Good morning, everyone. I’m doing a total of three posts on WiSpY this month. I have a special treat today, the first three (3) chapters of WiSpY! Don’t forget to come back for Rob’s Guest Post and Interview!
Author: Rob Andrews
Publisher: Dam Good Publishing
Release: December 10th 2011
Genre: Paranormal, Romance, Sci-fi, Y/A
Source: Enchanting Book Tours
Buy: Amazon ♦ B&N ♦ Smashwords
A young blogger has the ultimate on-line encounter; a spirit partner who introduces him to a world he must master to save his own. A ghost in the machine?
Adam is a 19 year old blogger who lives in his mother’s basement and who is dealing with a critically ill friend. A simple reply to a blog fan e-mail begins a relationship with Pretoria, a beautiful and mysterious young woman. Pretoria guides him into ‘the Realm’, a spirit world where he discovers he is a powerful force for the protection and survival of human kind. As Pretoria reintroduces Adam to the Realm and his place in it, he realizes that she is not only trying to reclaim him for the sake of humanity, but also for the spirit world and herself. Facing a powerful evil , Adam re-engages with the Realm in order to save his friend and the human world while re-discovering why he had tried to escape it in the first place. As a battle within the Realm reaches its climax, Adam must finally choose between his human and his spirit form, or lose both.
Chapter One: WiSpY
STEEL RAINBOW BLOG – Stardate November, 20, 2011
So we have sunshine again today.
I hate sunshine.
It makes most people happy, but I have never liked it; it’s too insistent on being bright and cheery.
It gives people the wrong idea about what life is like.
Sunshine is a liar, a manipulator of people’s mental and emotional states.
It steals their reason. Sunshine sucks…
The cursor sat there blinking at me, almost as if to say ‘Well c’mon stupid, is that the best you’ve got?’ I sighed, exasperated and leaned back in my chair. Tony warned me when I started this blog I was setting myself up. I could still see him, sitting across from me with his calm black eyes, smiling but taunting me at the same time.
“Man, you have to say something every day,” he’d said, “and I mean something people want to hear. Otherwise you’re wasting everyone’s time and no one will read you. I don’t think you can handle the pressure bro’.”
Well, people did want to read me. First a handful picked up on my site, then dozens, hundreds and now thousands were dropping in everyday to hear what I had to say. Twitter and Facebook had helped spread the word and now, only four months after I blogged on life and its many paradoxes, I was getting enough hits that advertisers were not hanging up when I called. I had a few sponsors and hits kept coming.
And here I was talking for all intents and purposes about the weather. Lame.
My brain felt like it was gonna cook itself I was so tired, but I was running out of day and I hadn’t blogged yet. Tony had been right.
I had spent the day at the hospital; a noble cause, but not one my readers were going to care about. Tony wasn’t their best friend. They came to read my long winded rants on the perversity and irony of the world and of the fate that seemed intertwined with those of us who inhabited the place. Thank God none of them knew how old I was. Most people don’t buy wisdom so solid from a nineteen year old. That was the beauty of the internet… I was everyman, an anonymous character of my own creation and they were in on the secret, turning me into whomever they needed me to be as they read what I posted. I never posted my photo on the blog and the name “Steel Rainbow”, a paradox in itself, was the only name I ever used.
It’s one of life’s perversities that sometimes the most incredible moments happen when you are absolutely unprepared.
That’s how it was with WiSpY.
Sitting there, I tried not to focus on so many things; the stale pizza crusts on the plate beside the mouse, that I was still living in my mom’s basement, that my sister had stolen my cell phone again, or that my best friend Tony had taken so suddenly ill. I didn’t even know what on earth I was going to write instead of this drivel about the sun when a fanfare sounded from my monitor’s speakers.
I smiled through my frustration. Who on earth still used email? Must be Fred Flintstone…
I opened the email screen and there he was… WiSpY.
His subject line was simple; close…
I opened the email.
SR – enjoyed your piece on reincarnation. I wonder if you know exactly how close you really were. Until you mentioned your ex-girlfriend coming back as a fire hydrant in a poodle infested neighborhood, I was beginning to think you had inside information; very intriguing indeed. Sorry to hear about your friend. Don’t worry, he’ll be fine.
It was late, and I was tired and alone in the dark… in the basement, even if it was my mom’s house. A small whisper of fear crept out of my boxers and willied its way up my spine, leaving a track of goose bumps in its wake. The reincarnation bit was just a little of whatever, but it seemed that he (?) knew about Tony. Sitting for a second, trying to wrap my head around his message, I wrote him back.
Who is this?
I pressed send and fired the question into cyberspace. The fanfare sounded less than ten seconds later.
No way…my fingers flew.
I can read…who are you?
A reader and a fan…nothing more.
His answer was almost instantaneous…like he knew what I would ask before I asked it.
Yeah right – I know you. Is this you Tara?
No Tara here.
It better not be, you’re already toast if my phone’s not back by morning.
Not Tara – WiSpY
Who is this really?
I don’t seem to be communicating very well.
This is really cute. I have work to do. Thanks for the note.
I shut down the program, There was no time for a game of psychological hide and seek tonight. Some people needed a life of their own, not to try and rend off bits of mine by creating some weird tense relationship so they could boast to their friends that they were tight with the blog star in the local area.
I blew air out of my lungs in a slow stream and smiled. WiSpY might have done me a favor… I was gonna scratch the sunshine crap and write about the perversity of the celebrity stalker whose obsession always created the polar opposite effect from the one they wanted.
WiSpY again…no subject line.
It’s Lupus. They won’t catch it for a few days…it’s not common in young men. He’ll get treatment and he’ll be OK.
I stared, my breath having trouble remembering how to get from the air into my lungs, or the reverse direction for that matter. It was a few minutes before I could type.
OK, this isn’t funny. Who are you talking about?
I have lots of friends.
Who the hell is this??
It’s OK, I hate sunshine too.
Chapter Two: Tony
I couldn’t get my brain to focus after that. I wasn’t scared but I was so freaked out that there was no way I was going to a) leave the computer on or b) write anything about anything. I was still completely zonked but at the same time I wasn’t sleeping. Not down there…
Like a scared kid I climbed the stairs and cracked the door to the kitchen where the basement spit me out. No one was there but I could hear the TV in the other room. I almost called out, but decided that was stupid. Who was going to be there? I decided to go to the fridge and see if I was hungry. I yanked open the door and stood there, looking…waiting for something to declare itself. Nothing. The door swung closed, the light winking out and leaving me in the semi-darkness. I listened.
The television in the other room was turned low…quiet voices saying nothing I could decipher. Could be HBO – Tara still up and dialed into something she shouldn’t be watching; or an old movie – Mom, likely fast asleep…or the last thing I left on this afternoon when I got back from the hospital and spent four hours zoned out watching Discovery and all the rest of the inane crap that rattled through your eyes and out of consciousness without ever leaving a mark.
I was in such a weird space; dead tired but like I was filled with some electrical force that wouldn’t let me focus, wouldn’t let me stop shifting around.
I went out for a walk.
A long walk.
I passed through my familiar neighborhood. It was dark and cold; the colors muted into blues, grays and muddied tones that were a pale imitation of their real selves. Electric seas of light buzzed from street lamps, creating harsh landscapes of contrast and bleached through shades that were garish and stark. The hard lines that shadows cast were made so much sharper by the cold. November was almost done with us and its bigger and meaner brother was waiting in the wings, sharp fangs of ice and claws of bitter wind ready to shred what was left of our cheery dispositions. Maybe I would finish my sunshine blog… up here, in November no truer words could be spoken. Or written.
The walk had been a good idea. My mind was wandering away from those bizarre emails.
I was thinking about Tony again.
Some things in life are set. You only get one life to live, more than a read through and all that, but true – one life. You only get one chance at every day. Like today would be the only November twenty first of 2011…it was past midnight now. You only got one birthday. Everybody must die. Eventually. These things were certain. Some you couldn’t choose and you couldn’t change. You got two parents, and in my case, not always forever.
But I believe that certain other things were a combination of factors. Things you could change, you could control, especially as you got older and grabbed hold of the reins of life. You only have a few real loves in your life for example. You only get a certain number of best friends. I was all of nineteen years old and I only used up one from my quota. Tony was such a good friend; he might be the only one I ever used. There were probably other candidates out there, but he had been filling the role for a long time… fourteen years now.
I still remembered the day I met him, standing by himself in the playground in the September sunshine, inside the safety fence for little kids. He leaned against the fence watching other kids with dark eyes and although it wasn’t yet nine a.m., eating his lunch. The other kids were being hugged goodbye by distraught or harried looking parents, tears or forced laughter were everywhere, but Tony was…chill. My grandmother dropped me off and at my own insistence, and Mom’s support, I was left to enter the yard alone. We five year old school boys needed no help from Grammy, you understand and Tony seemed to be riding the same wave. I walked over to him and we stood a moment surveying each other, his jam and peanut butter smeared countenance taking in my ketchup lined jaw. Slowly, amid the sound of crunching paper, his pudgy hand came out of the lunch bag with an Oreo cookie, which he immediately offered to me. He may as well have handed me the keys to the universe. We had never looked back.
We had been inseparable through grade school, defending each other from teachers, aggressive playground cohabitants, cootie ridden girls and other perils of childhood. Adolescence had brought new challenges that we somehow survived. Tony was never a big kid, but I was a beanpole, shooting up to the impressive height of six feet two inches before the beginning of high school. I think Tony, a full foot shorter, outweighed me by ten pounds but our differences only drew us closer, more united in our quest to survive the ordeals that nature and our now pimply, sometimes odiferous colleagues had inflicted upon us. We had survived our freshman year and the discovery of girls, or more correctly by girls at the first dance of the year. Tony’s infectious enthusiasm and lack of intimidating height made him an automatic target. Sometimes I, was able to bask in the afterglow and dance with the friend who was dragged along with the primary requesting party and who inevitably found my witty “uhh…you, um…wanna…?” too irresistible. We would lumber about together, my height and lack of connection between my appendages and my brain making the journey hazardous for us both, but I’d survive long enough to plunk down on the basketball bleachers and determine that social skills were too weak to survive the conversation part. Since I was not movie star handsome, except in an Edward Scissor hands kind of way, and Tony was what the girls called ‘adorable’, these episodes served as the first real separator we encountered.
Other than that, we remained rock solid. Despite my enormous size and unnatural attraction for me that seemed to have developed in every gym teacher in the school, I was a natural disaster in the gym. My elbows and knees were a source of random catastrophic danger for team mate and opposition alike. After I broke my own finger and our team captain’s nose in one spectacular rebounding foray, the coaches conferred and decided that my six foot four inch frame was ideally suited to rowing. My shell-mates were able to dissuade them of this opinion after the fourth time I dumped us in the frigid late April waters of the canal where we raced. Volleyball was attempted and quickly abandoned. It was decided with consensus that perhaps a year of maturation was what was required… a chance to allow my fourteen year old brain to connect with a body that seemed too far ahead of itself. In the ensuing lull and while poor Tony was red shirted on the football team, I discovered the school newspaper and the annual. It was better for everyone that I was mainly sitting down for these activities, and the girls forgot how short I made them feel. I discovered that I loved words and the interplay that happened as they danced with the ideas in my head.
This was my first real love.
Tony’s was much more corporeal. Her name was Alice. She was separator number two and was much more significant in her way than if I had moved to say…Siberia.
Alice was like an inverted vampire but instead of draining life out of Tony, she drained Tony out of life. Well my life anyway.
We sort of reconnected in our sophomore year. By then I was worried I would be some freak of nature, eight feet tall and forced to live with some obscure tribe on the Serengeti, but I finally stopped growing that summer, a foot and five inches short of my dreaded target, around about the time Tony’s body decided to catch up with his age. It was his rapid exit from ‘adorable’ phase into ‘man-mountain’ phase that probably snapped Tony’s bond with Alice. The two, who had seemingly been joined at the lips, finally separated after eleven agonizing months of my exile. It seemed that when Tony’s growth spurt started, Alice found other things to do… like spend all her time with Jeremy Ingersoll, who still had the adorable stamp of approval from Alice’s clique of friends. I sort of felt bad, for at least a minute or two when he told me. But it passed; Tony was back and I was delighted. My love affair with my words was still my little secret and immortal…nothing would ever destroy this relationship.
In our junior year, we were both writing for the paper and battling each other for top grades. Tony had become the target of gym-teacher lust now, at six foot two and a solid two hundred and ten pounds, he was the more satisfying solution to their unrequited hopes for me. Football and ice hockey were the chosen fields for Tony and he excelled in both arenas. He was named the captain of the football team and that meant one thing…
Elaine Baldassaro was a ridiculously beautiful girl. With her incredible figure, the perfect face, a brilliant and flawless smile and eyes that could only be described as smoldering, she should have been outlawed in any area where boys between the ages of twelve and twenty five were allowed to congregate. At Emerson Collegiate, she should have come with a mandatory first aid kit to assist the hopeless mortals who tripped over their own tongues or crashed headlong into unyielding barriers when their brains shut down from hormone toxicity in her presence. Charlie Connors barked his shins three times in one lunch hour on the same table in the cafeteria.
Once the captaincy passed to Tony, it was like the coronation of a king; and Elaine, as the cheerleading captain was either the rightful queen or a crown, I could never really decide. But like Alice before her, she was an inverted vampire of the first order. And Tony disappeared.
We saw each other off and on. He was always still there, kind of like a mom or dad or sister… someone you couldn’t shake, even if you wanted to. Even if they were gone, they were still there.
I also started dating a girl. Karen was tall like me. She was not spectacular looking like me, although my Edward Scissor hands was now more of a dark professor look as I had added longer hair and a pair of artsy looking glasses and was partial to black clothes. I thought she had a timeless beauty and character to her looks… for four months, three weeks, seven days and twelve hours. When we split up over the junior writer on the paper, she became a future fire hydrant in the karma roulette that I portrayed reincarnation as in my as yet unwritten October 12 blog on the as yet uncreated Steel Rainbow. Up until the split we were cautious companions. There was no real spark, but we were good experimental partners for each other in all matters of romance and relationship. It left me feeling like I did after a dinner of stuff that was in my mid-range of liking. Somewhere between eggplant soufflé which I hate and deep fried chicken, which I love. She left me feeling like a cheeseburger with onion rings-or maybe fries. Something I couldn’t really pinpoint had triggered in me over the four months, three weeks, seven days and twelve hours we were together. It was an experience I wasn’t frantic to repeat and I was perfectly OK with that. But it passed the time while Tony was on his trip to Elainevillle.
Tony’s return from this destination occurred at graduation. Or at least it was close to our graduation. Well, it was really only until after the prom. Once Elaine had the prom queen tiara firmly in her exquisitely manicured grasp, the trifecta of high school supremacy was complete. She was the captain, the queen and she owned the captain (and king.) The perfect triple play… Tony never saw it coming. I tried to tell him that while he had served a purpose and been used most abominably, that at least he had been equally guilty in the first place. He had bristled a little at that. He had called me a hypocrite, which I wasn’t, and jealous, which I was, so I let it go, figuring we were even.
We graduated as friends and grew closer over summer again, flexing our new post-high school almost adult status muscles by driving to California for a two week crash course in how to get into as many near death experiences as possible. We learned that bikers in California are not mellower than everyone else and that they do not like teens, however large, to touch their stuff. We learned that vineyards do not like you sleeping among the award winning grapevines when you have sampled too much of their product. The highway patrol officers are not as friendly as they seem on TV. Women who are really friendly to you on the corner of an intersection in L.A. are not always interested in being your friend for very long, have notoriously quick temperaments and not very nice male guardians who do not think you are very funny. We also learned that Hollywood is not chock a block with movie stars but it does have a larger than normal contingent of people who are not as mentally stable as most of us would hope for in our strolling companions.
But we made it back alive; sunburned, somewhat wiser but alive. While Tony was at loose ends without Elaine, my love affair, though dormant could now be rekindled. I immediately decided to start a blog. Tony started to keep to himself a bit more. He would be irritable and tired. He hated to go outside. I let him in on my little vampire joke and started drawing comparisons immediately. For some reason, he found this less than amusing. I expected him to snap out of it as the fall began, but he got worse. Everyone expected mono. Everyone blamed Elaine, but she was healthy as a horse and had moved off to college in Florida, where the conquests were that much more challenging, the tiaras more sparkly. Tony got worse. He was having skin problems too and while the conditions seemed to ebb and flow, on the whole he was getting worse. Three days ago, his mom had found him in a heap on the bathroom floor and he had been in the hospital ever since. I looked at my watch. Almost 2 am. Visiting hours began at 9; I needed to get some sleep. I started to crunch home on the thin layer of frost that coated the asphalt. I had been in California in my mind.
I trudged along the familiar streets again. The emails had been banished from my head at least an hour while I thought about Tony and me; replaying the years. Now they were prying
open my brain again, inserting themselves into my consciousness. One kept flashing in my mind’s eye…
It’s Lupus. They won’t catch it for a few days…it’s not common in young men. He’ll get treatment and he’ll be OK.
I was gonna check that one out on the web. Tony’s symptoms could have been anything…indeterminate, contraindicators, inconclusive they had said. Blah, blah, blah. I would find out. WiSpY was fishing. The thing about Tony was a lucky guess or someone who knew Tony and me and was being a jerk. But something else was bugging me. The goose bumps on my arms had nothing to do with the frost melting beneath my feet or the frigid air that surrounded the stupid baseball jacket I had pulled off the hall tree at home. Nope. WiSpY had most freaked me out with that final email…
It’s OK, I hate sunshine too.
Chapter Three: Nostradamus
The house was dark and cold when I got home. Mom always turned down the heat at night, even when the winter was crouched like some monstrous wolf in the woods that lay behind the house. I was shivering when I got inside and I left my jacket on. The house was completely still. No muted T.V. now, not a light on, even the kitchen was dark.
I checked the time; 2:45. I hated doing this to myself. I was wired for sound and I wanted to be at the hospital at nine. I was lousy at all nighters, that was one reason I decided not to go to college this year. That and the fact that Steel Rainbow ads were making me several thousand dollars a month and despite marks that had most colleges eager to give me a free ride, I stayed home and continued my love affair with language. Thinking of the blog and its central role in my life caused me to wince a little.
I had dropped the ball today. Considering how important I made this to myself and thousands of others, I needed to uphold my responsibility. I felt like Peter Parker.Great power, great responsibility and all.
I snuck past the living room. I could see the dark form of my mom sleeping on the couch. That explained the TV earlier. I tiptoed to the basement door, eased it open and slipped through to the top stair. I closed it softly and went for the light switch. My hand froze.
The basement below was lit with a faint bluish hue. It was almost three a.m. I think I remember F. Scott Fitzgerald writing that three am was the midnight of the soul. It was a time of quietude and emptiness. It should have been pitch black. I recognized that light; I had woken
to it enough times, zonked out in my computer chair after a long night’s blog, my neck stiff and uncomfortable from sleeping in such a weird position… the computer was obviously on.
But I had shut it off.
I knew I had shut it off.
I had sprung away from the computer when I read WiSpY’s last email. I had wanted to get away from the haunting messages and clear my head. I wasn’t planning to blog, my readers could all have a little break. I wanted nothing else to do with that computer until… until it was ….light.
I knew I had shut it off.
I hesitated at the top of the stairs. This was stupid. It was late and my bed was down there. I couldn’t go sleep on the couch and pretend I had fallen asleep; Mom already filled that spot tonight.
I had to go down.
I turned on the light and descended the stairs, my ears straining for any unusual sound. It was weird, but the light being on seemed to mess up my hearing, kind of like when I took my glasses off and I lost the sharp focus they gave me. I hadn’t really needed the glasses, but they filled a wardrobe niche for me, and now I felt like I could see everything a lot better when I wore them.
I listened carefully for new sounds. Maybe Tara snuck down again to stalk my sites. She was always trying to crowbar her way into my privacy and if she heard me go out before, and knew mom was asleep, she’d have been down here in a shot, ready to barter my grudging acceptance of her presence and activity here in exchange for her silence with mom. Mom was worried about me. It was her favorite word in conjunction with almost anything I did. Mom had the college thing bad. It was like anyone my age that wasn’t gone already was abnormal in some way; must be hiding some secret condition or flaw. She worried. Was I shy? Was I depressed? Was I weird? I had given up trying to make her understand my need to let this new life of mine live. She didn’t understand what it was I did.
Guilty again for not doing what it was I did…
The thought gave me the impetus to complete the journey to the bottom. The room was empty. No Tara sleeping on my bed or perched at my computer. That was a relief in its own way. Nope, everything was normal; everything except my computer of course.
Maybe it got hung up when I went to shut down? Maybe it was one of those stupid times when you got all those end program dialogue boxes and after while it just started executing loops it couldn’t finish. Nope, that would trigger the screen saver and mine was black, not shiny blue. I approached the desk like it was a live rattlesnake…
I looked at the screen and gave a sharp involuntary gasp.
I sat down in the seat, the chill that ran through me having nothing to do with the cold. I had a new message.
No subject line.
I opened the email.
Adam, where did you go? I don’t mean to alarm you.
I sat in stunned silence. This had been strange at midnight. At 3:03 it was nearly too much. I stared at the monitor for a few minutes.
Is there something you want???
I had intended to blog. The guilt had been running through me like a current, but now there was a new, stronger current that had replaced it. Fear? Curiosity? A mixture of the two? Fearosity?Fanfare. I nearly jumped out of my chair and my hand flew automatically to the mute button.
In fact there is.
Who are you?
That is not really important right now.
It is to me. You are freaking me out.
Hmm. I supposed I might be. Sorry, I wasn’t quite sure how this would go, but I need you to trust me.
I was about to respond when something struck me hard.
How do you know my name? You are someone I know.
Oh yes, I am. You won’t remember me though…Adam, can we please move forward? There is something I want you to do.
You are kind of pushy for someone I don’t know.
I don’t mean to be…and you will have to forgive me, perhaps I have been too familiar. I have a request for your blog tonight.
The guilt current came back. This dude was weird, but I was starting to get the feeling it was someone I knew. Some kid from school probably who was embarrassed to tell me who they were. That would explain the name and knowing about Tony. My original suspicions about the celeb stalker dude came back to me. Anger was rising slowly into the current. I tensed my muscles, balling my fingers into fists and stretching them out again.
Are you still there?
On the other hand, I was blocking. It seldom happened, but every so often, my little idea well ran dry. Today it was arid and stony down there. I didn’t want someone else’s ideas though, the rainbow was mine… I silently vowed to start pre-writing other blogs when the well was full and running like a river so I could mail in days like today.
I don’t need your ideas. I write my own stuff, it’s what I do.
My bad…I don’t mean to give you content…just a thought.
I have my own thoughts too.
Please hear this one. I don’t want credit or acknowledgement. It’s important that people hear your voice on this issue.
Oh God. An activist? This might give me an idea about who this clown was anyway.
If it makes you feel better, go ahead.
Cute. Clock’s ticking…
Do you believe in fortune telling?
Do you know how fervently some people believe it works?
Are you familiar with Nostradamus?
I have seen the National Enquirer and the History channel
Can you blog about it?
Well, you could help inform the public about the stupidity of it perhaps? I have read your views on blind faith before…it is a twist on a topic about which you display considerable passion. Your piece on horoscopes would fit nicely too.
Angry current was buzzing a little louder now in my veins. Who did this guy think he was? I didn’t need him telling me what to write and why. Especially this. I realized that my anger was partially directed at myself. He was right; this was a good fit. It was something I could go off on without any difficulty. I could feel the well starting to trickle full at the bottom. I gritted my teeth.
Why does this matter to you?
You just need to trust me.
Why should I do that?
Because you like the idea and we both know it’s better than sunshine.
He had a point about my earlier blog and he had chipped away at the one wall I was still keeping away from as I formed my little theories about who this guy could be. He had known what I was writing. A hacker? My mind scanned the memory bank for faces of kids who lived in the computer lab beside the school paper office. There had been a small coven of them, holding forth on merits of this programming language or graphics program over another, or engaging in lengthy and overwrought debates on nuances of Halo, Harry Potter 73, or whatever new gaming product had hit markets and been devoured by them. It was the only way he could have seen my stuff as I wrote it.
That had to be it.
No dice. You give me no reason to trust you…I don’t even know who you are. You don’t even have a name… and if you say it’s WiSpY, I am outta here and I am blocking your email.
You can’t hide from me.
Right. The hacker dweeb in this guy could probably get around whatever computer mumbo jumbo was needed to get around the mumbo jumbo that would be set up when I blocked his email in the first place.
Is that a threat?
No, sorry. I guess you don’t want to try this. I have been rude. I will leave you alone. They’ll all find out anyway.
Stalker guy was being reasonable? I should cut my losses here. Was this the cruel price of fame; crazy people?
Find out what?
OK, you have been rude. What are you talking about? What will they find out? Who are they?
My apologies, I have taken enough of your time.
Dude, you can’t leave me hanging like this.
No, I have really overstepped here. Sorry.
What was this guy playing at? He’s all insistent with reincarnation crap and then pretending he knows things and should be telling me what to do and now he’s shutting up tighter than a clam?
Suit yourself. Maybe I’ll write one about you.
That would be a very bad idea.
Not against you.
Let’s just say it was important for me to contact you but perhaps not advisable.
I was quickly losing faith in my computer room stalker guy theory.
Who are you?
No one. Really
So now your message doesn’t matter?
So spill it.
Tick tock…losing patience…
OK – you don’t believe in prediction or fortune telling?
Would you make a prediction on your blog to test the theory?
Why would anyone think I had a stake in making a prediction? Who would care?
Just as an illustration. Something you might have a reasonable chance at…something simple.
A sporting event, the weather.
Sure I suppose I could use something safe and show how easy it was to sucker people in like these clowns do.
What’s in this for you?
Let’s just say that I have a vested interest in seeing this issue before the public.
I checked my webcounter.
Dude, I have had a grand total of 2,300,000 visitors to my blog in four months. My web guy tells me that that represents 43,000 distinct web addresses. That’s not the public, it’s Couer d’Alene Idaho!
It’s a good start.
I had to admit, he had me intrigued.
Is this important to you or not?
What’s the condition?
WiSpY was a girl. Nervous suddenly and irrationally joined the current.
I sat and stared at the screen for a moment.
Do we have a deal?
Great. Only one more thing.
What about it?
Blackhawks and Predators
You want me to predict a hockey game?
Something simple remember?
What are you, a bookie?
No. Just call the score.
Isn’t the whole concept trivial?
Point taken. Do you have a score in mind?
14 – 8, Chicago.
This is hockey not football right?
Yes – no Predators in football.
I thought of Elaine but I didn’t correct her.
That’s kinda high isn’t it?
The highest in league history.
Why not? It’s all a joke anyway. When’s the game?
You have anymore directions Pretoria?
No, I said this was all yours to write. But there is one more thing.
I said I didn’t want credit and I don’t. In fact you need to keep me a secret. You have to call me WiSpY and you can’t tell anyone about me…ever.
Weird, but sure. Your secret is safe with me.
I had no idea why I was doing this. There were nagging undercurrents everywhere, but I closed my email and started to write with an energy I hadn’t felt for weeks. There was something else there under the surface. Something I tried to suppress as I danced with my love again. But it wouldn’t go away…I was hoping she was cute.
I am a Canadian writer who has been creating stories and alternate realities since I was old enough to hold a pencil. My brother and I wrote illustrated pirate books, rocket and helicopter manuals and expansive world based adventures even as children. My first full length novel was penned with a classmate in my eighth grade English class as a special project! I would like to think that my writing has improved dramatically since those days and now at nearly the half century mark of this remarkable journey of life, I have had my first novel published. So what about me? Well, I have three kids and two cats currently; I work in the field of Education and wanted to try the challenge of writing young adult fiction after working through so much of it with my two daughters and my son. Writing is a fabulous activity, a magical journey where the story and character ideas often take on a life of their own as they dance together. I have other full length manuscripts completed but for now, they stay safely in the vault for my retirement! I love reading any good fiction writing with a compelling plot.