Friday, 13 July 2018

The Blood Lights by Elaine Pascale

The Blood Lights are the last thing you’ll see…

They victimize all…

Jezzie Mitchell is in anguish; with her brother’s murder still on her mind, she’s noticed strange behavior among the girls in the residential treatment center where she works. Is there a connection between the contagion on Cape Cod and the deadly Bahamas vacation that changed her life? Jezzie reaches out to former lover Lou Collins, a scholar who has chased proof of the lights for decades. Will he be able to solve the mystery of the lights in time? Intensely competitive, reporter Bridgette Collins knows the lights are a way to secure fame in her career. And while it’ll put the final nail into the coffin of her ex-husband’s career, she vows to know the secrets of the lights. Even if it means unleashing a world-wide epidemic…



July 28, 1981

The boy knows he is lost.

He is lost, and his former sense of normalcy has completely vanished.

He feels abandoned.

The irony, if he were old enough to understand the term, is that he is lost inside a closet that is only six feet in length. In the dark, the closet feels cavernous, endless. It provides adequate space for a trauma that will remain with him throughout his adult years.

His fear is nearly smothered by the heavy olfactory smog of mothballs and cedar chips, yet the fear constantly recuperates: a phoenix with dread for wings.

The boy’s face feels tight from the dried traces of tears that etch his cheeks. The hot air rushes his nostrils which are clogged with mucous; the hot air is working against him, forcing him to hyperventilate. The entire house is unfamiliar to him, and his eyes, in the darkness, struggle to make out the walls and ceiling of the place where he is being held captive.

He is not alone.

He can feel his sister’s stilted breath coming from the darkest corner. It is obvious that she is trying to hold her breath, hoping that the heavy shoes pacing the hallway would leave them alone.

The shoes fall heavily because they belong to a man that is larger than life. The shoes rhythmically block the small sliver of sunlight fighting its way between the door and threadbare carpet.

Being captive is not new to the boy or his sister, but it is always scary. Their father routinely puts them in closets. They never understand why. Today, for example, they had been playing on the beach during the morning hours. Those were happy hours. Their father had laughed with them, had built drip castles in the sand, had tickled their mother as she stood at the water’s edge. They had all come inside for lunch. More laughter. Their father had promised to take them to fly kites later.

But later had involved the closet. Their mother had been sent to her room and told to keep the blinds drawn. Their sandwiches had been deserted, half eaten. Abandoned, as the boy was.

Their father paced the hall, talking to himself. The boy could hear a buzzing sound coming from outside of their rental house. It was loud and their father cursed into the sound, having as much success as someone spitting into the wind.

The slim crack of daylight beneath the door grew brighter. The light exploded, like a bullet from a gun, but the closet door shielded the children from its brilliance. The boy could hear their father fall to his knees.

“Soon,” their father said, and their mother whimpered from behind her closed door.

Author Bio:

Elaine Pascale has been writing her entire life. She lives on Cape Cod with her husband, son and daughter.  Her writing has been published in magazines and anthologies. She is the author of The Blood Lights, and If Nothing Else, Eve, We’ve Enjoyed the Fruit. Elaine enjoys a robust full moon, chocolate, and collecting cats.

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