Born and raised in Nebraska, Merry Muhsman is sometimes a fantasy writer, sometimes a nonfiction writer, sometimes a flash fiction writer. Basically, she’s a writer of a lot of styles. She reads a lot of different styles, too, which often influence her writing. As Forest Gump once said, “Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you’re going to get.” And so is the case of this site. Merry still lives on a farm with her husband and son, a dog and lots of cats.
I handed Thelma a tissue from my purse. âWhy is it my fault?â It took all I had to not roll my eyes and swallow down the sarcasm.
Thelma blew her nose into the tissue with all the grace of Daffy Duck. âYou should know. Youâre the one that told me.â She wadded up the tissue and shook it at me. âRemember the fog?â She paused, wiped her nose. âThe coyote snot?â
Something bubbled from my throat, and I giggled. Totally inappropriate. I leaned in anyway and laughed. âYou believed me?â I managed through giggles. Nellie snickered, tried to cover her mouth and then let out the best, most contagious laugh Iâd ever heard.
Thelma pushed away from the table and rose, her chair clattering to the ground. âI knew you wouldnât take me seriously. âYou lied to me,â she roared. Her face turned red as sunburn.
Oh she was serious.
I rose from my chair and walked around the table. She backed away. I put a hand out like I was taming a stray cat, leaned down and picked up her chair. âI am sorry Thelma, I will listen to you now.â
The apology seemed to take the bite out as she eased herself into the chair.
I eased down in the chair by her. âPlease go on. I remember telling you about the coyotes creating fog, but I didnât think you took me seriously.â I put a hand on her forearm. âI am ;. I only wanted you to give me my certified mail.â
âI would have given it to you,â she said, turning on me and pulling her tissues over her eyes. âI told⌠oh⌠I told the men at the coffee shop. They laughed at me.â
Heat flared up my spine, carried by a memory to the surface that I had thought I buried deep. One that reminded me of why I hadnât talked to Thelma in many months. She had been my friend once upon a time when we were teenagers. It had been a few years, but I remembered when every eye turned on me because of something she said. Had I done the same to her?
âDo you remember when I moved back Minnesota, Thelma?â I asked. A âI-already-know-the-answerâ tone to my voice. âI tried to rekindle our friendship from high school and you started a rumor that my husband left me because I had moved back without him. Do you remember?â Thelma stilled.
Nellie stiffened across from me. âI remember that,â her eyes widened and she pointed at Themla. âYou started that rumor?â
Thelma sniffled. âYes, but I thought it was true.â
The heat seared my skin. âNow whoâs telling a lie? You called me and I told you that he was staying there until we sold the house. And yet, you didnât stop the rumor. You could have.â
She sniffed and cleared her throat. âI know, I just⌠I was wellâŚjealous. You made a life for yourself and Iâm just a mail lady in a small town.â She paused and looked toward the wall, avoiding my gaze. âAnd now the laughing stock of the town.â
I shook my head. âThelma, they will move on.â
âNo, no they wonât. They will hold onto this one.â She stopped and put a tissue to her mouth. âI⌠itâs why I put the spider in your mailbox.â
âYou did what?â The heat turned into an inferno, and the tips of my ears prickled. âI was terrified. That spider was almost as big as my hand.â I shivered.
âYou killed it when you blew up your box,â she said low.
My eyebrows shut up in such an arch my own mother would be proud. âAnd I would do it again and again,â I said, through my teeth.
âLadies,â Nellie tried to soothe us. âMust we argue over this. As I see it youâre even.â
âEven? Really? She did the one thing she knew would terrify me.â I gave Thelma my best pirate smile. âI do believe tampering with a mailbox and holding someoneâs mail might be criminal. A felony even?â
Once we had been friends, best friends in high school and then we grew apart. When I moved back home, I hoped to rekindle old friendship, laugh about old times, but Thelma always did things on her time, her terms. The relationship I tried to cultivate was like throwing good seed in rocky soil. Sometimes we had good moments, funny phone calls but most, my calls were sent to voicemail. My invitations to lunch were answered with excuses of how busy she was at the post office.
After the rumors started and I realized Thelma had initiated them, there was no going back to the friendship we had. I kept Thelma at a dis
Now, I truly saw Thelma for what she had always been. A bully who grew up to be a women with such little self-esteem that she had to belittle others to raise herself up. I almost pitied her. Almost.
Thelmaâs pupils turned black; it was the only color on her pale face. âYou killed my spider.â
What kind of screwed up logic is this? âYou tried to scare me into coming to see you!â
âShe was one of my favorites, too.â
âYou have more?â I was mortified as if the spiders would crawl from her purse.
âI feed them,â she said with all the pride of a mother watching her children score a goal in at soccer practice.
Nellie leaned forward. âYou do? We could use some creatures to well practice with.â
Thelma softened at the attention. âWell, they arenât my pets, necessarily. They are just wellâŚâ
âOh we would make sure you are well compensated.â Nellie paused, tapping her finger against her lips. âMaybe you could buy food, something besides tuna.â she wrinkled her nose.
âEveryone thinks government jobs pay well, but they donâtâŚâ Thelma kept babbling, and I stopped listening.
I pushed back from my chair and mouthed âbyeâ to Nellie. She nodded and waved good-bye.
I didnât need Thelma in my life, and no matter how nostalgic I might have felt when I moved back and tried to rekindle the friendship. People change, and sometimes that change is a sign to let go.
It was growing colder, and the spiders would go back to hibernating. I had a few months to figure out my next steps with my mail. But one thing I knew, I wouldnât be going back to the local post office.
I wonder if I could get my mail rerouted to a different post office?
Nellie and Thelma bond over shared ideas for the spider bug busting job, and I go home shaking my head. Did I just create a new friendship?
For years, Iâve been told to write about my kitties; mainly my dear aunt asks and suggests and wonders why I haven’t written about my kitties yet?
I got inspired by a lady on Facebook who writes cow biographies. I thought why not cats? So in between spider stories, I plan to write a cat bio. Let me know what if you like them!
Lucky Luciano is the mob boss at the farm. He believe his true calling came from an unfortunate accident when he was a child. As a kitten, Lucky loved to climb, and he was good at it. Until one Saturday night he fell head first into a wood shredder.
Donât worry. It was unplugged. This isnât a crime scene story.
He was stuck upside down for 8 hours. With that perspective comes the loss of one of nine lives and the appreciation that if he got out of the situation, he was going places. Make a name for himself.
Fortunately, the male human watched enough Alaska State Trooper shows to know that Dawn soap isnât just good for oily ducks; itâs also good for getting unstuck in the Swiss cheese-shaped grate his head was stuck in.
Once freed, Lucky jumped, played with a stick and basically showed his female human that all was well. Ultimately this event earned him the name Lucky. He added on Luciano because he had a vision of being the mob boss of the farm.
While he is small in stature, he is mighty in mouth. He has the humans on his payroll. His female human carries him every night to his red castle and occasionally, heâd get some chiropractic realignment from a full body stretch. He sports some battle wounds, but no one generally messes with a Luciano.
âThe mailbox went boom,â I said, my fingers stretching out to mimic the explosion. âThereâs no way I could hide it from him.â My thoughts turned to my husband, how he stood there momentarily shell shook and speechless.
Perhaps now he will understand the depths of my fear. Or not.
Nellieâs face crinkled and her lips pursed. âHuh, well that should have worked.â She drummed her fingers on the table. âI was certain Al and I had the calculations correct.â
âOh it did work,â I said, sincerely. âThe spider was full of sticky yellow stuff, some of its legs were stuck to the top of the box. â I shuddered. I really needed to move to Ireland. Someone told me once they didnât have spiders.
Nellie curled her hands around her glass of old-fashioned. This afternoon she needed a stiffer drink, she told me. âWell, Al will simply have to get you a new mailbox. Iâll have him get a hold of your husband and get this straightened out.â She took a sip and her eyes danced. âAt least we know it worked.â
I nodded. âToo well. The mail box lid exploded into the opposite ditch. The wood pole cracked straight down the center. I had just turned the corner when I heard the boom.â I stopped, took a sip of my fuzzy navel. âIt gets worse.â
Nellie leaned forward. âWorse? The device worked, we just have to mess with the calculations a bit.â She gazed the ceiling, turning the glass in her hands. âWe just have to figure out which chemical we got wrong. Maybe we had too many fireflies in the mix.â
âMaybeâŚNellie, the neighbors called the fire department AND the police department. A hazmat crew arrived about an hour later in their white suits and gas masks. By this time my hubbie was there, and he thought a bomb went off. They took the mailboxâŚâ I took a swallow, Nellieâs hand reached for mine. âI called into work sick. How can I face my neighbors? My husband?â
âAl will make it right. I guarantee you that man will donate some money to the fire department, the police department and he will turn over our findings to the hazmat crew. Itâs all biodegradable. It should be just fine.â Nellie gave me a weak smile and her face lacked color. Even she didnât believe her own words.
âWe went too far. I donât think I can use any of your tactics anymore of your test subjects. I just haveâŚâ I paused, trying to gather the courage to say the words.
Nellie squeezed my hand. âYou donât meanâŚâ her words caught in her throat.
âYes,â I said the word coming out like a hiss. âI have to squish them or move. I heard Ireland doesnât have spiders.â
Nellie let out a deep sigh. âYouâre not moving, your life is here. Besides, thereâs a few months out of the year weâre spider free. Weâll train you or something.â She let go of my hand, narrowwe. âWeâll train you. Weâll find the best ways to kill a spider naturally. There are all kinds of tools out there. Yes,â she nodded. âThatâs the answer.â
I played with my glass in my hand. The sounds of Kenny Rogers âThe Gamblerâ came over the juke box. âKnow when to hold them, know when to fold them, know when to run.â Wise words Kenny.
âWhat am I going to do now? Without a mailbox, I have to face Thelma and get our mail.â I rested my chin in my hand.
âOh sheâs a bit of coocoo bird.â Nellis snickered.
I grinned. âThe last time we spoke, I told her that coyote snot created fog.â
Nellie spit out her drink. âYou told her what?â
I put my hand to my mouth to stifle a laugh. âI did. She was holding my mail ransom. Remember that registered letter from the government?â Concern flashed across Nellieâs face, and I waved a hand to dismiss it. âI asked the government for help with the spiders.â
She nodded, the corner of her mouth turned up.
âI had to give her someâŚâ
The bell jangled, the door banged open. Nellieâs face drained of color, and I turned in my chair to face the door. Speak of the devil.
Thelma rumbled into the bar, her face a shade of red that would make a Nebraska Cornhusker proud. Her arms were full of envelopes and packages, and I lost all feeling in my limbs. It was my mail.
She dumped the mail on the table and shook her finger at me. âYou blew up your mailbox?â
âI guess word travels fast,â I mumbled. I turned back to Nellie. âDoes everyone know?â She shrugged.
âI donât have space for all your mail. You need to come pick it up everyday!â Her eyes took on some black stormy gaze. A putrid aroma hit me, and I crinkled my nose.
âDid you have tuna for lunch?â
She checked her words. âYes, why? Does it⌠oh GodâŚâ She sniffed her shoulder. âI reek of it.â She pulled out the chair next to Nellie, plopped down and started to ugly cry. She transformed from a one-woman wrecking ball into a sobbing mess.
I leaned away and motioned Nellie to sit next to me. The exit was behind me, and there was a table between Thelma and myself. Thelma might have just gone over the edge.
Thelma covered her eyes, and the tears tracked down her makeup in black and brown streaks. Her sobs turned to sounds that were likely meant to be words.
I made out some words, but I couldnât piece them together in a coherent sentence. I reached across the table and touched her arm. She was damp, warm. âThelma,â I said softly.
Thelmaâs body heaved and trembled. Hissing sounds came from her mouth. She was an odd duck.
âYour fault,â she said, raising her head to stare at me through rimmed, red eyes.
Life has been full of holiday activities, challenges and well just life, so my spider stories have taken the seat way in the back of the station wagon (which frankly I always thought was the best seat in the station wagon).
Today, I am including some answers to questions readers have asked me. I trust that you know some things I wrote are just not true, but there is quite a bit of truth woven into these stories.
Yes. The first spider log is true. From the spider on my hand to throwing the package outside, everything was true. I had no idea that the story would be so popular or it would launch future versions.
2. Did you have babysitters named Laura and Nellie.
No, I did have babysitters who killed bugs for me. They are still a part of my life, but I did not use their real names.
3. Did you go on sabbatical from getting the mail?
I absolutely did. I did not get the mail for several weeks this summer. My family always seemed surprised that I didnât get the mail, even though I drove right by the mailbox.
4. Were your babysitters involved in a natural disaster in real life?
No. The man-made disaster of the frogs and snakes was inspired from a Discovery Channel show I watched years ago and had nothing to do with my babysitters. Iâve always been fascinated by man trying to change nature, as if we could solve natures problems. Where I live, they introduced mountain lions into my state to reduce the deer population. The mountain lions decided they liked cattle more than the deer. The ironic thing is years later the deer population was nearly wiped out by a disease. Nature took care of its own problem.
5. Did you write the government a letter?
No. After the first story, I thought what lengths would I go to if I could get rid of spiders without moving. In real life, I even tried training my cats to kill spiders. It turned into âget the spider, get the spider.â This order was not as popular as âget the mouse.â
6. Is there a postmaster named Thelma?
⢠No. At the time I was writing the story, I thought how difficult it might be for a postmaster to not speak about the mail that comes across their desk. Especially in a small town, but then again, I know very little about how post offices work.
7. What about those stories with your husband? Especially that big spider, were they true?
Yes. The interactions with my husband were all true. Especially the large spider on the porch. I may have considered locking the door when I ran into the house. Because a locked door will always keep out a spider.
8. Do you know millionaires involved in pest control?
I know millionaires, but none of them are running a side exterminator business.
9. Did you throw a package in the office, and wait to check it?
Absolutely. I really dislike brown envelope packages.
I pondered what to write when I feel the spider stories had concludedâuntil spring when the minions crawled out from the depths of hell. Itâs January. Itâs cold. Our normal high is 34. I should be able to clean closets, sweep out the dark corners, knock webs down in the barn. And yet⌠the spiders live.
I was feeding my neighborâs cats while he was on vacation and saw a wolf spider in his garage. Very. Much. Alive. Itâs January. Itâs winter. Are spiders now immune to the cold? God help us.
Do you have other questions that I havenât answer above? Add a comment below, and Iâll answer you!
My husband and I disagree on how to measure the size of a spider…
I gripped the glowing jar in my shaking hands. The hum of my car running sheered the still morning air like a freight train. The sky streaked in pinks and golds did little to warm my chilled skin.
Why am I doing this? Iâm being ridiculous. If my friendsâno my familyâknew the extent of my quest for total spider extinction, theyâd probably check me into a mental hospital.
Who stands in front of their mailbox at the butt crack of dawn with a jar of experimental glowing bugs? They were just black jumping spiders in there. Did they really need a full jar of exploding fireflies?
My hand trembled as I reached for the mailbox lid.
Just little black jumping spiders. Thatâs all. JustâŚ
Metal grated on metal when I opened the lid. A large, brown freakish spider crouched in the back. It was too large. Its legs did that creepy crawly movement, and it raced toward me.
Terror roared in my mind, and I tossed the jar into the mailbox too hard. I heard it shatter, the light blinding my eyes, as I shut the lid.
***
Three days earlierâŚ
I stoop down to pet a kitten circling my leg, bumping me with its tiny body. Four more kittens swarm me with purrs, head nudges, leg brushes and general belly flops . The babies love this time of night; I called it kitten cuddles.
The Siamese kitten with a heart-shaped face, brown boots and a tan creamed colored fur meows at me when I stop petting him.
âYouâre so sweet,â I tell him as I stroke the side of his face. He meows a satisfied sound.
I stand up and walk toward the house. I freeze. A black spider perched legs next to the door jam, its long legs stretched out. The spider dared me to take another step toward the door. He would follow me and hide in boxes and shelves and maybe on the bag of cat food.
The horror.
âOh hell no!â I cry, scurrying away from the door. I sprint across the dark lawn, up the deck steps and yank open the deck door. Thank the good Lord the deck door is unlocked. I slip out of my boots on my light blue area rug.
I march into the house and stand in front of my husband, scrolling through Facebook on the ipad. âThereâs a spider by the garage door. I canât go out that door. Itâs about the size of a dollar coin.â I gesture with my hands in case he forgot how the size of a silver dollar.
My husband removes his glasses, sets down the ipad and smiles. âLetâs see this big spider.â
We walk out of the house together, but I hang inside the garage door.
âWhere is he?â He stands near the door frame in the gloomy dark with the yard light giving him light to see. How could he not see that enormous nightmare? He was so close to the door jamb. Too close. What if the spider pounced on him?
I point out the door. âOn the other side of the door jamb. To the left. Stand back a little and you will see him.â
He took a step back. âOh that little thing?â He approaches the spider and brushes his foot down the wall. I scurry back up the steps, ready to bolt inside the house if the spider escaped. He stomps down on the ground.
âDid you get it?â My fingers curl on the doorknob.
âYeah,â he replies, wiping his foot on the grass.
I let go of the doorknob and sit down on the step, unable to stand. Fear replaced by relief. We are safe for now.
He walks into the garage and shuts the door. âIt wasnât that big.â
My breath catches in my chest. âExcuse me?â
âIt was the size of my pinkie.â
âNo ,it was definitely bigger than that.â I paused, feeling my heartbeat ratchet up a notch. Were we talking about the same spider? Was there more than one?
He pointed at the nail of his pinkie finger. âHis body was no bigger than my pinkie.â
âThatâs how you measure the size of a spider? By the body? You have to include the legs. The legs are outstretched and they count!â
He laughed a little and pointed at his pinkie. He walked in the house and kissed my head. âNot that big.â
I sat on the steps realizing that my husband and I had vastly different ideas of spider size. Years ago, I was just a child walking in the bathroom and on the floor was a huge wolf spider. The size of a tarantula. I screamed and ran to my dad. They checked the bathroom, but there was no spider. I barely slept that night. But when I came home from school the next day, I noticed large, black legs in the wastebasket.
Iâm certain my husband believes I exaggerated then. I always said it was big as my dadâs hand. I wonder how he would measure that spider.
I thought back to my conversation with Nellie and her offer to give me one of her genetically altered pest control devices. She had slid a padded folder across the table at the bar.
âWhat is this? A menu?â I laughed. I flipped it open to a single sheet of paper. Nice paper with gilded edges and dark black type. Artwork of a black spider was embossed on the top. âWhat is this? A list of ways to kill spiders?â
The list included several techniques such as prices per squish, cans of industrial size Raid, flamethrowers (with a special disclaimer that use requires two weeks of prior training), DIY spray with specific instructions for mixing, cat⌠âWait⌠â I put my finger on specific line and narrow my eyes at Nellie.
She takes a swig of beer and then grins. âYes, that one is special. Only for people who can care for cats.â
I snicker. âNinja cats? Seriously.â
âYou should see them! They are trained since they are kittens. They arenât really ninjas, but they can climb trees and some can scurry so fast they go up walls. But they are trained to seek and destroy spiders.â
âThereâs no prices⌠wait⌠are these real ninjas, too?â
âWell thatâs just for Australia. I must have given you the worldwide list. The ninjas help with the Australian funnel spiders. Lethal to humans if they bite. They haveâŚâ She starts to mimic something with her fingers and I hold a hand up.
âNo, I donât need to know any more thank you.â I closed the folder and slide it back to her. âWho did all this? You and Laura?â
She cocked her head to the bar. âAl and I worked together. Laura helped initially, but she wasnât all that thrilled with the idea. You see Alâs wife was a lot like you. She was terrified of spiders, and she loved cats. She passed away shortly after Al won the lottery. Tragic really. Al never got over his broken heart. They had plans to travel and then the car accident. Al decided to put the money to something good, something to honor her. He approached me about coming up with ways to save people from their fear of spiders. â
I glanced at Al and pursed my lips. He turned to me; his eyes were cloudy, sorrowful as if this dedication to helping people with their fear was his lifeblood, his promise to the love of his life. I mouthed a âthank you,â and he nodded, turning back to the football game on TV.
âSo what do you think? We could start you with the jar of explosive lightening bugs. Very effective for ridding your mailbox of spiders.â
âLet me think on it.â The idea of messing with nature made me pause. What was I doing? Had I become so irrational that I would consider chemical warfare against spiders?
What would my family think? Was I playing God with spiders? What if⌠there were just too many what ifs.
I had walked out believing it was a terrible idea.
***
Two days laterâŚ
My husband and I sat on the front porch on our porch swing. The valley spread out before us beneath a dark blanket of twinkling stars. A southern breeze brushed against my hair. I pulled my knee to my chest, feeling the chill across my bare legs. Harvest had begun, and the harvest was good. Today we had no equipment breakdowns.
Our conversation turned to the dayâs events, what tomorrow would hold and sometimes the subject drifted to a future that seemed large with possibility.
The sort of night that you almost say is perfect, but hold back saying the word, because Karma loves to disrupt your âperfect nightâ.
A large black spider scurried from the shadows across the concrete porch just barely yards from my bare foot. I bit down to keep from screaming, but did not hold back the wimpy, incomprehensible sounds on someone about to lose their shit. I bolt toward the door.
I step inside, grip the door handle to keep the door shut as if a door made of glass and metal was somehow going to keep out the monster.
âNow that is a big one,â my husband said. Was there pride in his voice? A little bit of awe? I wonder how heâd measure the size of THAT one? A silver dollar body? Maybe a scrub daddy sponge?
âKill it!â I scream. âWhat if it comes in the house? Itâs too big to live!â I press my hands against the glass, ready to back up and shut the inner door if that thing ran toward the house. Toward me.
My husband picked up the frog garden status and placed it down on the big spider. Black legs stuck out from underneath the frog, another testament to the enormous size of the monster.
âDid you press it down?â There should have been a crunch. A loud crunch. âThat thing was big enough to move the frog.â My voice had gone up two octaves My soprano-singing aunt would be proud.
My husband laughed, âItâs dead.â
âIâm not coming back out, â I said and promptly and sat down on the couch.
That night, I lay in bed, tossing and turning, sleep dissolving like smoke from my exhausted body. I opened my eyes and a monster stared me eye-to-eye.
A large black spider dangled from a sticky strand in front of my face. I yelled, âFucker!â
I swear the spider grinned.
My husband touched my hip. âHoney, youâre dreaming.â
I sat upright, shaking my head to dislodge the fog. My t-shirt wet from sweat and smelled of despair and fear.
I thought about what Nellie had said about exploding fireflies.
The next morning, I called Nellie. âitâs time.â
***
Present dayâŚ
Light glowed from inside the mailbox, almost an afterglow before yellow light faded. Nellie instructed me not to open the lid for 4 hours. Let the chemical dissolve. Opening the mailbox could cause an explosion.
How on earth would I explain why there was an explosion in my mailbox. âYes, officer. I used the exploding fireflies to kill a spider. I understand it was dangerous, and it was not my intention to cause a wildfire that burned 100 acres and used resources from five counties to put it out. But the spider is dead.â
I got into my car and shut the door. I let out a deep breath. Nellieâs instructions were clear. Open the box. Throw the jar hard enough to break. Shut the door. Donât stare directly at the light (Ok Indiana Jones, itâs not the Ark of the Covenant). The chemical should be dissolved by the time they put new mail in the box.
I turned onto the road and hoped Nellieâs calculations were accurate.
Please enjoy this guest post from Vanessa Finaughty!
A considerable portion of the worldâs population is drawn to magic, be it in the form of stage magic, wizards and the like in fantasy worlds, or real-world magic such as using affirmations or the Law of Attraction or in spiritual practices, to name but a few. Itâs not all âone personality typeâ or people with the same beliefs, either â those who appreciate magic are often complete opposites, for example, the superstitious and the sceptical.
What is it about magic that draws so many different people from all walks of life? Hereâs what I thinkâŚ
Magic appeals to the sense of wonder we all like to experience as we feed our curious nature and our inherent desire to be privy to something extraordinary and seemingly inexplicable.
Magic allows us to escape realityas we suspend disbelief for a little while. Who hasnât imagined, even once, having the ability of telekinesis, teleportation, invisibility or some other magical power? This brief escapism is excellent stress relief.
Magic makes us feel â from surprise, awe and amazement to amusement and a range of other fulfilling emotions in between.
Magic is entertaining. Whether itâs a magic show, a real-world mystery or a fictional power like that of the Charmed witches, magic is versatile and tends to leave a lasting impression.
Magic stimulates the imagination and the ability to solve problems creatively, which can be quite useful at times.
A belief in magic can give us strength and hope during difficult times. Belief in a higher power â be it related to religion, spiritualism or a belief in the energy all around us, or even the temporary âbeliefâ required to enjoy a fantasy movie or book â can offer a profound, potent motivation to get through the tough times. It can be extremely comforting and even give us some sense of control over our lives.
I think humanityâs attraction to the mysteries of magic will be as eternal as anything can be in this world.
Vanessa Finaughty is a multi-genre author who has published more than 20 books, including school books published by Oxford University Press Southern Africa. Vanessa grew up in Cape Town, South Africa, and still lives there with her husband and their four children (two human and two furry, four-legged).
Vanessa has always been passionate about books, and knew from a young age that she wanted to write them one day. She loves animals, coffee and the smell of wet grass, and hates excessive weather, long queues and liars. Her interests include reading, photography, the supernatural, mythology, aliens and outer space, ancient history, lifeâs mysteries and martial arts, in which she has five yearsâ experience in Ki Aikido.
Today, Iâm introducing you to Vanessaâs main characters. Are they good? Are they evil? Are they a little bit gray? You have to read the books to decide.
Vanessa, tell me about how you created this artwork? It reminds me of classic fantasy when the artwork had depth and meaning and not just a pretty cover.
Vanessa: I used the NightCafĂŠ AI art generator to create all of the artwork for my series, including my book covers, promotional materials and these wallpapers, and I used Photoshop to size them to be used as desktop or mobile wallpapers. I generated hundreds of images before I got the perfect ones, but it was well worth the time! Those hundreds of images wonât be wasted either â most of them are really good even though they didnât fit what I was looking for at the time, and some have been used in music videos for the series, as writing prompts for authors or to pretty up blog posts.
Like what you see? You can download this vibrant artwork for your computer, share it with your fans, but most importantly, download the books. Or share this blog with a friend who loves fantasy!
To celebrate the recent release of Wizard of Ends, Book 3: United Army, weâre giving away free wallpapers for PC and mobile. Click the thumbnails below to download the full-sized images.
Read a chapter from her new fantasy book Wizards of Ends: Dark Creature, Chapter 1
I am so excited to share with you the work of a writer friend of mine. Vanessa and I met over a decade ago through a critique group called Critters. She lives halfway across the world in South Africa. Sheâs such a talented writer and author of 20 books (sheâs been busy!).
Right now, Vanessaâs book âWizard of Endsâ is free! Links are at the bottom of this blog. Did I mention itâs free? This is the perfect way to get introduced to Vanessaâs world!
Please join me in giving Vanessa a warm welcome!
Hi Vanessa. I fondly remember how you and I met years ago in the Critters group. Both brought together from our love of fantasy.
Question: Do you have a favorite author(s)? Who are they and what draws you to them?
I do! Theyâre Dean Koontz, John Connolly (whom I actually had coffee with once!) and Terry Brookes. I love Koontâz sick mind and the endless twists in his books, and that you never know if the âcause of it allâ will be supernatural or not. Connollyâs imagination is equally entertaining, and heâs an awesome person to boot â just the type I could be good friends with if we lived within coffee-drinking distance! I love Brookes for the truly epic fantasy, the type that you can imagine as a Lord of the Rings type of movie.
I was reading your author bio last night on Amazon, and I had no idea you wrote 20 books. Question: What sort of books do you like to write when youâre not working on fantasy?
I also love horror and thriller â those are equal favourites along with fantasy. I enjoy science fiction too, but nothing too heavy on the tech stuff. I also enjoy anything that makes me laugh, and anything weird in non-fiction. (By the way, the school books I wrote for OUPSA are included in that 20, just in case anyone checks my indie author pages and sees a bit fewer!)
The book youâre sharing with us today is the second book in your series. Can you tell us about this story?
The Queen of Ends has been cursed, and itâs up to Lashlor to save her. To help the queen, he has to find an old flame, Rune Arcana. The only trouble is, Rune hates his guts and, the last time Lashlor saw her, she threatened to curse him if she ever saw him again. I quite enjoyed writing the interaction between Lashlor and Rune â that love/hate dynamic is rather amusing at times!
And you are here to promote book 3, coming out on 21 October. Is this the conclusion of your series or do you have more stories to share?
There will definitely be more books in the Wizard of Ends series. Iâve already started writing Book 4: Tainted Magic, and will be sharing an extract from it on the last day of the book tour. Readers who purchase Book 3 can also read the full Chapter 1 of Book 4 at the end. There will be a few more books after that, and I have some special plans for the final book â all I will say for now is that they involve Lashlorâs herb pouch đ
Thanks Vanessa for stopping by on your world-wide virtual book tour. And thank you for sharing an excerpt from your second book. Links to all Vanessaâs books can be found at the bottom of this blog.
Enjoy!
Wizard of Ends, Book 2: Dark Creature â Chapter 1
Today, the Wizard of Ends virtual book tour brings you Chapter 1 of Wizard of Ends, Book 2: Dark Creature. Enjoy!
Bleak and foreboding, the Mountains of Eclador rose before the group of weary travellers, the darkening orange sky giving the mountains a decidedly evil appearance. A flock of kreag, nasty birds of prey large enough to carry off a full-grown man, circled above the nearest peaks. Lashlor hoped the birds were not hungry. These mountains were cold and heartless, and showed mercy to no man or beast, and the kreag would show the travellers no mercy either if it was to ease their hunger. Exactly what made the mountains so deadly was unknown â it could be a lack of food or shelter in most parts, or the kreag or other vicious mountain animals, or it could be something more sinister. Lashlor just hoped that whatever it was, it wasnât magical.
If they returned to exit the narrow canyon they were about to enter, they would be the first in recorded history to survive a trip into these mountains.
The sorceress they were going to see, Rune Arcana, was capable of seeing him safely home, Lashlor knew. However, he wasnât so sure she would have the power to see thirty-six men and their horses safely out of the mountains. He supposed it depended on why exactly the mountains were so treacherous. He had warned King Lanaran of his fears, but the king had refused to let him make the journey alone.
Then again, Rune might just spell his face rotten, as she had promised she would if she ever saw him again. She, like many others, had accused Lashlor of lying about being a wizard. Even at the vilest of provocations, he had refused to use his magic to prove himself honest. She had told him she would not marry a liar. He had told her he would not marry someone who thought he was a liar. The rest was history. He had since checked up on Rune once or twice, not really sure why he bothered, and one of her cousins had told him about a year and a half ago that she had gone to live in the Mountains of Eclador and wanted to be left alone.
Lashlorâs thoughts turned to the herbs he still had secreted in his belt pouch. These particular herbs were only found in the Land of Ends. He had risked the dangers of the Jeltar Woods at night to get them, so he could return to his place of birth and right a wrong. He had wanted it over and done with, afraid he would lose his nerve and never return. Besides delaying his task, the delay caused by the journey to the Mountains of Eclador meant he would have to gather more herbs, for these would be dried out by the time they got back to Ends.
Lashlor was jolted from his reflections when Captain Amkesh, who rode a black stallion near the front, came to a stop. The captain turned his horse and drew up alongside Lashlorâs steed, a silver-grey mare.
âAre you sure about this?â Captain Amkesh frowned. âThis place gives me the chills.â
âThe chill in the air is only nature and nothing to fear. Night will be upon us soon.â
Amkesh nodded, still frowning. âMaybe we should camp here for the night.â
âThere are still two hours of daylight,â Lashlor said. âTwo hours could mean the difference between life and death for Queen Narraki.â
Amkesh sighed. âYou are right, of course.â His back straightened and he ordered, âMove on!â
<><><>
King Lanaran took a sip from his wine glass, and then picked up his fork again and played with his food.
Sitting opposite Lanaran at the dining table, the broad-shouldered King Axim Winguard of Storher fixed sea-green eyes on him. âI understand why you have no appetite, old friend, but you must force yourself to eat. You need your strength. Narraki needs your strength.â
Lanaran glared at his plate. âMaybe I will regain some of my appetite if Iaracella Tinletorâs pending execution draws out Thorona, as you suggested it might.â
âThe familyâs previous actions suggest that is exactly what will happen. Thorona will most certainly attempt to rescue her grandmother. Since the execution is first thing in the morning, expect some trouble tonight.â Axim grinned in delighted anticipation and raised his wine glass.
His friendâs usually infectious grin stirred no mirth in Lanaran now. âYet still, it will not undo the curse on Narraki.â
âFrom what Iâve heard, your wizard will accomplish that.â
âHe says he cannot.â
Axim swallowed a piece of steak. âHe also said Assassa would kill him.â
Hope sparked in Lanaran. âHe did, didnât he?â
âAnd if he truly believed he could not help,â Axim pointed out, âhe would not have risked journeying to the Mountains of Eclador.â
Some of the weight lifted from Lanaranâs shoulders. âYes, youâre right, of course.â
âThe old woman is well guarded?â
Lanaran nodded. âTriple the usual guards, plus more outside and patrolling the grounds.â
âWhat about the roof?â
âAlso teeming with guards.â
âEat, Lanaran, eat!â Axim bellowed, slapping the table and startling Lanaran into dropping his fork on the floor.
A servant hastened to pick it up and then turned to leave.
âDonât bother with a new one.â Lanaran pushed back his plate. âAnd take this while youâre at it.â
The servant moved to comply, but Axim said, âOff with you, boy! Fetch that fork.â
To Lanaranâs annoyance, his servant obeyed his friendâs orders over his. âCount yourself lucky youâve done me the favour of allowing my men to traipse through your kingdom to reach the Mountains of Eclador.â
Axim chuckled. âYou asked me here to help you, but you did not specify how. You must eat or the sorceress has won regardless. You must eat, because, if you die of starvation, once Narraki is herself again, she will be all alone and filled with grief, and she might even hate you.â
Lanaran smiled. âNarraki is incapable of hatred.â
âAnd perhaps that is why, even as a beyeni, she did not try to harm you.â
âShe was going to lick me. That would haveââ
âKilled you?â Axim asked. âYes, yes, but did she know that or was she merely being affectionate? Besides, you donât really know that she was going to lick you; thatâs just an assumption.â
The servant returned with a clean fork and Lanaran thanked him, and then pulled his plate back towards him, speared a carrot and raised it to his lips.
Axim took another sip of wine. âI was thinking, after the execution tomorrow, you and I should help the magic users search for information about undoing curses in the Great Library. The more people looking, the more chance we have of finding something in time.â
âI thought you said my wizard would handle that?â Lanaran asked, his tone more sarcastic than he had intended.
âI have faith in him, butâŚâ
Lanaran sighed. âBut no one has ever returned from the Mountains of Eclador.â
<><><>
The gloom thickened the further into the canyon Lashlor and the others rode, the steep walls blocking out most of what was left of the sunlight. Lashlor rode ahead with Captain Amkesh, scanning the skies every now and then for signs of kreag. It was said there had once been a map of the Mountains of Eclador, but, if it had existed, it had been lost so long ago that most people now believed it to be a myth. The captain had forbidden everyone from unnecessary talking, so they would have a better chance of hearing if anything stalked them, hoping for an easy meal. It concerned him that the canyon formed a natural trap and there would be no escape if they were caught unawares.
âTell me again how you will find this sorceress.â
Lashlor ran a hand through his shoulder-length brown hair. âI wonât lie you to. It wonât be easy. I will need to stop often and try to sense her aura trail. I felt it as we entered the canyon, so I can say for certain that she did, indeed, enter this way. I did not sense her exiting, so she must still be here unless there is another way out.â
âThis canyon is the only way in or out, from what Iâve heard.â Amkesh glanced back to check on his men. âThat sounds easy enough. Why do you say it wonât be easy? Does it use a lot of magical energy?â
Lashlor shook his head. âNo, not really. Itâs just that many things could have erased her aura trail, including time. Plus, she uses her magic often, so the trail is weak to begin with and, therefore, easier to erode. Itâs only because we⌠because I know her so well that I can still trace her now, all this time later.â
They rode in silence for a few minutes, and then Amkesh asked, âWhat things could erase an aura trail?â
âMagic, for one. Thatâs what Iâm the most worried about. Since Rune wants to be left alone, itâs quite possible she erased her trail at some point. If she did, it might not matter how well I know her.â
âWould she have been that paranoid?â
Lashlor shrugged. âYou never know with Rune.â
<><><>
Kings Lanaran and Axim sat side by side on a pile of fresh hay in the cell next to the one in which Iaracella Tinletor, Thoronaâs grandmother, was imprisoned. They waited in silence in the early hours before dawn, hoping to surprise any would-be rescuers. The old womanâs cell was between them and that which held the beyeni â his queen. Lanaran shuddered, still unable to comprehend how the beast that snarled and spat at the guards through the cell bars could possibly be his beloved Narraki. It seemed none of her old nature remained and, for the first time, he had seen hatred shining in her eyes. The glowing orange eyes of a creature of darkness. Another shudder racked him.
Axim shifted next to him. Unlike Lanaran, who enjoyed peace and quiet, Axim loved adventure and excitement, and the thought of a tussle with an enemy of Ends made him quite happy.
The guards changed shifts, in sets of three so the old woman would always have eyes on her. When the last shift change was over, Lanaran studied the faces of the guards he could see. All had been instructed to report anyone they did not recognise, but still⌠He knew all five guards within his line of vision, but it did not relax him.
Two wizards sat in the cell to their right, their pulses probably racing as fast as Lanaranâs. Perhaps the security was too tight, or too obvious, he thought. Nobody could get in here.
As if in mockery of his last thought, an explosion shattered the silence and a cloud of smoke filled the dungeon. Something sizzled and the guards cried out in alarm.
Lanaran and Axim leapt up, drew their swords and raced into the smoke.
Thorona materialised in a flash of white light, wearing an inappropriately short white gown that ended halfway between her waist and knees. The cell that held Iaracella was open, and she hobbled towards her granddaughter.
The guards attacked, but their swords met an invisible barrier. Thorona ignored them.
âDo it!â Lanaran commanded the wizards.
They had anticipated that Thorona would shield herself magically if she tried to rescue her grandmother, and the wizards had prepared a spell that would work rather nicely with the help of a little hog sweat spray mixed with the right herbs.
The wizards sprayed the vile stuff on Thorona, who squealed in indignation at the stench.
âYou will regret that,â she said, turning her attention to them as her grandmother reached her.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
Book 2: Dark Creature can be purchased for only $3.99 and Book 1 is FREE!
Vanessa Finaughty is a multi-genre author who has published more than 20 books, including school books published by Oxford University Press Southern Africa. Vanessa grew up in Cape Town, South Africa, and still lives there with her husband and their four children (two human and two furry, four-legged).
Vanessa has always been passionate about books, and knew from a young age that she wanted to write them one day. She loves animals, coffee and the smell of wet grass, and hates excessive weather, long queues and liars. Her interests include reading, photography, the supernatural, mythology, aliens and outer space, ancient history, lifeâs mysteries and martial arts, in which she has five yearsâ experience in Ki Aikido.
I shiver. The sensation trickling down my body into the tips of my legs. I scurry across the ground before the chill freezes me into place, my legs fold up and I flop over like Aunt Delores.
Now she was something to behold. Her tan legs tipped with a little black and that pattern on her back. But it was her size that got humans. She was a big-un. Made women shriek and wail as if watching that horse sink into the mud of despair in the âNever Ending Storyâ movie.
Whir. Click. I sigh as the heat wave from the furnace drifts across my body, wrapping me in a warm blanket. I shift, roll and land on all eight legs.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
I shake the last bit of chill from my body.
Why did Harry Houdini think this place would a be a good place to raise our babies? Never trust a male spider; he didnât even ask directions when we were looking for a new home. He escaped from this place before I could exact my retribution.
Bastard.
He promised me a luxury palace, not this cheap no-tell motel. Cheap bastard.
But like Aunt Delores, what doesnât kill me, makes me stronger. I built a beautiful egg sac, poured every last bit of soul into an exquisite tear-dropped egg sac. The moisture glistened on my silk threads like dew on the meadow. When the children emerged, they swarmed like a million minions, only much smarter than those bright lemony yellow, bug-eyed idiots.
True minions. Such small, scurrying brown minions, racing up the stone steps into freedom. The brown wave spreading, their tiny squeals so delightful as they descended upon the ant hills.
Oh my minions. How a mother misses them. I raised them well, but now it was my time to feed, to scare, but mainly to feed.
Buzz. Flutter. Swish. Swish.
My fangs wiggle and my tiny hairs straighten like stick pins.
Food.
Scurry. Scurry. Scurry.
There. A black ant. A big one. Big. Trying to hide in the shadows. Canât hide from a thousand eyes.
The ant went limp against my body. I shiver and roll back, one leg clutching the ant to my body.
White light sliced the darkness and something groaned. I scurry back to watch, to wait, to hunt. Footsteps weighted down by cowboy boots thudded down the metal steps. A human. It smells like canned tuna and regret.
My vision sharpens. A woman! How pleasing.
The light illuminates her horrifying brightness. A zig-zag-patterned explosion of color burns my thousand eyes. Mrs. Roper called; she wants her outfit back.
My vengeance against Harry Houdini will be sated if I can simply terrify this woman. I will make Aunt Delores proud.
I raise my legs one at time, blood surging through my limbs. I rise, dangling my fangs.
âThe itsy bitsy spider, crawled up the water spoutâŚâ Her voice vibrates against my body and the hairs on my legs prickled.
What the absoluteâŚdid she call me? Itsy? BITSY? Oh Iâll show..
âDown came the rain, and washed the spider out,â Mrs. Roper sang.
My legs twitches. My butt wiggles. What was happening? I drop my precious lunch, my stomach lurches at the loss.
âOut came the sunâŚâ
My legs vibrate on their own, moving with her excruciating song. Am I dancing?
She nears the bottom of the stairs and turns to her left then her right. âDried out all the rain and theâŚâ The words stopped in her throat.
My body is mine again.
Fear me Roper.
I crouch down. Weigh my options. I could jump straight up, might land on her, bite. Her eyes widen; she sees me. Does not scream. Oh I will make her scream.
Nothing is itsy bitsy about me Roper. I shake my front legs at her.
Prey. Prey. Prey.
Scurry. Scurry.
She leans down. Yes. Closer. Come closer Mrs. Roper. This is for Aunt Delores. This is for Harry Houdini for bringing here. This is for you for making my butt wiggle.
Kill. Kill. Kill.
Blood surges into my legs. JumâŚ
Clunk.
I bounce back. My legs reach out. Touch something hard, clear. My legs extend, batting against glass.
Iâm trapped.
This prison smells like rotten tomatoes. Earthy. Sharp. Pungent.
Something sticks to my legs.
My world tumbles. I land on my back, my legs dancing, trying to find something solid. I thrash and scream like a mute crow in a Tupperware container.
Something tightens. The air is gone. I cannot breathe. My body bonces, and everything goes black.
***
I awaken to darkness, and my body rolls and then tumbles. I gather my legs beneath me and crouch. Thereâs a road in front of me, grasses swaying in the wind, soft rain falling outside. Mrs. Roperâs tomato colored face blocks my vision. Water drips from her wiry curls.
âDo your job,â she snaps, and then she pushes the lid shut.
Another prison. This one is cool, dry, but the ground is uneven. I delicately stair step my way down to a cool, metal floor in the corner. I will wait, gather my strength.
***
Light streams in the cracks of the prison, but this prison is still cool. Not damp, despite the patter of rain on the roof from the night before.
I hear gravel crunching outside, and something shuts hard.
Mrs. Roper has returned. Good.
I wait in the corner of the prison, hidden by the pile of envelopes and packages. I like the cool metal beneath my legs, and those envelopes smell funny, like tuna.
The door creaks open, and a hand grasps the mail.
I pounce and land on smooth skin.
The thing screams, shakes, and I go flying back into the prison. My back hits the metal hard, and I land on the floor. Scurry. Scurry.
An object flies past me and shatters. Glass shards fall like razors, and I scurry away, bouncing onto the side of the box, flattening myself.
Flutter. Buzz. Flicker. Flicker.
Bugs with glowing yellow butts buzzed around the box.
Mrs. Roper brought me dinner. Lots of delicious dinner.
I leap from my perch, tackling the bug in mid-air and rolled onto the ground. I sink my fangs into the body.
This tastes funny. LikeâŚ
Bright light explodes, then everything goes black.
I recruit my childhood babysitters to help me fight the spider crisis.
Spider Log: 09.2025.5
I arrived early to The Drunken Rooster. The local bar was quiet this afternoon. The dark intricate wood beams and black metal patterned ceiling cast the place in infinite shadows. Dim indoor lighting only added to the husky, stillness of the place as a soft rain fell outside. The bar was empty today because the Nebraska Huskers football team had an off week. The bar was literally a ghost town. Fitting for it once was a mortuary or a bank, I could never remember which one.
Itâs unusual for me to be anywhere early, because Iâm always in the nick of time. Not early, not late, but arriving exactly at the time I need to be there. Some might say Iâm late if Iâm not early. Others would just shake their head and wonder how I keep a job.
The bar owner Al leaned against the counter, one hand clutching a white towel, as he stared up at the TV.
âDonât change the channel. I got a lot riding on this game,â Harry said. He leaned on the bar; one hand curled around his glass beer mug. I squinted at the TV but couldnât see who was playing. The telltale green and yellow uniform looked like Oregon, but I didnât recognize the opposing team.
Al shook his head. âHow many games are you betting on this time?â
âFive,â he replied.
Al shook his head, and tossed the towel onto his shoulder. âWish I had that kind of money,â he said,.
âNo, you donât,â Harry replied, draining his glass and sliding it toward Al. âMore money brings more problems.â
Al shook his head and took the glass to refill it.
Harryâs gaze turned toward me, he nodded, and then rested his chin on his hand, staring at the TV. Ruggedly handsome, Harry was a bachelor who lost the love of his life to a car accident. He won the lottery a few years back. No family. No kids. Sought after by many women in town, Harry kept to himself mostly. I thought of asking him for help. Surely he had connections; people with money always had connections.
The door opened and the bell above the door jingled, interrupting my thoughts.
Laura came first, striding into the room like she owned the place, waving at Al and Harry before sliding into the chair beside me. She wrapped me a in a side hug.
âMaureen, how are you? Whatâs going on?â Laura asked. âYou said it was urgent.â
âIt is,â I replied, tension melting from my shoulders. I broke from her hug, my eyesight blurring. She understood me, more than most. A solid presence in the storm of life, she never changed. I waved at Al to bring Laura her signature drink. Sex on the Beach.
âIâm going to wait until Nellie arrives to tell you the whole tale, but for now, read this.â I slid the government letter across the table.
Lauraâs eyes scanned the letter, looked up at me, and then down at the letter. âThey wonât help you?â Al set her drink on the table. âThanks Al.â She took a swig, sighed deeply and then turned back to the letter.
I sipped my strawberry margarita, strong enough to curl my toes. âNo, clearly they donât think itâs a big enough deal, But you know. You remember whyâŚâ I couldnât finish the words, couldnât dig deep into that dark memory that I locked away. The first time I encountered spiders.
The bell jangled, and Nellie scurried in, brushing her blonde hair away from her face, shaking off the rain from her black coat. She swung herself into a seat across from me, her purse the size of a small suitcase, thumped onto the chair next to her.
âIâm sorry Iâm late,â she said. She adjusted the fabric collar around her neck, her fingers straightening the metal black bat. âI found a great oversized skeleton at Home Depot, and I just had to buy it. They sold out last year.â She wrapped her cold hands around mine and squeezed.
I smiled. âGetting ready for Halloween early?â Nellie had the biggest yard decorations for Halloween every year. The kids always made a stop at her house. She was a fan favorite, having won numerous awards for her decorations. One year, she was even on some decorating show on HGTV.
âSo whatâs up? Why did you call us?â she said. Al brought her a smoking glass of bourbon. She really took the whole Halloween âsmoke show thingâ seriously.
âSheâs having a problems with spiders again, and the government wonât do anything about it.â Laura explained, sliding the letter toward Nellie.
âI didnât know who else to call. You have always been my bug killers,â I said.
Laura smiled, âWhen you were a kid, youâd scream âbug, bug, bug,â as you ran down the stairs because there was a bug in your room.â
âAnd you always took care it.â My cheeks warmed at the memory. They had always been my protectors since I was a child. Even now, as an adult, I knew theyâd understand my spider catastrophe and wouldnât judge me. âI canât get the mail. The spiders are literally living in my packages, and then they slip into the house. Just yesterday, there was a wolf spider the size of a half dollar on the wall by the litter box. I couldnât empty the box, because the spider was right next to the scoop.â My lips pinched, and I shuddered. âI shut the door to the spare room. Iâm certain the room reeks like urine now.â
Laura shook her head. âHave you tried calling the exterminator? I know a good one.â
Nellie shook her head. âAn exterminator canât solve this big of a problem. She canât get her mail, and theyâre moving into her house. Winter is coming. There will be a battle for control of her house.â Nellie fixed her steel gray eyes upon me. Her gaze unwavering, protective. âItâs been such a bad year for spiders.â
âTrue,â Laura admitted. âIf you canât call an exterminator, how about the National Guard?â
I suppressed a sob. âI think the government blacklisted me. When I call the National Guardâs number, I just get stuck in this infinite loop. I scream customer service, operator, someone human, and the robot operator tells me to press â1 âto return to the previous menu. I was on the phone for four hours. I would have kept trying, but it was time to make supper.â Laura and Nellie both gasped.
âWhat does our taxes pay for?â Nellie shook her fist in the air. âI petitioned for Halloween to be a yearlong holiday once. I walked around in a witchâs costume and decorated the stairs of the governorâs house with pumpkins.â She paused, smiled at Harry. He nodded, then turned back to the TV.
Hope surged in my soul. I hadnât thought of protesting on a local level. If the federal government was too big to help, maybe our governor would take my pleas seriously. âDid it work?â
The corner of Nellieâs mouth twitched. âHe said, heâll take it before the Unicameral this year.â
Lauraâs eyebrow arched high into her bangs. âSeriously? You believed him?â
Nellie took a swig of her smokey drink and narrowed her eyes. She reached for a handful pretzels and crunched silently.
âYou donât think it will work?â I asked, my lips trembling. âI need your helpâŚâ
When I was a teenager, Laura and Nellie tried to make the bug busting thing work, but people tried them out, but killing bugs got costly and someone invented Raid. Much cheaper solution in the short term, but I couldnât very well spray Raid in my mailbox and coat my mail in oily substance.
âListen Maureen,â Laura said. This sounds like a much bigger problem than we can handle. We hung up our bug busting coats years ago. No one wanted to use us, and well I have a mortgage, bills, a car payment, and life insurance isnât cheap at my age.â
I stilled. That wasnât the real reason. âItâs because of what happened in Isla Perdida isnât it?â It was a remote island, overrun with snakes and bugs. After the whole Raid business put the sisters out of business, Laura and Nellie had been doing business with smaller islands along the Florida coast. Bugs and spiders thrived in warm, humid conditions where there was never any hard freeze.
Laura introduced a poisonous frog to the island; the frogs secrete a poison as defense mechanism. The locals thought the frogs were evil. At first, they shot them with flaming arrows (which wasnât a bad idea for spiders, actually) as they believed the frogs were evil. Nellie learned to use sign language to communicate with the local shaman to tell the villagers that the frogs would reduce the snake problem. The shaman agreed with some reluctance. The poisonous frogs killed the snakes and the frogs ate the bugs. Problem solved. The frogs had babies every four weeks and before long the island was overrun with frogs. Everyone had to evacuate the island.
Laura glanced at her watch and shoved back from her chair. She swallowed that last of her drink. âI have to go pick up snacks for the kids on my team. Iâll make some calls, Maureen. Maybe I can find someone.â
She had a youth football team, and football players got hungry. Very hungry. I hugged her, wished her well and felt a little of my hope shrivel inside. The bell jangled as she rushed out the door, replaced by the stillness.
Nellie passed her glass back and forth between her hands. The glass slid easily on the tabletop. I stared down at the rows of bottle caps encased beneath the acrylic top.
âTell her, Nellie,â Al called from the bar. His gaze pierced Nellie, and she stiffened.
Nellie apprehension creased her face, and she looked more pale than her normal skin color. âAre you sure? Thereâs so few left.â
He nodded. âThe girl needs help. This a crisis, Nellie. I can get more.â
I cleared my throat. What was happening? âGet more what?â I managed.
Nellie swallowed. She glanced from me to Al and back to me again. âPoisons files. They are dipped in a special kind of poison that makes their butts glow irresistibly to spiders.
