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wants is a little freedom.
grandmother’s old house in Black Cat Springs, she simply can’t refuse the
deal. Cheap rent and distance from her parents is exactly what she’s
always wanted…and a handsome new neighbor seals the deal.
drawn to a mysterious fence in the woods, and despite her better judgement
and the dark legends surrounding it, she sneaks inside, learning that some
things from her past are better left contained…
Dorothea’s future. And whatever she does, one thing is certain—she cannot
trust her instincts.
details becoming foggier…
the cemetery. Until now, I hadn’t paid much attention to the old graves,
assuming most of its residents had died hundreds of years ago, based
on how crumbled and weathered the tombstones were.
grass, facing one of the small headstones. Her back to me, she looked stoic,
almost like a part of the graveyard itself.
passed. Off to the right, I spotted the same old farm road from the
other day, and I picked up speed, enjoying the hot
wet vibrations of the wind passing by. As I turned sharply, I took
one last look back toward the cemetery. Expecting to see the stone-like
woman, I was surprised to see her gone already.
Like I did a couple of days ago, I veered off the beaten path and
slipped through the gap in the trees that led to the
place, noting that the fence was twisted and bent in spots. Instead of
running in the direction of town like I did the other day, I took a new
route, going the opposite direction.
it goes, I decided resolutely. It was silly and childish, but I suddenly
felt this insatiable need to satisfy the curiosity burning inside me…and
as I ran, I could feel the same high from last night returning. The touch and
smell of Adam still clung to my skin…
something behind the foliage, or the lake I thought I’d seen the other
day, but after jogging nearly a mile, it was more of the same.
clearing, I could see a dirt road with no houses on it.
hear that dog beyond the fence again? I’d almost forgotten about the
the trees and the slight clinking sounds of the fence rattling.
my sweat-soaked hair, causing me to shiver. What had started out as a
bright sunny day, was suddenly getting colder…and darker. The fence seemed to
stretch for miles, and I was suddenly hit with a strange sense akin to walking
in the desert. Is that the end of the fence line I see? Or is this
some sort of twisted mirage?
what did in fact look like the end of the fence line. The fence itself curled
around, moving in another direction. One spot in the fence looked open. It
was shaking in the wind, the culprit of the clinking sounds I’d heard only
the corner where the fence turned, I realized it was loose. There was a tiny
gap at the end, a jagged opening that looked to have been created by
could change my mind, I did a quick look around to make sure I was
alone, and then I tried to squeeze through the gap. The metal wires were
jagged in spots, and even sucking in my small belly, I barely made it
I stopped to observe my wounds, catching my breath. They were superficial, but
bleeding. Thoughts of tetanus drifted through my mind, but I quickly tried
to dispel them, using my shirt itself to wipe blood away from the tiny
Impulsively, I pushed through it, trying to stay as quiet as possible. I
don’t see any ‘No Trespassing’ signs, but the fence made it very clear…I’m
not supposed to be back here.
ground, so I took my time, pushing through the trees and prickly bushes. There
was no sound; no birds, no nothing, as I entered the dense forest.
couldn’t see it now through the murky wall of trees behind me I’d
just passed through.
prayedthat I wouldn’t get lost.
was so important it had to be fenced in and kept secret like Fort Knox…
widening. I was approaching something…but what that something was, I couldn’t
or water source. Was this the water I spotted through the trees the other
followed it like a beacon. A few yards later, I nearly stepped right up to
the edge of the lake as it seemed to appear out of nowhere.
night, I recognized the same bright white blue water. Mist hovered like a
blanket above it.
the other side of the lake. There were triangular shaped hills in the distance
and a thick white fog hovering around them.
smooth white marble and stone, a building or monument of some
sort standing in the distance.
this far. I had to see what else there was back here…
grew closer, I realized it had crumbling steps leading up to a flat empty
square of space.
went to the center of it, turning around in circles on the flat
echoed for miles…
went back to the steps, plopping down on the top stair. From here, I could see
the brilliant blue lake below, and although I was still not as high as the
trees, I could see farther across the expanse of land on the other side of the
rest. Even from this far away, I could see that it dwarfed every other
tree and plant around it.
branches pointing in every direction.
this property. I wonder why they let it go…
I screamed and jumped up, nearly tumbling down the high stony stairway.
to see a boy standing on
the flat square surface above.
as though he was trying to figure me out.
h-here. You frightened me.”
a low as a whisper. His skin was white as milk, his hair and eyes nearly
matching the shocking bright blue of the lake. If it wasn’t for the hollowed
out cheeks and deep purplish marks beneath his eyes, he would have looked
you expected?” His voice was so strange, as was his question, and I found
myself getting scared. I was suddenly aware of how alone I was.
wearing any shoes.
black shirt that looked homemade.
eager to leave.
or slightly younger. When I glanced back, his expression was sad now, as
though I’d disappointed him.
standing no more than ten feet away, his words vibrated against my
skin. The question reminded me of Adam’s question the other day, and I
felt my insides constrict.
so sure of anything…
the edges of his lips, his words melodic.
this stranger. A stranger who claims to know you, I reminded myself.
bare feet lined up with the edge. From here, he looked eight feet tall…and
raced down the steps and back along the water’s edge, careful not to
slip in, and when I found a decent-sized gap in the trees, I darted
through. How did he know my name? That question pierced through
my mind over and over as I ran.
imagine my relief a few moments later, when I saw the glint of metal up
twisted metal. Keeping my hand on the fence, I followed it east, until
I found the same jagged hole I came in through.
the metal tore straight through my shirt, slicing a deep cut in my belly.
over my shoulder a few times for the boy. But he wasn’t there, and for that, I
Book: Midnight Moss
Files trilogy, Horror High series, 13: An Anthology of Horror and Dark Fiction,
Grayson’s Ridge, and This Is Not About Love. I like to write what I like to
read—which is a little bit of everything!
complete novel until about five years ago. I couldn’t find a book to read, so I
got this crazy idea—why not try to write my own story? It was harder than I
thought, but I fell in love with the idea of being able to control the outcome
of a story. It felt like reading, only I got to decide what happened next. I
never expected to get a publishing contract, but once I did, there was no going
back. I was hooked!
story combines several ideas that have been rolling around in my head for a
while. As a child, there was this section of our neighborhood that was mysteriously
fenced off, so that’s where the “mysterious fence” comes into play. I also love
the idea of old houses and magic keys, so I was able to use that in the story
as well. I usually write horror and dark fiction, but I have a serious love for
fantasy and paranormal stories, so this book was so much fun to write.
thing about writing is it’s like a drug for me. When I do it, I feel better.
And as soon as I’m finished with one book, I’m ready to go looking for my next
story idea, or “fix”. I can see that as being a good and bad thing. I get
obsessed with a story while I’m writing, and I work on it compulsively. So, it
can be a pretty exhausting process for me.
tell you that everything we see/hear/feel gets stored away in our memory banks
to use later for our books. I like to write about serious social issues, but I
also enjoy the escape of a magical story and light fun.
to things and do them all the way. I’m also loyal and I have a good memory, so
I usually remember birthdays and old stories LOL.
tells me that one of my books affected them, or made their day a little
brighter. But I try not to get upset over bad reviews, and I don’t change my
stories based on what readers want. I just write what I want to write, and hope
that people will like it. But if not, that’s their choice. As a book lover
myself, I know that some books everyone claims to love aren’t my favorite. I
know I can’t be everyone’s favorite all of the time, and I’m okay with that.
paperbacks and I always—ALWAYS—have a book with me everywhere I go. I can’t
remember the last time I didn’t fall asleep with a book on my chest.
dark trilogy about a twisted town filled with the worst kind of monsters—the
humankind. The Horror High series is a three-book series about a creepy school
nicknamed “Horror High” where the cheerleaders are constantly being taunted by
an unknown “sociopath.” My other books are women’s fiction, mystery, and
like readers to know what would it be?
fact that they took the time to read my book makes my heart soar, and means
more to me than I could put into words.
that you enjoy Midnight Moss as much as I enjoyed writing it!
author of the Flocksdale Files trilogy, Horror High series, 13: An Anthology of
Horror and Dark Fiction, Grayson’s Ridge, and This Is Not About Love. She
writes horror, thriller, mystery, paranormal and dark women’s fiction. She
lives in Floyds Knobs, Indiana.