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Saturday, February 28, 2015

Testing

It seems that some of my blog posts are showing as black text on black. This is just a test.

Friday, February 6, 2015

The Catalyst -- An Original Poem by Bobbi A. Chukran

 For Freebie Friday, I offer for your entertainment an original poem reprinted from my first collection HALLOWEEN THIRTEEN--A Collection of Mysteriously Macabre Tales. Enjoy! Bobbi C.


Catalyst – A Poem

Anyone who lives with cats has observed this strange behavior.



The olde folks say that when the silvery light of the harvest moon
strikes the edge of the oak grove at just the right angle
Something from the roots of the pin oaks
slithers out and comes to life.

They say that when that Something from the roots
comes alive, it snakes its way into the
local feline population and bewitches them
like some primal bizarre fairy tale,
and their eyes gleam like rubies
and they go insane for about four hours in the
middle of the bright moonstruck night.
Their backs arch and their rat-thin tails bush up
as big as evergreen trees and this frightens them
so that they bush up even larger.

They go seeking fresh meat dripping with warm blood,
even those who usually turn up their
nose at anything but their everyday kibble,
their eyes big and dark and luminous
in the moonlight their howls will
raise the hair on the back of your neck.

The males seek females
and the young and frisky chase the old
until they fall down in a heap from exhaustion.

Hissing (oh, you've never heard such a noise!)
and growling and general caterwauling
can be heard all the way to the far side of the village
during those nights when the harvest moon
alights the edge of the grove.

At dawn the Thing slithers back
to its womb of roots and soil and stones
to await the next emergence
and the cats skulk back home,
blink their dilated eyes in surprise
at the sunlight,
curl up,  and ease their heads down
on their paws and wait…
wary and watchful,
for the next harvest moon.



Reprinted from HALLOWEEN THIRTEEN--A Collection of Mysteriously Macabre Tales
Copyright ©2014 Bobbi A. Chukran

Friday, January 23, 2015

FREEBIE FRIDAY! A Dark Southern Gothic Folktale

A free dark fantasy folktale for your weekend reading pleasure. Inspired by a Cherokee legend and first published in The Clockwise Cat and reprinted in HALLOWEEN THIRTEEN, my collection of macabre/strange short stories.

Enjoy!


Revenge of the Ulagu 
by Bobbi A. Chukran 
"Hon, I wish you wouldn't use chemicals around the house. It's not good for the kids, or for us," Coralee complained.
"You've read too many of those tree hugger magazines," Herbert said, wagging his head back and forth, squinting his little beady eyes and aiming an aerosol can of wasp spray towards a huge nest of yellow jackets up under the eaves of the farmhouse. "That's just a load of horse-shit, you ask me. Now you get back, you don't wanna get stung. You know how yeller jackets are. When I spray 'em, they're gonna go crazy! Remember last time you got stung you swole up like a melon."

Coralee stepped back inside the safety of the screen door where she cast a wary eye on Herbert. He sprayed the nest full of yellow jackets, and sure enough, they went insane, flying straight for him. He dropped the can and ran, almost escaping. One of them, however, was faster than he was. It landed on the side of his face and stung.

"Damn!" he yelled, slapping at the wasp and knocking it to the ground.

He ran back into the house and into the kitchen. Coralee frowned and cursed under her breath, hating the fact that the nest had been destroyed and hating the fact that her husband was so ignorant when it came to using toxic chemicals around the children and her garden. She knew there were better ways. Her native ancestors believed in living in harmony with the insects, birds and wildlife, and she believed the same thing. She shook her head, but made up an ice pack and applied it to the side of Herbert's face, feeling sorry for him because he was such an idiot.

That night, Herbert's head throbbed, and his jaw was swollen to the size of a baseball. "I think the stinger's still in it," Coralee said.  "We need to get the stinger out. My grandma says if you don't get that stinger out, other wasps will come back for it later."

Herbert was mule-stubborn and wouldn't let her look at it. "That's just an old wife's tale. Something your grandmother said just to vex me," he grumbled, took a few allergy capsules and went to bed. He tossed and turned for a while. The pain was almost unbearable but finally Herbert fell asleep.

About 2 a.m., Herbert was awakened by a strange thumping vibration at the bedroom window. There was a small tree beside the house, so he assumed it was a branch tapping against the windowpane. He turned over and tried to go back to sleep. Then he heard a buzzing sound, so loud that it reverberated in his head and filled his brain with nothing but the loud buzzzzz. He got up and walked to the picture window. He saw a large shadow, thought he was dreaming, but it became obvious that he was not. Herbert, not being terribly smart (and proving Coralee right about that), opened the window to get a better look. At that moment an enormous yellow jacket, the size of a large dog, flew in and attacked him, its huge stinger pressing itself into the side of his neck over and over until he was paralyzed from the venom.

His wife lay asleep in their bed, not twenty feet from the window, but she didn't hear a thing.

The yellow jacket wrapped its legs around Herbert like he was a dead fly and flew out the window, carrying him with it.

The next morning, Coralee called the county sheriff and reported Herbert missing. She told them that he had disappeared during the night, and as far as she knew, he had. The only other thing missing besides Herbert was his ugly plaid pajamas, which she said he'd worn to bed that night. She figured he'd been kidnapped since he would have certainly changed clothes had he run away from home on his own. For the life of Coralee, though, she couldn't figure out who would want to kidnap Herbert.

Three days later, while searching for Herbert, the sheriff found a cave filled with hundreds of man-sized cells, in a network of tissue paper thin walls, each holding the white grub-like larvae of oversized yellow jackets.

In the back corner was a human skeleton, wearing Herbert's ugly plaid pajamas. The body was identified by dental records (and the pajamas). His bones had been picked clean. No obvious cause for Herbert's death was ever found. As for the large larvae, entomologists were called in, but their only theory was that a few wasps had mutated because of something in the local environment. They'd never seen anything like it! The cave was sealed tight and a warning sign was erected over the entrance.

After Herbert's funeral, Coralee sat on the front porch rocking and sipping sweet tea, watching the yellow jackets hover around the door. She remembered her Cherokee grandmother telling her the story of Ulagu, a giant yellow jacket that would snatch small children and take them back to its nest to feed to its young. She remembered the story about the stinger and how they'd always come back to reclaim those they'd lost. She believed that the old stories had basic truths at their very roots.

Coralee didn't know what had really happened to poor Herbert, but she had a good idea.

In no time at all, the yellow jackets rebuilt their nest beside the front door, and as far as Coralee was concerned, it would stay there. She vowed that a wasp nest would never again be destroyed on her property.

She smiled and rocked and rocked as the yellow jackets gently buzzed around her head.


END

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Bobbi A. Chukran writes gothic small-town tales and is the author of the "Nameless, Texas" story series. She lives near Austin, TX in a tiny town full of characters that are fodder for her fiction. She gardens like a fool, herds rescue cats, blogs and carries on at http://bobbichukran.blogspot.com.




Cozy-Noir Fiction: Where rain-slick streets and cozy kitchens intersect

THE ANTHOLOGY OF COZY-NOIR
Where rain-slick streets and cozy kitchens intersect
Review by Bobbi A. Chukran




There is something for everyone in this new anthology of mystery cozy-noir fiction. Cozy-noir is that "mood indigo," murky meeting place where rain-slick streets and cozy kitchens sometimes intersect. On the surface, cozy-noir is a "self-contradicting theme," but the authors were inspired to make it work in some unique ways.

Thirteen authors, Robert Lopresti, Judy Brownsword, Magdalena Jones, Herschel Cozine, L.E. Schwaller, Percy Spurlark Parker, Michael Guillebeau, Kate McCorkle, David Himmel, Lynn Kinnaman, Wenda Morrone, John Haas and Bobbi A. Chukran (myself) contributed stories that run the gamut from dark and murderous to light and tongue-in-cheek.

The stories were set in small towns and large cities and in diverse locations---from the Ozark hills, New York City in the 1940s, a Chicago penthouse, a Canal Street bar, a pizza joint, a Texas honky tonk, a county fair, a masquerade charity ball, diners where you just might run into the wrong dame, a small town where jukeboxes play sad country songs to a home where a bedroom game turns deadly.

There are stories of lust, murder, deceit, mayhem, revenge—with a smattering of knitting and a few servings of pie.

Cowboys, mobsters, private dicks, lawyers, bodyguards, devious dames and your average Joes star in each of these stories of cozy-noir. Editor Andrew MacRae did an admirable job of selecting a diverse overview of characters, locations and story types.

Disclaimer: Although I do have a story in the book, I purchased a paperback copy from which my review was written.

http://darkhousebooks.com

Available in paperback and e-books 

Sunday, January 4, 2015

DYE, DYEING, DEAD ON SALE

For a limited time, the first "Nameless, Texas" novella is on sale at Amazon for only $1.99 this week (regular retail is $2.99). If you're a fan of Aunt Jewel, Jeremy, Kendra and the other quirky folks who live in the small Texas town just outside Austin, you'll enjoy this first longer novella in the series.


http://www.amazon.com/Dye-Dyeing-Dead-Nameless-Mystery-ebook/dp/B00M0DADFW

And while you're there, also check out the other short stories in the series.

Also available Now in E-book and paperback at these Online Retailers:
SMASHWORDS
APPLE
BARNES & NOBLE

KOBO
PAPERBACK


Happy trails!

bobbi c.

Saturday, January 3, 2015

One more time...

If you still haven't read my First Annual Christmas Gift to my Readers short story, Holly, Hemlock & Mistletoe, it's been reprinted over on the wonderful BURIED UNDER BOOKS blog, edited by Lelia Taylor

Take a look, and while you're there, check out some of the other interviews and reviews.

 https://cncbooksblog.wordpress.com/2014/12/24/a-short-story-for-your-christmas-pleasure/

Happy New Year to all!

bobbi c.


Wednesday, December 31, 2014

Blackholes and Subterranean Gremlins

Dear peeps,

I've decided that the reason I can't find things here in this new/old house is that we have some kind of timey-wimey blackholes in the walls, AND/OR we have subterranean gremlins that live under the floorboards of the house.  They must sneak up through the cracks overnight and snatch anything that interests them.

Like, for example, my notebook of story ideas.

Why is it, that the smaller my living abode shrinks, the harder it is to find stuff?

Answer me that.

After several days of pondering that question, and tearing the house apart--twice--I've decided that the only logical answer is, and I repeat...

Subterranean Gremlins.

I'm thinking they look sort of like this:

Sweet and innocent during the day, but voracious little notebook-eating buggers at night.

More study is needed on this matter.

happy trails,

bobbi c.

Saturday, December 27, 2014

Mincemeat and Murder


Where Short Story Ideas Come From. . .

I talked to my mother yesterday. I had sent her a copy of my Christmas short story "Holly, Hemlock & Mistletoe" in with her Christmas card. She's always been amazed at my stories and always wants to know where the ideas come from. She marvels at the fact that I actually have ideas, I guess. LOL. When she pressed me for details, I finally said I have more ideas than time to put them into stories.  True. But I really couldn't explain where some of them come from. She never believes me anyway since some of them are so convoluted it's hard to track the origin.

So, this morning I was relaxing and browsing online for recipes. I've recently gotten into making chutneys and such, and love tasting (in my mind) the mixtures of tart, tangy and sweet ingredients. I made two over the last few days—a delicious Pear Ginger Chutney and my annual Cranberry Sauce tarted up (literally) with oranges and candied ginger. (It's similar to Aunt Jewel's recipe for Cranberry Sauce except she's not brave enough to add the ginger. She says it gives her the colly-wobbles.)

I ran across a recipe for mincemeat, a traditional Christmas condiment. That brought back memories. My grandmother was fond of making and eating mincemeat, although as a child we hated the stuff. I wondered why that was since we'd loved her other concoctions. So I went in search for the origin of the stuff and ran across the phrase "Operation Mincemeat."

It seems that Operation Mincemeat was a WWII British "dis-information plan" carried out in order to fool the Germans into thinking that they had, by accident, intercepted 'top secret' documents.  According to an article in Wikipedia, the documents were attached to a corpse deliberately left to wash up on a beach in Spain.

 Ah, a corpse planted with false documents! Interesting! Pretty soon, my mystery-writer imagination went on overdrive and I had an idea for a story. There's still some thinking to be done, because I don't really write historical world war stories. Still, there's a hint of an idea there and actually several other authors over the years have felt the same way.

 I sure hope my mother doesn't ask for the origin of that story, because I'm not sure she'd believe it anyway.

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Copyright © 2014 Bobbi A. Chukran. All rights reserved.