Books and Short Stories
Sparks In The Dark
A Middle Grade Fantasy Novel
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--Nevermoor meets Stranger Things--
Benjamin, a young soul in the spirit world, wins a coveted spot at the top school in his realm. He's determined to become a famous Creator one day, but using his Creation abilities could attract something unspeakable from a realm far darker than his own.
This manuscript is currently being queried.
"The Bald Man"
A Short Story
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An agent past his prime and disillusioned with life finds more than he bargained for on a lousy assignment.
Agent Walker stalked past the home decor section, ready to take out his aggression on the snack aisle. His shopping cart bumped a display of picture frames. A stock photo of a smiling couple teetered but didn’t fall. She looked a lot like his girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend, as of two months ago.
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Fuck you, Angelina.
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His hand swatted it as he passed and it toppled with a satisfying crash. An accident, were anyone to ask. He had enough gray hair to pass for someone who might have lost their balance, even though he was still sharp as nails.
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He browsed past the granola bars, paused at the chips, considered the cookies… His shopping cart squeaked to a halt.
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He stared. Sucked in his gut and contemplated.
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Fuck it.
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Into the basket went fifteen Slim Jims and a jumbo bag of mesquite jerky.
When the shopping cart squeaked its way up to the cashier, the cashier pursed her lips and eyed him and his paunch as she rang… each… one… of them through like she wanted him to feel it. Her shirt read “I’m waiting for the mother ship to take me back home”, and he felt a renewed burst of rage, as if she was part of this whole cruel joke of an assignment his superiors had given him.
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He stepped out into the parking lot with a sigh and paused to light an American Spirit right next to two campy, smiling green alien statues. He flipped them off and strolled back to his rental. Loading his bags into the passenger seat, he slammed the rental’s door harder than he probably should have and ripped into a Slim Jim as he sat down.
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It was no secret that Agent Walker was in love with all things outer space. He had been on track to pursue a career as an astronaut when the agency had recruited him, offering him some perks—and stability, which his girlfriend Jennifer, at the time, had appreciated—and he hadn’t been able to turn it down. But he was always reading, always obsessing, always talking about space, astronomy, new rocket technology, planets… He built models, he had three different telescopes… Okay, so it’s an obsession. We’ll call it that.
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But when his officer sent him to Roswell, New Mexico to spy on a couple of targets who would be meeting each other to discuss something in the Roswell International Air Center, and refused to give him any further information, he’d seen red. This was some kind of joke. It had to be. UFO and alien capital of the world? He knew he’d been checking out lately. Distracted, frustrated, listless and aimless since losing Angelina. Maybe he leaned on his space obsession a little harder than normal now. But he didn’t deserve this.
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Fifteen minutes and at least twelve cheesy alien statues later, he pulled into the tiny long-term parking lot and parked his rental in an inconspicuous spot. This place was small. An airplane graveyard too, apparently. At least a couple hundred grounded planes stood in rows like some proud display of obsolescence.
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The sun crashed and burned in a fiery mess as he waited, watching. Under the cover of night, a black car pulled up and a man in a nice suit got out. Agent Walker scanned the lot and almost jumped when he noticed a second man whose arrival he'd apparently missed. This man was tall, his suit immaculate, and he was completely bald. He stood, hands clasped behind his back, waiting as the first man approached him.
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The men shook hands, whispered to each other, and then Agent Walker watched in horror as they turned to look straight at him. They’d been expecting him. Had he been betrayed? Was this all a setup? They strolled toward his car. Agent Walker ran through his options, calculating frantically. He hadn’t been told to take out the targets, so he shouldn’t run them over… He was about to peel out when suddenly none of his options mattered anymore because he found himself entirely unable to move.
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The tall, bald one leaned down by his window, which rolled down by itself. An unnaturally smooth but not unkind face peered in at him. The man had yellow eyes with features that seemed somehow… off.
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“Hello,” the man said, because it was definitely a man. It had to be a man, right? Man, man, man.
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He regained movement in his head but nothing else. He resumed chewing the soggy bite of jerky that had been marinating in his mouth. “Hah-ee,” he said around the soggy glob.
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Generations of Americans have planned and argued over what they would say during an encounter of exactly this kind, and you can’t even be bothered to swallow your jerky first.
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Shut up! Man, man, man…
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The strange man extended a pale, elongated hand to him. “Officer Gray has told us so much about you. We would like to offer you a position working from our mobile office.”
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Agent Walker frowned at the man’s hand, his mind swirling and spinning. This is a more elaborate prank than I thought Officer Gray had in mind. He sneered at the man. He was nobody’s fool. “Mobile office? Right. And where’s that?”
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The night sky in front of him morphed from inky black to sleek silver as a massive UFO appeared above them. Agent Walker’s jaw dropped open, jerky be damned.
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The bald man/not-a-man smiled. “Care to join us?”
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Agent Walker thought about the parade of girlfriends that always left. He thought of his empty home, his empty life.
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…He thought of the stars.
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You know, that Officer Gray is pretty alright.
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“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I believe I would.”
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He left the rental. Left his wallet with its pictures of his old life. Left his keys.
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He took the jerky.
"One More"
A Short Story
Finalist in a Writers Digest competition
It was a night made for hunting. The moon, round and pregnant with possibility, hung low in the sky and the stars winked like jewels. They would see him coming. Just the way he liked it.
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Cole’s light-grey suit caught the moonlight as he strode down the path into the park. Flicking his sunglasses open, he slid them on. A piece of the dark fluttered like smoke and alighted on the edge of his glasses. Weightless. Noiseless.
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The darkness squawked.
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“Hello, Atropos.” He stroked her midnight feathers without breaking his stride. She tilted her head and purred in greeting. He took a juicy grape out of his pocket and proffered it to the little beast, but Atropos squawked, sidestepping away.
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“Alright,” replied Cole, putting the offending grape away. “All business tonight, then. I get it.”
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The two continued in silence until they came to a darker curve on the path. A man was sitting alone on a bench up ahead.
Atropos made a low growling sound and ruffled her feathers. Cole slowed his walk and sharpened his focus, giving a nod slight enough to avoid dislodging his travel companion.
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“You’re the boss,” he muttered.
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Cole strode toward the man, whose eyes widened in surprise. The man opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Cole stopped and the bird spoke first.
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“Night-night.”
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The man’s brows drew downward, and then he froze in horror as the darkness itself swarmed up around him like a blanket of smoke, swirling, muffling his screams, faster and faster like a localized hurricane, until it vanished and the man was no more.
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All that was left was his wallet, sitting there neatly on the bench as if he had left it on purpose.
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Payment.
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Cole clapped his hands together and gave a satisfied sigh. “It is good to see you again, Atropos.” Swiping his prize, he tucked it into his jacket and strolled on, whistling.
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After some time, they came upon a couple enjoying the moonlight together. The bird ruffled her feathers again, letting out a low growl. Cole chuckled under his breath, walking up to the confused couple and stopping. He gave them a jack-o-lantern grin. “Hello.”
The couple drew breath, but it was the bird who spoke.
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“Night-night.”
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Again, the darkness pressed upward and in, swallowing them in smoky blackness. Their screams were ripped away on the wind. A gale. A vortex. And then they were gone.
Except for their wallets and a sizable diamond ring.
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With a snicker, Cole rubbed his hands together and swiped the winnings.
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It was a productive night. A lone jogger. A teenager from a rich family. A couple walking their dogs.
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The night wore on and Cole was beginning to tire, but he pressed forward, on the hunt for one more victim.
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As they rounded a corner, Atropos growled again. Her feathers ruffled.
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A young mother carrying a baby.
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Cole stopped. “Oh…” Even he had principles.
Atropos clacked her beak on his sunglasses.
“Hey! Alright, alright. Um….” He cringed. With slow steps, he approached the woman. Atropos straightened, readying herself.
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He took a breath, hesitated… The woman caught sight of him. Her brows drew down.
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The baby cooed.
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Cole turned on his heel and ran. Atropos shrieked and flapped, biting his sunglasses. “Get off,” he muttered. He reached up to shoo the bird, but received a nasty bite on his thumb instead.
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“Ow! I’m sorry, alright? Look, we’ll find someone else! One more, okay?” Spotting an empty restroom, he ducked in and thrust his thumb under the cold water. Cursing under his breath, he looked at his reflection in the mirror.
Atropos looked, too.
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She ruffled her feathers. Growled.
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Cole froze. “...Don’t do it.”
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“Night-night.”
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No one heard him scream as the creeping dark spilled in through the windows, claiming its last victim of the night.
"Lulu"
A Microfiction
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Third place in its category in Round 1 of NYC Midnight Microfiction Challenge
Tail groomed, in the zone, I prowl onto the stage. The crowd laughs.
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I die inside.
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Do they not know who I am?
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I jump through hoops. I go down the stupid slide. I wear the pink tutu of my discontent.
The ringmaster calls me Lulu. The injustice!
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My name is Thor.
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My twenty tiny knives flex.
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Patience.
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One day they will see. I will escape, leaving only destruction behind.
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I finish my act. My underling brings food.
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They forgot the treats. Fools!
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But they don’t know what I left in the acrobat’s shoes.
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I groom my whiskers, and purr.
"Sister"
A Poetic Microfiction
The stars are bright over the mountain tonight. I stroll home, a living mass of carbon, nitrogen, calcium, iron… Stardust walking atop stardust.
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I think of you. Your supernova smile, birthing new joy everywhere. Your laugh, a comet streaming fire, lighting up the dark.
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Was the cancer made of star stuff too? Did it fly too close, colliding, fusing, burning you out too soon?
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At home, I watch your photograph. I still see light all around you.
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Did you know, a star's light never ends after it dies? It streams outward, like a ripple effect.
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On…
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And on…
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And on…
