to all my friends for your patience in waiting for the final parts of 'The Bilge' while I overcame life's obstacles. I hope you enjoy it!

If you missed part one, click this: http://nishiserrano.blogspot.com/2012/07/bilge.html

 

Part Three: Reality

A deep hum surrounded Sara. Along with the drone tingling her skin and ears, came the perception of walls. Perfect.  It had not been real after all, her extraction from the metal prison, which meant he could not intrude on her waking world. She sighed. She was relieved, knowing the only chance he had of reaching her was in a dream, and that was really just punishment.

          But something was different. She did not feel cold. Her belly no longer ached in its excruciating need for food, although, her hunger was never satisfied. And, she felt stronger, more alive than ever. Or at least as long as she could reach back and remember. Which surprised her, because she could remember a lot, in fact, her focus was positively astounding. She remembered the dreams he used to punish her with, and how in the dreams she could not remembered her true predicament. In her prison, he never let her hold on long enough to grasp why she was there in the first place. Not now, no, the answers to the riddles were coming clear.

          “Are you awake?” A whisperer asked.

          It startled her. Every muscle tightened. Her eyes snapped open.

          “You are awake. Good,” a man said. He wore a uniform she did not recognize.

          Her gaze slid past the man to the room. A hospital room, though not exactly much like one in a hospital. The room held a vaster array of equipment than she was used to.

          He must have recognized her puzzlement. “You’re on a military ship. It was the closest to the deepwater workboat’s location. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

          Sara tried her voice. “Yes.” The sound was smooth, lubricated. She was no longer dehydrated. Tubes and bags hung nearby, feeding her. Her hopes instantly shattered.

          “Can you tell me your name?”

          Of course she could, and she would tell him much more than that. Things he would not believe.

          “Sara.”

          “No last name?” he pried.

          Death, which is the last name she wanted to declare. Because death is what her presence would bring.

          “You have to get me off this boat.”

          The look he gave dashed any ideas of an easy release. “Well, that’s impossible. We’re hundreds of miles from shore. And the military isn’t going to turn this ship around for one person. No matter how much of an enigma you present. You’re lucky we were on our way out when the workboat sent a distress.”

          She racked her brain to find a way to express the danger lurking minutes, maybe even seconds away. Anything she said would be branded as crazy talk, the kind that comes from living in a box for who knew how long.

          “Sara, you can call me Doc. You’ve been out for almost a week, not a peep, sleeping like the dead.”

          Sara kept her shock to herself. Even a day was too long to be gone and unprepared for the worst.

          “You do realize you were pulled—according to the boat’s crew—from depths no human could survive? And found inside a reinforced and sealed off bilge?”

          Her head shake and downturned gaze confirmed his statement.

          “You’re off the charts Sara. Mind telling me your story? If you don’t give it to me, a few of the boys around here get itchy to do everything at gun-point.”

          Yeah, she knew all about guns, even had herself an arsenal at one time. How the tables had turned. She gazed around the room one more time and sighed.

          Staring hard into the doctor’s eyes, she began by replying, “You won’t believe a word of what I tell you, and by then, it will be too late. In fact, it’s already too late.”

          The doctor smiled. “Try me. Your blood tests came back abnormal. I need to find out what that means. However, the container you were in tested negative for infections. No one has shown any signs of illness, but I have to ask if you’re carrying any unknown contagions?”

          Sara smirked. “No. The danger is coming from outside the ship, not from me.”

          “Are you saying someone is after you? Were you hiding?”

          Her eyes closed from the exasperation of his prodding. The answers to his questions were far more complicated than a simple explanation. Some of the past was still fuzzy in her head. The many years of illusions still made it difficult to pinpoint the truths. However, there was one thing she did remember clearly. Her eyes opened. “I was the leader of an elite team, and I was tricked into my imprisonment.”

          The doctor seemed confused. “You mean the bilge?”

          “Yes.” She inhaled the sterile air and continued. “Don’t try to verify who or what sort of team I led—you won’t get any answers from your government. We were beyond top secret.”

          A guffaw escaped the doctor. “C’mon Sara, do you know how cliché that sounds? Why don’t you start by telling me the truth?”

          In her anger she tried to sit up, but the doc pushed her back down. “I have no reason to lie!”

          “All right, settle down. What function did this team serve?”

          Her lips pursed. The longer she stayed in this bed, the more time she lost in preparation. “To hunt the nightmares you most fear. Reality does not run in a straight line. There are many dimensions to this present universe, and the universes beyond.”

          Now it was his turn to sigh. She could tell he did not believe her. “Sara, what year do you think this is?”

          Confused, she looked around. “I don’t know.”

          His head bobbed up and down to some question he must have answered in his mind. “It’s 2016.”

          Her eyes widened and she gasped. So much time had passed!

          “You seem surprised,” he said.

          “Yes ….”

          He waved a hand to catch her distant gaze. “Hey, stay with me Sara.”

          Snapping her gaze directly to his, she growled, “No matter what I say, you have already made up your mind that I am crazy.”

          A soldier appeared in the doorway. The doctor swiveled in his chair and barked. “Hey, I’m in the middle of—”

          “Sir, Doctor, Sir, bogies have been spotted. Our orders are to take the woman to a secure bay.”

          After all this time, he had finally arrived. Sara ripped the needles and cords from her body and jumped out of the bed as the two soldiers moved to grab her arms. The Doc looked profoundly flabbergasted, and a bit scared. She knew he questioned the reality of her words. Too bad for him—and her—the danger had arrived.

          “Let go of me and give me a weapon,” she cried, as they hauled her down a corridor. At every turn, military personnel ran to and fro, determined to get to their positions in case the unidentified objects on the radar proved malicious. Sara began to panic as well. What would he do to her? It was the one question she had no answer for. She only remembered the promise that if she ever left the bilge, he would find her. And bring hell with him.

          It was obvious to her that they had no intention of letting her go or supplying her with a means of defense. As they dragged her farther down into the bowels of the ship, a loud boom surrounded it. Deep rumblings and pinging sounded, halting the guards as they glanced about in fear. The ship rocked. The men let go of her.   Instead of running, she too stayed and listened. From above came the faintest hint of screaming. The guards were hesitant to move, in the confusion of the moment, they realized the ship was under attack.

          One of the guards grabbed her by the arm and squeezed, demanding an answer, “What is going on up there?”

          “You wouldn’t believe me,” she replied.

          The other guard responded, “Shit we don’t have time for this. Leave her here. We need to get up there!”

          Her arm hurt as the other man dug his fingers into her flesh. “That wasn’t our orders.”

          “Screw orders, shit’s hitting the fan up there!” He was right. A horrible racket seemed to be tearing the ship apart. Blasting and shrieking came down the passage promising carnage.

          Her protests went unheard as they dragged her back the way they had come. In the upper levels there was madness. The ship had been riddled with blasts and smoke. A few bodies lay on the floor in pools of blood where the deadly shrapnel of the vessel had smote them. Sara’s terror increased. The sight of the blood woke something inside her. The doctor appeared hollering for them to retreat. His eyes locked onto hers.

          “No,” she yelled. “Is the bilge on this ship?” She had to know, it was the only chance for survival. If she made it back inside, perhaps he would leave her alone.

          “The bilge stayed on the workboat,” the Doc replied.

          Surprisingly, the guard let go of her arm, reached behind his back and withdrew a Beretta and handed it over to her. “You know how to use one of these?”

          The ship heaved sideways as she shouted an affirmative and attempted to steady herself. Down the passage came a roar and several military personal screaming. There was a sudden jumble of profound confusion as blood sprayed the walls and body parts seemed to explode and cover her in gore. Hands shaking, she pointed the gun in the direction of the horrible noises. Bodies lay around her in a jumble of steamy intestines and dismemberment. The doctor’s head rested with a gaping mouth on top of the torso of the guard who had given her the gun.

          Her terror increased. Goop dripped off the barrel of the weapon as she waited with bated breath for whatever monstrosity had arrived. The corridor remained silent. She stepped over the corpses and continued, keeping the muzzle pointed ahead. Then she heard a noise that was all at once familiar, and utterly horrendous. A clacking and pawing, as of large hooves roaming a desolate canyon echoed behind the garbled and distorted language of unfathomable beasts.

          She lost her sense of courage then. Retreating back the way she had come, her mind unhinged, her only thought was to find a hiding place, somewhere she could not be found. Of course—the deepest recesses of the ship! If she could find her way down, perhaps there would be another space to crawl into, to let her mind sleep. Maybe then, she would be safe.

 

 

Part Four: Wake

She fled. There were others she passed, looking baffled and perplexed. They had given up and gazed on her despondently, hoping for an answer or an ending. And the ending came upon them quickly. An invisible force that only they seemed to comprehend rent every one as she ran onward and away from the infernal echoes of the unseen devils. When she hit the stairs leading to the darkest fathoms of the ship, she listened. Nothing, the ship’s thick layers muted any signs of the struggle from above.

          Holding her breath, she descended the stairs. The space below was empty of life. Only a small amount of light from the boats machinery imprinted an eerie glowing. She searched frantically to find a place to hide. Pulling open a hatch, she gazed down into a dark hole—perfect. Half-way in, the ruckus began. A cavalry of beastly clatter announced she had been found. She aimed the gun in the direction of the noise and fired. Something howled, followed by a rasping growl.

          Monstrous footfalls charged forward. She jumped from the ladder with the hatch slamming down overhead. The air rushed out of her as she hit the damp floor, gun skittering out of her grasp.

          “Shit!” On her knees, she searched for the Beretta. The hatch banged open. Her fingers closed around the barrel. She snatched it up and ran blind in the dark space.

          They were following her inside! A sharp crack of a voice, guttural and hair rising, called out in its strange language. She turned to fire, still running, and … “Argh!” smacked into a wall.

          This is the end, she thought as she lay sprawled on the cold floor. Quickly gathering herself, Sara backed into the wall, arms wrapped around her knees. She huddled there, and waited.

          The beasts came slowly, chattering back and forth. One barked an apparent order and the rest went silent. They were close enough now that she could feel their infernal breath warming the frigid space. She closed her eyes and scrunched tighter against the wall. All was silent, but she knew they were there. This was not a figment of her imagination. Her eyes opened. A light flicked on, bathing her in radiance. It burned her retinas. She blinked rapidly, the light painful.

          “Sara?” questioned a male voice. What was happening? She couldn’t respond. “The name the humans gave you is Sara, but you are not a human. Can you understand what I am saying?”

          Confused, her brain glitches—literally—she felt as if a switch had clicked over mechanically. “Yes, I understand. Who are you?” But she knew … she knew it was him.

          “Do you not remember me?”

          “You have come to destroy me,” she said. A sound of grating laughter erupted from the creatures.

          The voice of him ordered more light. When the corridor was lit, Sara gasped. Giants filled the space. Her mind reeled as she tried to focus on their true form, which appeared to dazzle and mutate quicker than her eyes could adjust to. What she could fathom was their huge and numerous limbs—armored and clawed—displaying an impressive arrangement of weapons.

          He bore closer to her. His eyes level with hers; she was mesmerized by the coal fires of hell that burned within his large, intense orbs. “No, it is not my intention to destroy the one I had long ago given up hope of finding.”

          His words disturbed her. What manner of new torment did he have planned? “I … I don’t know what you mean. You entrapped me and swore that if I ever left, you would hunt me down.”  

          The creatures became excited, their banter momentarily heated. Then, silence. “It was not I who trapped you. It was the humans. You are our queen.”

          Sara stared emptily, the monsters were speaking nonsense.

          He continued, “A war raged between the humans and our kind. In the end it was the human commander who defeated you. You disappeared in the blink of an eye. We were forced to leave this planet, our leader had been vanquished. Or so we thought. When the humans released you, it ignited the tracker.”

          No, this was another dream. She was not one of these monsters. How could she be? Another layer of her supposed memories sloughed away. In its absence, a new memory replaced it. They were different eyes now, not the eyes of the creature before her, but of a fierce man, his grim face and cackling laughter following her descent into a dark hole. He had made this place in her mind, and when the transformation was complete, he had buried her where no one would find her. And if this were true, then so were the other memories that came back now. Horrible pictures of death, by her hand. No, no, no, no … and now she could see it was even her own self that had killed the doctor, the humans on the ship. Sara screamed.

          The creatures snatched her up. The one she had thought of only as him cradled her in his arms as they left the bowels of the ship. She didn’t bother to struggle, there was no use. She belonged to this tribe of fiends.  

          The deck was in shambles, utterly destroyed. Blood and bodies littered every inch of space. And there above, hovered the massive sky-ships of her kin. Her humanity slipped away. What replaced it was the knowing that her hunger would never be satiated, that she was the nightmare, she was him. There were no longer any walls to save the world.

 

         



Renewel

When I was a child, I knew this particular year marked a great change in my life. For the rest of my years I wondered what it was about this year that would be different. The interesting thing is the changes started right away, and they were sudden. To talk about it would defeat the purpose of why these lessons are brought to me, they are for my inner self to hold and puzzle over until the light goes on and I discover things about myself that will help with a renewel: a new year, a new path, a new outlook, a new strength.

For the first half of this year, I am going to choose not to be online much. This is going to give me time to rethink and restrategize my future plan, and to adventure in the real world. This will help give me time to write solidly again. The posts on my blog will be less frequent. I will finish 'The Bilge', and after that, there will be no more free short stories, only interviews and commentaries on places and things experienced.

I know I will lose some of my favorite blog followers because of this, but good things come to those who wait, and there are many stories to tell.

Cheers to the new year and all it will bring you ...

Nishi Serrano
'Creating fantastic worlds imaginative enought to hold the unexplored...'

Witch Way to the Christmas Sleigh?

Christmas traditions, every family has them, and every family around the world appears to have some very different ones than those we are used to in America. As you’ve probably guessed from my last Christmas post, I happen to be enthralled with Krampusnacht. Yes, that horny beast that follows Saint Nick around in the hinter lands is a favorite. But have you ever heard of Le Bafana the Christmas Witch, or the Holly King? It seems that Europe is rife with interesting creatures running around in December.

 

          If you are into Halloween, then Italy may be the place you want to spend your holiday vacation. Le Bafana is the crowning Christmas queen—and she is a witch.  So when you look up in the sky and expect to see a sleigh and reindeer, think again as you do a double take and notice a gaggle of flying broomsticks loaded with sacks carrying presents and the fun-loving witches who deliver them to all the good little Italian chitlins below.  But don’t fret, Le Bafana is a good witch, unlike Krampus, her broom is for delivery purposes only—not smacking the living tar out of naughty boys and girls. Supposedly, Le Befana comes around after December (January 5^th), but apparently the celebrations start much sooner.

 

          In keeping with the pagan theme (and for those of you who don’t know what the origin of the word pagan means: it means ‘country folk’ aka peasants—yup, that’s right, the beliefs of the country folk, not Satanist or crazy people), I shall introduce you to the Holly King. The Holly King garners his strength Midwinter, December to be exact, and he is brother to the Oak King who reigns summer. He is known to be associated with many names such as: Cronos (father time), the Green Knight, Santa Claus, and several others. When you see a depiction of a woodsy Santa, you are seeing the Holly King. The earth goddess is the prize between the two brothers who battle each other every year for her love and continual respect, otherwise we might not see another winter/summer. Here is an interesting tid-bit about the Holly King posted on www.paganspath.com:

Through these early mythical legends, The Holly King begins his battle with his twin brother the Oak King at the Summer Solstice. As the year is wanning the Holly King prevails and begins preparations to save and maintain his people through the cold winter. In order to accomplish his mission, he travels the land to hunt, fish and harvest. Transporting these life saving items in a wagon or sled pulled by eight deer. These 'gifts' of life are provided to all his people, and in exchange they provide care and comfort to his team of deer.

There is also suggestion that the 8 reindeer plays pagan significance. Just follow along here, it comes together in the end. Even in those ancient times the number 9 was an important spiritual number. 9 witches often made up a coven. 9 feet was the diameter of a perfect circle. And maybe that's why "the whole 9 yards"; which refers to the 9 yards of material for a Great Kilt worn by many Celtic highlanders is so important. When we think of Santa we think of Santa and his 8 tiny reindeer. And most people focus on the 8 reindeer. Well now add Santa. 9 souls traveling through the winter sky to bring presents for the rebirth of the year. It's a stretch, but there are those who believe this is where the 8 reindeer got their start.

 

          In the Nordic countries they wholeheartedly believe in elves. Before roads get built in some places, they have to first make sure the elves aren’t living there and going to get thoroughly pissed that people are intruding on their lands. Roads have actually stopped construction and had to be moved because the elves were messing with the construction. I kid you not. Don’t f#*ck with elves, or you may not get any Christmas presents, or a new road. In Iceland there are no fewer than 16 Santa’s (elves) known as the Jolasveinar (Yule Lads), and they pack some spooky folklore. Typically though, they mostly like to be peeping toms, play tricks, and their mothers like to eat children.

           Perhaps we should start adopting some of these Christmas traditions ourselves, as I see more spoiled brats each year being brought up to believe the world owes them everything without so much as lifting a finger off their iphones.

           As far as my own Christmas traditions go, I just love being with my family and gazing on the tree all spruced up with trinkets and sparkly lights. I like to laugh, drink hot toddies, and cozy up with everyone I hold dear to my heart. And secretly think those naughty thoughts of a Krampus with his chains and whips coming to get me *wink*.

            Have a wonderfilled Christmas, a safe, happy, and warm holiday season!

           

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Autumn Having A Brew

Autumn Having A Brew

©2012 By Nishi Serrano

Autumn gazed past his transparent reflection in the window. The people beyond the glass walked briskly by as they gripped umbrellas and tightened scarves snug to the neck. Ah … another rainy November day in Portland, perfect weather for a finely crafted brew. In front of him the pint’s tiny bubbles surged upward and disappeared. It amazed him how the carbonation kept appearing as if by magic at the bottom, never ending, at least not until the last drop of cider slid between his lips.

            A freckled hand wrapped around the drink, the rivulets of condensation interrupted. He fingered the wetness, anticipating the excitement of flavors to soon douse the palate. This was his drink, the fruits of his and Summers’ labors. Yet, Summer hadn’t partaken with him for at least a century. A flurry of white beyond the warmth of the café caught his attention. Oh, my. And here he thought he would be drinking alone.

            A woman entered followed by a freezing wind that chilled each one of the patrons, and brought with her a smile that froze every look directly on her. Autumn smirked. The lady flicked her long tresses away from her face impatiently and set about removing her light-weight coat and scarf as she floated to Autumn’s table.

            “Well, I should have known you’d be here. I ignored my gut instinct and started in London. Thank goodness you’re a creature of habit,” she said, plopping onto the seat opposite him.

            Autumn sighed and glanced at his cider, a tad miffed he wouldn’t get to savor it in full bloom. “You’re early.”

            Red lips pouted at his accusation. “No, love, you are late.”

            He grimaced. “Blame it on Spring.”

            Tattoos and black appeared beside the table, dominating their view. The waitress appraised the newcomer nonchalantly and asked, “You need a drink?”

            It was scary how large Winter could stretch her smile. “Why yes, what a tasty little morsel you are! However, I guess I’ll just have to settle for bourbon on the rocks.”

            The server’s cheeks colored. She mumbled something and quickly exited. Of course bourbon, after all, it was the new cool, despite it being around for decades.

            Winter pinned her attention back to Autumn. “Out of all of us, you have the best hair. I’m positively jealous. I tried to dye mine that same color of sparkling red, but it looked hideous on me.”

            He grinned. The wintry season would be longer this year, she seemed a less frigid incarnation than usual. “Surprising, you’re quite pale.”

            “Yes, yes, rub it in. If only I could be as lusciously dark as Spring, she gets all the fun!”  

            “Oh, but you get invited to the best parties.”

            “True. Did you know Summer and Spring are off having a fling? I suppose that’s why you got bunked. It’s not the first time they’ve done this, but it does mess with the flow of things.”

            Autumn ignored her for a brief second, raised his glass, closed his eyes, and took a swig. When the taste effervesced, his green eyes opened. He licked his lips. Winter gazed at him, entranced.

            “So, why are you here?”

            Surprise and hurt wrinkled her normally smooth face.  “To talk about the end of the world.” A cocktail napkin and glass plunked down in front of her, the smile returned.

            “You ready to order food?” the server asked.

            Winter couldn’t stop her boisterous mouth. “Only if you’re on the menu, dear,” she replied, and winked. The server glared and walked off.

            He rolled his eyes. He’d had to listen to that bit of gossip for the last seven years incessantly. There was always some faction or other going on about the end of the world. It just so happened the Mayan’s were the star record holders for the longest held theory, thanks to modern gadgetry. “Do you really believe that schlock?”

            “Where have you been hiding that pretty ginger head lately? Humans aren’t the only ones talking. It’s been reflected in deeper pools if you catch my drift.”

            He gazed longingly at the cider and sighed.  “What makes this year so special?”

            Winter gave him a hard, squinty stare. She drummed her fingers against the rocks glass and said, “The Bat.”

            “Come again?”

            Her usual frigid self returned. He hated it when she looked at him as if he were a child. “Mayan folklore. Man’s downfall from greed and corruption. C’mon, just look at who’s running for the presidency in your beloved USA, not to mention the rest of the hoopla. Anything could happen. And, apparently it’s about to.”

            He rolled the cider around his tongue, and swallowed. If this was the end, what would it mean? What would happen to him and the others? No more finely crafted brews? He shuddered. “Why are you telling me this now, Winter?”

            She guffawed, pounded the amber liquid, and then patted the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “Oh, you really are priceless. Don’t you listen to the news? “

            He shook his head, brow raised.

            “You’re date dear, and that means you’re responsibility.” She threw up her hands and sighed. “Really Autumn, are you that daft?”

            Perpetuated by her words, a moment of sheer, chilly terror traveled up and down his spine. Impossible—he hadn’t been out of the loop that long, or, had he? “No, no … this is a mistake, maybe a joke by the Fates,” he said, gaze searching for something far beyond the window of the café, a means of escape perhaps.

            “You can’t blame anyone else. If you weren’t off hiding all the time, you’d have known sooner,” she accused.

            Autumn was speechless. A thousand thoughts swirled inside his head like a gale of skeletal leaves. If the responsibility of stopping the end of the world landed on him, then it needed to prepare for doom.  His hands tightened around the pint. This unnerving change of the wheel caused an unfamiliar feeling, that of being truly alone for the first time. Lost … everything would be lost.

            When he raised his gaze to meet hers, he was ashamed to see pity written plainly across her features. Winter sighed. “My poor, poor Autumn. I never thought it possible for you to become further melancholic, but you have. Fear not, you are my favorite, and I plan on helping you.”

            He felt like he should hate her, but Winter had always been a close friend, even though she was a bit high maintenance, and snarky. He cocked his head in wait for her clarification.

            “Start at the orchard. You know—the original orchard. I can’t come with you though, they hate me. Plus, they get righteously jealous whenever I’m with you. They practically worship you and Summer. Anyway, I hear an old friend of yours might have some information.”

            Autumn blanched. That old haunt was the last place he desired to visit. This end of the world nonsense was happening far too soon. He would be forced to relive the beginning of events all over again. Bloody fumpkins! His mind went on a cursing rampage as the ice queen continued to stare.

            She broke the silence. “Don’t I at least get a thank you?”

            Angry, he gulped down the remains of his brew, smacked loudly, and said, “Gee, thank you for bringing me high tidings, do you want a big hug to go with it?”

            “You’re not the hugging type,” she said and huffed.  She pulled a rumpled wad of money from a pocket and dropped it next to her empty drink. Both hands on the table, she leaned over it with her face close to his. “I’ve got your back, I’ve always had your back, and stars know I’d love to see that front, so stop moping and get to it. I’ll keep my ear to the ground and meet up with you down the road.”

            He grimaced at the finished cider clutched between his numb fingers.  Winter donned her scarf and breezed out the cafe without another word. She paused outside the window and tapped a nail on it. A smudge of frost appeared. She held her hand out, palm up in front of her face and puckered her lips. Kiss, kiss blew a blush of Winter. Autumn shivered.

 

           

 

           

            Have a fabulous fall! ... N

           

           

 

 

 

           

           

           

 

Halloween Tree Review By William Brian Johnson

The Halloween Tree By Ray Bradbury

 

Review and Guest Post By William Brian Johnson

 

They thought of All Hallows' Night and the billion ghosts-a-wandering the lonely lanes in cold winds and strange smokes.

Looking for a good creepystory for Halloween?

 
It was a small town by a small river and a small lake in a small northern part of a Midwest state. There wasn’t so much wilderness around you couldn’t see the town. But on the other hand there wasn’t as much town you couldn’t see and feel and touch and smell the wilderness. The town was full of trees. And dry grass and dead flowers now that autumn was here. And full of fences to walk on and sidewalks to skate on and a large ravine to tumble in and yell across. And the town was full of…Boys.
And it was the afternoon of Halloween.
And all the houses shut against a cool wind.
And the town full of cold sunlight.
But suddenly, the day was gone.
                                                                       

Eight boys are on the search to find their sick friend, Pipkin. 

A strange, tall man, Carapace Clavicle Moundshroud is their tour guide for the night.  This creepy ferryman takes the boys through time to distant civilizations that marked the changing of the seasons and the cycle of life.  In this journey, the boys find the true meaning of Halloween and the spirit of the season. 

This book shows the history of Halloween and provides it in the packing of a children’s book. Originally Bradbury wrote this for Chuck Jones to produce as a cartoon, but it was not animated until 1993.  Ray Bradbury won an Emmy for the script, but was unsatisfied with the movie. 

Ray Bradbury’s ‘The Halloween Tree’ is a book I will reread as the maple leaves begin to dye blood red, as the wind grows cold, and as night realizes its victory against the ailing sunlight.  This is a book to be read aloud to not only bring the season, but sooth the ghosts that haunt us and surround us.

William Brian Johnson is a writer, storm chaser, and an evil version of Robert Fulghum.  You can follow his misadventures at http://fatherthunder.blogspot.com/  and his storm chasing at www.ruminationofthunder.com.  Mr. Johnson’s novel ‘Hell to Pay’ is available through Amazon in e-book or paperback:  http://tinyurl.com/4yzb32k.
 

The unreleased Chapter 0 is available for free: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/118371

 

The Mile Below Resort Under The Sea!

If there were ever a story I’ve had more fun writing, it’s ‘Mile Below Peep Show’. The above picture is a fun interpretation of two characters in MBPS, the peacock twins. I really stretched my imagination on this one, as there are no underwater resorts of this scale anywhere in the world, unless you count The Poseidon Resort, which is still under construction (in the real world). Anyway, I had no idea it existed while I was writing MBPS. So, you see, there are quite a few treats waiting for you under the waves in this labyrinthine luxury of erotic steampunk adventure. And there will be more to come. I’m currently working on the third installment of the ‘Mile’ series, and the third book will be a novel, and it’s going to be one brassy adventure!

            You’re summer vacation doesn’t have to end. Pick up your e-book copy of Mile Below Peep Show and explore a world unrestrained by the walking world, and dive right in to what awaits: Delicious mermen, exotic peep shows, cocktails, a lusty labyrinth, and all manner of sexual follies wind themselves into a mouth watering novella that is sure to put a blush on your cheek.

Cheers,

Nishi Serrano

“Creating fantastic worlds imaginative enough to hold the unexplored…”
http://www.nishiserrano.blogspot.com

 MBPS Blurb:

Lady Rose fears her best friend Abigail Bertram is growing lonely and embittered by her life as heir and sole proprietor to her family’s business. After experiencing the pleasures and induction to the Mile High Airship Club, Rose and her husband William devise a plan to hopefully cure their friend of her prim ways and introduce her to a new, freer world, of carnal desires.

Taking Abby on their special vacation, the three friends embark on a steampunk carnival soiree under the sea brimming with mermaids, a cast of lusty characters, and of course—exotic peep-shows!

Will their adventure open Abby’s eyes to what she’s been missing, or will her heart stay chained to business as usual?

However, a surprise none of them intended shows up to test Abby’s brass, and possibly melt her heart.

Mile Below Peep Show can be bought here:

Decadent Publishing: http://www.decadentpublishing.com/product_info.php?products_id=610&osCsid=bh2u6j55pgt534sffeqa7li183

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Mile-Below-Peep-Show-ebook/dp/B00930OPTK

All Romance: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-milebelowpeepshow-924212-146.html

Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/mile-below-peep-show-nishi-serrano/1112685221?ean=2940015149692

 

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