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Romantic Suspense Author    Each day holds the possibility for Romance and Adventure
HomeWriting NewsBook InfoContact    Short Stories

​These short stories are from a writing exercise and I've  posted them here just for fun. I hope you enjoy reading them. Thanks again for checking out my website. 
 “Bloody Harry’s”      
A Contemporary Vampire Shorty 

      Harry Bouffant peeked between the velvet mulberry curtains and flinched at the agitated crowd gathering in the parking lot. His cabaret, “Bloody Harry’s” was one of the largest and oldest establishments on Bourbon Street in New Orleans. And other than that one time a new employee caught a customer “freely” donating blood, he had not had any problems with the local humans. 

      The mere thought of sinking his canines into someone’s neck gave him a case of violent shivers. Being a gay, germ-a-phobic vampire in the 21st century was actually working out for Harry. He had a good thing going here and he wasn’t about to be put to the stake because of a few, recent, barbaric murders. 

      He glanced back through the curtains. The hysterical mod was growing and he knew there was only one thing he could do to clear his name. Sneering, he tossed back his long blond waves, pinched his pale cheeks and straightened the ruffled collar of his lavender, Louie the Fourteenth blouse. He thrust open the eight foot oak doors with their inlaid Tiffany windows, and stepped into the light. He stood like an alabaster God, exposed and vulnerable to his subjects. 

      Drawing in a deep breath, he declared in a voice trained for the stage, “A vampire I may be, a snappy dresser indeed. Yet to bite and suck for my nourishment, of this horrid charged I’m innocent.”  





"Coranna’s Loss"
 Dystopian Fiction Shorty

      A soft humming, purring sound jarred Coranna awake. The cold metal surface at her back brought her current situation into the light. Years of training and service as a pilot in the Fifth Logistics Regiment had taught her to abstain from reacting to a situation before obtaining all the essential information. Certain she was being monitored Coranna utilized breath control exercises she’d learned during her instruction. This had proven extremely beneficial several times in her career, though she had never awoke naked on a medical table with tubes and wires connecting her to machines before.  

      Her mind reeled as she replayed the events of the attack on her transporter. She wasn’t sure of the timeline. Had it only been a few hours or had she been held in stasis. If that were the case, the Renegade Corp most likely had deprogrammed her by now to learn the coordinates of the Fifth’s Mobile Depot. 

      Surrounding instruments droned on and beeped softly. Then somewhere on the fringe of her psyche a voice whisper her name. Had she conjured him up out of some warped sense of guilt? If so, why now? It couldn’t be him, he was dead. She’d held his lifeless body in her arms. His voice returned. He spoke a sequence of numbers, twenty-four, eighty-five, seventeen and six. 

      What did it mean? Coranna tried to open her eyes, but found she couldn’t move.  She had a feeling whatever was planned for her wasn’t going to be a pleasing experience.  

  “Incriminating Evidence”
A Mystery 

        Trembling, Karyn gulped the last of a lukewarm cup of coffee hoping to wash away the bile creeping up the back of her throat. She closed the newspaper, only to be confronted by the unsettling photo of the all-too-familiar farmhouse on the front page. Police tape prohibited the morbidly interested from the grizzly scene twenty-five yards beyond.  

        The headlines read, “Double Murder Shocks Small Community.” Glued to the article, Karyn reread the piece for the third time, hoping that she’d somehow missed the paragraph stating that it had all been a joke, a sick Halloween prank. But no, the dreadful incident hadn’t been staged. Uncle Pete and Auntie Peg were dead. 

        She glanced up and exhaled. Unable to focus, her gaze drifted around the tiny kitchen. The pounding behind her eyes was deafening. She massaged her temples to no avail.  

        She should call the police. But, how was she going to explain that a birthday gift she’d given her uncle when she was ten—now lay covered in dried blood in the middle of her kitchen table. 

        Would they believe her story that the letter opener had just appeared on her back steps this morning? Or would she only be slipping the noose around her neck. 

        Karyn jerked. Her gaze shot toward the back door at the sound of a loud knock. She sat paralyzed when the outline of a tall figure appeared behind the sheer curtain.