Category: Uncategorized

Edgar Cantero’s novel, The Supernatural Enhancements, is a unique story about an unlikely “couple”: the mysterious “A.” and his mute companion, the seventeen-year-old Irish Niamh. The duo move from England to Axton House, a remote and decaying Gothic mansion in the Virginian wilds, after A. is named as the sole heir to Ambrose Wells’ fortune. Ambrose Wells, the deceased, is said to have left his entire estate “and all of its contents” to the hero of our story, his “second cousin twice removed”, after Ambrose takes a leap from his third-story bedroom window; the very same window, in the very same fashion, at the very same age as his father had done before him.

Cantero’s novel is an intricate web of puzzles, riddles, and interactive play-alongs, though the true genius I found in this tale is the author’s ability to give a vibrant and unique voice to a distinctly mute character. Niamh is the silent and smart companion in the background, though she has a very large presence as the backbone of the eclectic household. A. is the opposite of his female counterpart, with his young and cocky, devil-may-care attitude that sets the tone for the story. Though Niamh’s character is even younger, she is highly intelligent, charismatic and calm, and keeps our hero grounded.

The book itself is hailed as a gothic horror, though it is a mystery with gothic elements at best. The title draws you in with the tease of the supernatural, though the “supernatural elements” are interwoven into the story very lightly. It was disappointing to open this book under the pretense of settling down for a good satisfying session of thrills and chills, though despite the fact that it doesn’t live up to it’s promises, the novel still holds the reader’s interest nicely. It would be generous to say that this book is a thriller, though unfair to dismiss the intrigue of the story. All-in-all, the book is a conundrum for the mind, at times an unpleasant one, though given the fact that to confuse and befuddle the reader is seemingly the book’s exact purpose, in that respect, it does its job perfectly.

I sit silent and rigid, and somehow I’m still breathing despite this burning pain inside of me. It’s searing through my veins, and I don’t know how I’m still standing upright, but I am.

I suppose there’s a reason, a small one, that I don’t like to talk about my past, but maybe I’ve had just enough wine to do so. The things that matter to me will never matter to you, may not seem that little or big to you, but I do not care. They’re mine, and I’m telling you anyway.

I haven’t loved many men, but I have loved a few interesting ones. Each one is different and unique in their own right, and I understand how cliché that must sound, but in this case, it is very true. I don’t call them chapters in my life, I call them short stories or novellas, each of them a part of the compilation that makes up the unique anthology that is my life.

“Holy Toledo, do they have to be so loud?” I complained, rubbing my eyes.

“Wake your lazy butt up, we’re in Freeport.” Mom said, smacking me in the face with a pillow.

“Fine, fine, I’m totally awake.” I sat up and stared through one half-opened, sleep-clouded eye at the blue green waters swaying just outside the window against which my bed was situated, the sun kissing the waves as they crested. “What time is it?”

“Quarter til eight. Hurry and get dressed so we can get some breakfast before we go exploring.”

I stood up and rummaged through the ten-ton bag I had brought with me until I found one of my new swimsuits: a strapless bikini with a blue green ombre print that matched the colors of the ocean. I slipped it on, not really bothering to do any makeup but the bare minimum, and was ready to go within five minutes. Downstairs mom and I hurried through breakfast, eager to get to the beautiful ocean that tantalized just beyond the window, and away from the two shrill-voiced California girls who had been seated next to us.

We stepped off the boat and into The Straw Market just inside the port, a colorful array of huts selling anything from Bahamian wear to twenty dollar keychains that would break before you even got back to the ship. As we perused the various stores, we began to discover that just about every other hut seemed to sell the same merchandise.

“Are you ready to find the beach?” I asked. “This stuff seems to be getting kind of monotonous.”

“Yeah, we can.” We started to walk over to the taxis, when suddenly mom pointed ahead of us. “Oh, look, they have a Señor Frog’s here. You want to go check it out first?”

“Yeah, we can real quick. I’ve never seen one before.” I shrugged.

“They’re pretty fun, Doug and I went to one in Florida once. We can grab a drink before we head out to the beach.”

Did I mention my parents are cooler than me? We headed into the bar, and I took in my surroundings: crowds of people dancing to Bahamian music playing over the loudspeaker, taking shots at a bar surrounded by chairs designed to look like bikinied butts, and colorful signs that read, “You’ll have such a great time here, that if you aren’t single now, you will be after you post the pictures on Facebook.”

“What would you like to drink?” My mom asked, heading toward the bar.

“Something fruity.” I shouted over the noise.

I scanned the crowd and caught my breath as I spotted Mike standing a few feet down the bar with his friends. I quickly turned away, pretending not to have seen him, but not before I noticed his dark-haired friend…what was his name? Donald…tap on Mike’s arm and motion toward me. Mike looked over his shoulder and immediately turned around to walk toward me, with Donald and the more stern-looking one, also a fireman, I remembered, following closely behind.

“Hey,” he said, seemingly excited to see me here, which came as a little surprise. “Missed you at the bar last night. How’re you doing?”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I fell asleep on my steak.”

He giggled, and I blushed.

Suddenly the music stopped, and a man armed with a microphone hurled himself onto the bar. “Alright, everyone, it is now that time. If you’re brave enough to earn some free shots, let me hear it! Get up on this bar, it’s time to dance.”

That’s when I noticed the DJ set up in the corner.

“So…are you brave enough?” Mike asked, looking down at me.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. Are you gonna get up and dance?”

“What? No, I couldn’t.”

“Oh, come on. You’re on vacation. This is the time to live it up. You can do whatever you want, no matter how embarrassing it is, and not worry about what anyone thinks.” He winked at me.

The YMCA began to play.

“So how ‘bout it? Better decide, time’s wastin’.”

Why not? I downed the last of my drink and handed it to my mom, turning to Mike before I could change my mind.

“Alright, let’s do this. But I’m going to need some help.” His strong arms lifted me up, planting me barefoot on the bar between two girls I had never met before, and would never see again. As my mom pulled out the camera and hit record, I began to have second thoughts. What the heck am I doing? I had barely formed the thought when I glanced down into Mike’s eyes, twinkling with laughter, his giggle floating up to me over the chaos. That was all I needed.

I thrust myself into the song and began to dance, because I knew he was watching. Every time I laughed at myself I could hear him giggle, and it made me laugh harder. The laughter bubbled up inside of me, transforming my face into a glowing smile that I hadn’t felt in quite the minute. It felt good. My skin tingled, and I felt my eyes alight with excitement as I gave myself over to moment, and I did something I hadn’t done in a long time, if I ever truly had before. I let go.

As the song ended, the MC grabbed the microphone and ordered everyone to form a conga line in order to get their free shots. I felt Mike’s hands clasp me around the waist as he helped me back down, grinning from ear to ear.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“No, it was awesome! I haven’t had that much fun in a long time.” I glanced at my watch. “Eleven-thirty? I danced on the bar, half tipsy, at Eleven-thirty in the morning?”

Mike laughed. “Impressively, I might add. Again, you’re on vacation. No worries, remember?”

“And where were you, Mr. Seize the Day? Why didn’t you hop up there?”

“Eh, I couldn’t compare up there with you. I’m a terrible dancer.”

I flicked him on the arm.

“What’ve you got going on the rest of the day?” He asked.

“Mom and I are just about to head to the beach. We read in the excursions brochure that there’s a Wyndham resort around here somewhere that has a really nice one.”

“That sounds perfect. I’ve been telling these guys the whole time that I just want to see the beach. Just get me to that ocean. If you don’t mind, we might join you.”

“Not at all.” I said, blushing.

He turned to the guys. “Hey, you guys want to join them at the beach?”

“Yeah, that could work,” Donald shrugged.

“I just have to go grab my trunks,” Mike said, turning back toward me. “I’ll meet you over there by the shuttles.

“Sounds like a plan.” I said.

We smiled and waved our momentary goodbyes, and headed off in opposite directions. I walked toward the bathrooms while Mom went over to where the shuttles were gathered. When I came out, she was walking toward me looking sheepish.

“What’s up?” I asked, warily.

“Well, the fare to the beach at the Wyndham is twenty per person, one way.”

“Oh, wow. Way too expensive, the guys aren’t going to go for that anyway, I imagine.”

“There’s another beach though, a local beach with a funny name that I couldn’t really understand through the guy’s strong accent. But it’s much cheaper, and from what I hear, still pretty nice.”

“Okay, sure. Let me just go try to find Mike and let him know.”

I turned around and went off in search of the guys. I sprinted through the crowd, my eyes darting from face to face, but they didn’t seem to be back from their cabin yet. I heard my mom calling to me.

“The shuttle’s leaving. We’re going to have to go ahead without them, but I’m sure they’ll find us.”

“I don’t know,” I said, my heart pounding. “What if they don’t?” I turned to the attendant directing tourists to the proper shuttles. “Okay, listen, if you see a tall man in a pink shirt, tell him that the blonde girl said they went to the cheap beach. What’s it called?”

“Ah, you must mean Junkanoo.” The man said, smiling warmly.

“Yes, Junkanoo. He’ll be in a pink shirt, maybe a little more salmon-colored. Tell him to go to Junkanoo, okay?” I knew it was kind of a shot in the dark, but I had to do something. I climbed into the shuttle, which was more like a short bus, and settled into my seat. I stared out the window on the ride over, taking in the scenery and trying not to worry that the guys would end up paying twenty dollars for nothing, and thinking I ditched them.

“He’ll find you. Don’t worry.” Mom said, patting my leg.

I sighed as the bus came to a stop. As we disembarked, I was met with the cool sea breeze that wafted over from just beyond the bar situated at the beach’s entrance. We purchased a couple of colorful beach towels and made our way toward the beach. I could feel myself starting to relax and I couldn’t help but let the excitement in the air seep through me as Bob Marley’s “Three Little Birds” began to emanate from the bar’s speakers. We grabbed the only vacant beach chairs we could find, and Mom headed toward the bar to grab us each a tropical drink as I arranged our fresh beach towels. I sat down and pulled out the sunscreen, nearly choking on the spray as it flowed from the brand new aerosol can, greasing my skin.

I look up to see my mom walking down the beach toward me, drinks in hand, grinning a sly, toothy grin. “I just ran into Mike at the bar. Told you he’d find you.” She winked, handing me a Pina Colada.

“Really?” I asked, trying to contain my excitement.

“Yeah, he said to tell you he’ll be right down.”

I looked over to see the guys heading our way.

“You found us,” I said.

“Sure did. Ain’t no way I was going to pay twenty bucks to get to the beach. When I heard about this place, I figured I’d find you here.”

I smiled. “You ready to try out that water?”

“Yeah, oh hold on, you got sunscreen? Mind if I have some?”

“Oh yeah, sure.” I reached for the can.

“Would you mind spraying me down?”

I smiled shyly and motioned for him to face the other way. As I sprayed him down, he began choking laughingly. “You think you got enough back there?”

“Take it from a Floridian, you can never have too much sunscreen. You’ve gotta protect yourself.”

“With you in charge back there, I’ve got no worries.”

I hurriedly rubbed the sunscreen in across his muscular shoulders. “All set.” I said, putting the sunscreen back into the beach bag. “Ready?”

I followed Mike as we made our way down to the shore line.

“Alright,” he said, grabbing my hand. My cheeks pinked at his touch. “This is where we have to throw caution the wind, and just dive in head-first. You ready?”

I looked up at him and grinned. “Let’s do this.”
Together, we charged into the ocean hand-in-hand, splashing around like a couple of giddy teenagers without regard for anything in the world but what was suddenly right in front of us.

“Why do they force us to endure this?” I complained, my heavy-lidded eyes struggling to stay open as I watched the couple seated in front of me, their eight children scattered around them. Two young children had taken to climbing on the only other empty seat, the rest were crawling around at their feet playing tag, and the woman was currently nuzzling the man’s ear as if she wouldn’t mind making a ninth before the ship even left port.

 “So you don’t fall off the boat and die.” My mom laughed, rolling her eyes at me. I looked around at the diverse group of faces gathered at our shared Muster Station, D. They all looked about as anxious as I felt to get to the pool deck and wave goodbye to real life for five whole days, tequila in hand.

 “Now, if you will all just follow me to the life boats, we can conclude the safety briefing.” The squeaking voice tried desperately to maintain control as it rose from somewhere in the midst of the crowd.

 “No. I don’t wanna take a field trip, unless it’s to the bar and my packed lunch is a margarita.” I complained.

 My mom raised her eyebrows at me, smiling. “It’s only for a few more minutes. Honestly, you’re as bad as half the kids here.”

  We followed the disembodied voice, forming our very best attempts at a line, and headed out to the deck. I found my very own ten inches of space to lean up against the wall and rest my eyes. I had just gotten comfortable when I felt someone bump into me.

  “Oh, pardon me.” The woman said, as my eyes flew open.

  “Oh, it’s fine. No worries.” I smiled, readjusting myself.

  I was just about to settle back into my corner when I glanced down the breezeway, and spotted him. He was leaning toward a man with dark hair, whom I recognized as one of the guys who had been walking beside him in the café. He was laughing heartily at something the man had said. That smile.

   I stepped away from the wall and into his line of vision, just as a voice came over the loud speaker to announce the conclusion of the safety briefing. He turned away from me to follow his friends before I could catch his eye, and I felt my mom tug my arm in the opposite direction. I tried to look behind me, but the crowd was growing too boisterous over the excitement that our vacation was about to truly begin. I had lost him once again.

***

   It was truly baffling to me that someone I had barely any knowledge of above the fact that he existed, could stay with me like this. It felt crazy, and I began to question my sanity as I lifted my cover-up over my head. I prided myself on being logical, always making sure to never get lost in romantic notions, because I’ve seen one too many times just how “well” romantic fantasies can turn out.

  But still.

 My mom caught sight of my puzzled expression and asked me what was up. I explained to her about the man I had seen, twice now, and how his face had lit up the first time we laid eyes on each other. Just the way she had said they would, I admitted grudgingly.

   My mom smiled to herself. “You know, I had the same feeling when I met your dad.  He was sitting a few chairs in front of me at a country dance bar in downtown Indianapolis. He kept glancing over his shoulder at me and oh, what a smile. Of course that night, I was with my friend Janna, who caught the attention of a lot of men during that time, so I figured he was smiling at her. He wasn’t. I went to the restroom and when I came out a few minutes later, he was gone. This inexplicable panic suddenly overcame me. It made no sense. I thought to myself, ‘What if I never see him again? Why does it matter so much?’ I had no explanation for it whatsoever. All I really knew, was that I felt if he didn’t come back, I had missed out on something amazing. And, well, as you know, I would have.” She winked at me.

   She was talking about my stepdad, but the only dad to me, and the best man I knew. He had raised me since I was seven, and he and my mom shared something special, almost on an otherworldly level. Granted, they never missed a chance to purposely gross me out with their PDA that could rival any pair of teenagers going through puberty, but they are my parents, and it’s kind of in their job description to embarrass me. Even so, for the last nineteen years I had watched my mom’s face glow whenever his car pulled into the driveway, and I always thought to myself, I want a love like theirs. I swore to myself I wouldn’t settle for anything less.

    We made our way up to the tenth deck, and I reveled in the chance to finally relax by the pool. I spread out my towel and leaned back in my chair, basking in the glow of the mere prospect of nothing on the agenda but relaxation for the next week. I didn’t need to worry about love. I didn’t need to worry about wishy-washy friends. Come what may, I was as free as the tropical breeze caressing my cheek.

   “Yes, I will have a Rum Runner and my daughter will have a…what did you want, sweetie?”

   “Sex on the Beach. The drink of course,” I explained, my lips pulling into a half smile as my mom gave my arm a light slap. I raised my eyebrows over my sunglasses with an innocent, “What? I’m on vacation,” and smiled at the waiter. Just then, a flash of blue at the corner of my eye caught my attention, and I glanced down toward the pool on the deck below.

   My pulse quickened as he rounded the pool, alongside his two buddies. As I watched him make his way up the spiral staircase to the deck where I was sitting, my mind raced. How do I get him to notice me again? I couldn’t let him pass by a third time without at least trying. Wait, what? Who cares? You do, stupid. No. Yes. Go! Suddenly and without thinking, I stood up and whipped off my neon pink bathing suit cover-up, just as he and his friends approached.

   “This looks like a good spot,” I heard him say, as he nodded toward me.

   They settled their towels onto three lounge chairs just a few feet away. I settled back into my chair and listened to him order a bucket of beer from the pool boy. I tried to pay attention to the words coming out of my mom’s mouth, but all the while I couldn’t help but keep my ears trained to the boys’ conversation.

   Now, I could drum up every cliché in in my limited memory of English literature, spout off every Shakespearean sonnet that I could scrape out from the corners of my dusty memory, and still the words would feel too inadequate to describe what happened next.

    I know that the right words are inside of me somewhere. Elusively floating through my mind and allowing only brief, tantalizing flashes of recognition, like a horde of teasing fireflies on a hot summer’s eve. But something is blocking them from showing themselves at full force, and I don’t pretend to not know what that something is.

     Fear.

     I am afraid to tell you of the moment when I first met him.

     Putting the feelings into words would only make them more real, and would make it impossible to continue running from them. Admitting them would mean admitting that it wasn’t all in my imagination. Something inexplicable did happen to me. That may very well never happen again. That what my heart reminds me of every night is in fact more than true. That if happiness were a tangible thing, I have tasted it, touched it, breathed it in to the far reaches of forever, only to be banished from it, yet cursed to always remember. Admitting the truth of what happened to me would bring to painful light the fact that any sort of love that must have once held meaning in my life, was never truly real. Which would be a sad thought if I could’ve, at that moment, remembered knowing any person at all besides the man that sat so near, uttering those first beautiful words to me:

     “Would you like a beer? You look like you need a beer.”

     My heart leapt into my throat, rendering me incapable of forming sentences for a full five seconds as I realized I had been caught staring.

     “Er, uh….” I mumbled eloquently as I grasped the Bud from his outstretched hand, the bottle nearly slipping from my fingers as the condensation mingled with the clamminess of my nervous palm.

      “Take it.” My mom whispered, as she nudged my arm more forcefully than she’d intended. Subtlety was never her strong suit.

     “Ma, I got this.” I hissed over my shoulder.

     “Is this your mom?” He asked, his lips drawing upward into a knowing half-smile, his warm brown eyes sparkling as my mom leaned around me to introduce herself.

     “We decided to take this vacation together because when she was four years old, I promised her that if she stuck it out and graduated college, I’d take her on a week-long cruise and she has never let me forget it,” my mom said, smiling at me. Sure, mom, just launch right into my life story, starting with the barely-out-of-diapers years. Yayness.

     “Well, I have to hear this story.” He said, climbing over two deck chairs and settling himself inches from me.

     “Now she has two degrees and a job that drives her crazy. I get a call one day on her lunch break and she goes, ‘Mom, I just can’t take it anymore! I need a vacation. Hey, you know, about that cruise you promised me twenty-two years ago…”

     “Ha, yeah…I was having a rough day and needed some air.”

     “The Bahamas sure are a good choice for a little breathing room, lemme tell ya.” He giggled, a kind of laugh I’d never heard coming from a man before. Especially not one that possessed a six-foot five, muscular as all get-out frame such as his. I normally found myself attracted to manly men (which, honestly leaves me no excuse whatsoever for the last Nancy I dated), and giggling wasn’t the usual sort of laugh I considered to be a manly trait. But for some reason, the sound was enchanting coming from this man’s lips.

     “Oh look, there goes the guy with the island drinks. I think I’m thirsty. Be back later.” Mom said, shooting me a sly wink as she ran to chase down the unsuspecting pool boy. I glanced down the glass sitting beside the leg of her chair, filled to the brim, its tiny little umbrella swaying in the wind. I smiled to myself and turned in my chair to face the man who held his hand out for me to take.

     “Hey there. I’m Mike.”

***

     “So…”

     “What?”

     “How was it? He’s the guy, right?” My mom sat forward expectantly, taking a sip of her sparkling Moscato. I rested my chin in the palm of hand, my eyes growing heavy once again.

     “Eh, you know,” I shrugged my shoulders nonchalantly, a weary smile spreading across my face. “Ain’t no thing but a chicken wing. Amiright?”

     “Oh, I’m sure.” My mom laughed, tossing her white cloth napkin at my face.

     “We just talked for a little bit by the pool.”

     “A little bit? I was gone for two and a half hours.”

     “Was it that long? It didn’t seem like it.

     She smiled knowingly. “I finally had to come back to get you so you wouldn’t starve.”

     “Wow. It seemed like only a few minutes. He’s a country boy from Georgia. And he giggles. Did I tell you he giggles?”

     “Yes, you mentioned it a few times.” She grinned.

      “It’s the coolest sound.”

     “Yes, you mentioned that, too.”

     “And he’s a fireman…”

     “A giggling fireman?”

     “It’s the cutest thing.”

     “But this thing ain’t none but a chicken wing, right?”

     “Right.”

     “I see.”

“He wanted me to join them in some bar somewhere on the ship for the Georgia-Florida game, but I’m really tired.” I said, my head beginning to slip off my hand.

     “That’s probably best, isn’t it? You’d have been torn as to who to root for, wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t want to make your new boyfriend mad.”

     “Mom, it’s the Gators…nobody likes the Gators. Floridians don’t even like the Gators…” I felt a sudden jolt as she tapped me on the arm with her spoon. “What? What happened…what?”

     “You’re falling asleep on your steak. Do you need to go back to the room?”

     “Yeah, I think I’m going to turn in for the night.” I glanced at my watch. 8:30. “Wow, if I hurry I can catch the Golden Girls. Just slap some nylons on me and call me Dorothy.”

     “Dorothy? At the rate you’re going with these guys, I think Blanche would be more appropriate.”

     “It’s sad that I get that reference. On second thought, a tiny little romance couldn’t hurt.”

If I am truly honest with myself, my deep need to roam began after I met you, and I realized I could never scrape you from my memory. I’d wander from place to place, never staying for too long, all the while knowing, but refusing to admit that I was looking for you. I was running from you, and yet running toward you. Where I really wanted to be was right back there on that island, yet I never want to see it again. Because I know that if I ever go back there, back to the place where the sunset kisses the water, you won’t be there. I will only be left standing at the water’s edge, alone, searching the horizon for your shadow.

I knew it. I knew that once I was home, I would miss the mountains so badly that it would eat away at me, little by little, each day. Maybe not to the point of being noticeable at first. Lately, I’ve been so busy with a job that I’m in love with, seeing old friends, and running around in the Florida Sunshine to keep my mind off what I’m missing. But late at night, when I’m fast asleep, I dream of it. I dream of the cool mountain breeze, I dream of the people that I met, and the life-changing experiences that I had. The ones that took so much out of me, that that they stole a piece of my heart that I fear I may never have back. How do you consider yourself whole again, once you’ve left bits and pieces of yourself around the world?

By day, I have an amazing job that makes me feel wonderful inside; I have a beautiful office with a view of the water. I get to dress up like the business woman I’ve always dreamed of being, in my don’t-mess-with-me heels, and my let’s-make-a-deal suit. By day, I’m Arielle the Marketing Specialist, working for a company I whole-heartedly believe in, with a team that feels like home. I do what I love, I love what I do, and I get to sit at my desk and create to my heart’s content. But by night…

In my dreams, I go back. In my dreams, I’m eating a Subway sandwich on the banks of my beautiful, peaceful, crystal-clear Jenny Lake. In my dreams, I’m leaning out the window of a muddy red jeep, pushing back tree branches because the road is so narrow that one inch over, and we’re running into trees and bushes and leaving the kinds of dents and scratches that you really can’t explain to Dad. In my dreams, I’m carrying a pail out to the well to hand-crank the pump, and fill it up with water. In my dreams, I’m driving down the endless stretch of Grey’s River Road, and leaning out the window to watch the dust fly into the air, clouding so thick that it chokes you. I see myself grabbing the “Oh dear Lord Handle” and leaning out the window nervously from 8,000 feet up the edge of a mountain, exploring those hardcore trails with nothing between us and the ground because, guardrails? Them’s for sissies. I see myself shirking the seatbelt, because to hell with safety. If we’re going tumbling over the side of that mountain, what good will it do us, anyway?

I see myself climbing up Intermittent Spring, and, I won’t pretend to be a hero…I never did make it to the top, because, well, baby steps. But I made it far enough to raise eyebrows, and that’s good enough for me. I made it far enough to have a “special spot” that was a little cut out rock oasis, with a natural rock shaped like a seat, where only those brave enough (me) could go and sit and ponder life, as you watch one of only three springs in the WORLD do its intermittin’ thang.

I see myself running into the wide open spaces. Then I see myself being out of breath of course, because, well, altitude. I see myself stopping and lying back on the grass, and wincing with pain because of course I just sat right down on a thistle. Then I see myself leaning back on my tattered backpack, staring up at the early morning sky and listening to a hawk’s cry overhead.

Yes, I’m fickle, and let’s just get that bit of truth out of the way. I like what I like, I love what I love, and I won’t who I don’t. I want security, but I crave my independence. I want to be loved, but I want to be free. I want to be protected, but I want to fight for myself. In public, I will probably never say a word. But in my heart, I’m wild and untamed, and that will never change. I will always go with what my heart tells me, no matter what words may fall out of the mouths of those who try to caution me. This I know, and in my experience it’s always brought me more good than harm. So still, I go with it.

I always thought that one day, I’d tell my side of the story of what happened that summer. I sat back and watched as I was called names, and blasted publicly all over social media because I had the strength to leave a bad situation that manifested out of necessity. Truth be told, I’ve been through worse, felt more deeply, and still, I keep going. And that’s just it: that’s all there is to tell. Some say I snuck out. That may be so. I had a boyfriend, and it wasn’t right. So one day, while he was at work, I took the car, rented my own, hopped a plane, and found my way back home. Call it what you will. I call it the beginning of everything.

I fell in love with so many people, places, and things that summer. And like many other rare experiences I hold close to my heart, I will never, ever scrape the memories of that summer from my soul. Why would I want to, anyway? I’ve lived. And that, in and of itself, is a precious gift.

It was author Lisa Cron that once said, “Storytelling trumps beautiful writing, every time.” For this reason, I gave Sarah Rayne’s The Bell Tower five blazing stars. Which is not to say that Rayne’s writing wasn’t beautiful, intriguing, and utterly absorbing, because it was. However, there were a few inconsistencies throughout the novel, and let’s just say, the punishment never fit the crime. But hey, when was there ever a Gothic novel in the history of existence that didn’t involve bawdy, over-dramatized terror, and salacious horror? And as far as over-dramatized, the plot fell just below my, “I can’t take this, but I love it” line.

The Bell Tower is the sixth, and Dear Lord please not the last, book in Sarah Rayne’s Michael Flint/Nell West Haunted House Mystery series. The novel opens with a revival of the Revels, an ancient monastic tradition in a small village on the Dorset coast. After a hundred years has passed, all that remains of the original monastery is an ancient, Gothic, and all-out creepy bell tower, home to the equally ancient, massive, and of course “dead” bell. The tower is situated near the creatively-named “Cliff House,” a dilapidated mansion situated on, well, a cliff. We find our heroine and her dashing, Oxford don hero preparing to travel for a long weekend of festivities filled with music, dancing, and, of course, ancient murder mysteries and madness, that, of course, somehow has direct ties back to (where else?) Nell West’s very own home and antique shop.

The tone throughout the novel was suspenseful throughout, without being too-over-the-top, and when any terrifying situation came to its horrific conclusion it was more like, “gee, well… that escalated quickly.” But the story kept me engrossed, fascinated, and I read it in less than twenty-four hours, and for that reason, I fell in love with this novel despite its few and far-between flaws. Isn’t that what true love is all about?

1943. Amidst his life in a war-torn city, Max Carver’s father, the local watchmaker and Max’s namesake, announces that he is immediately uprooting his family to live in a dilapidated old mansion on the coast. Max, a city boy, is not at all pleased with his father’s decision, and his gloomy attitude grows ever darker as he soon discovers that his new house is steeped in tragic history. Upon Max’s discovery of an overgrown garden filled with eerily familiar stone statues, Max and his sister, Alicia, are propelled directly into the path of the mysterious, fog-shrouded being known as The Prince of Mist. Along with their new friend, Roland, the grandson of the local lighthouse keeper, the three friends set out to uncover the mystery of the creature, and his connection to the old estate, a mystery that all seems to center on the tragedy of one little boy who drowned there over a decade ago.

This book was the first published by one of my favorite authors, Carlos Ruiz Zafon, and it shows.  The book grew disappointing fairly early on, when it became apparent that the plot lacked any rhyme or reason. As the characters moved through solving the mystery at the heart of the novel, their minds continuously surmised that the clues would eventually “fall into place and make sense.” However, though I faithfully waited, holding to the promise of a satisfying conclusion, I was sorely disappointed.

Though the well-known and loved Carlos Ruiz Zafon of the Shadow of the Wind gothic archetype tries to emerge from the depths through some of the atmospheric descriptions, the book still reads more like a short story passed around in a creative writing class, rather than a novel. The complex plot seems too-simply written, even for the Young Adult genre. “Susie said ‘hello’ to Sally. Sally sat down next to Susie.” This happened, and then this. Boom, boom, boom. Check and mate. I was so annoyed with the plot by the time that the tenth chapter rolled around, that I honestly was not surprised with, nor did I care about the outcome. In fact, I felt I was given very little time to care about any of the characters at all.

As I said before, the book has an overly complex plot, creating so many questions, and leaving its readers with very few of them answered. At times it seems as if the reader is flung head-first into a scene, with very little to grab onto. One idea after another was strung together, with very little to connect each detail to the next. In short, this story could stand to be more developed.

Carlos, oh Carlos, I still love you. And I am bearing in mind that this was your first novel. For a love such as the one I have for your books doesn’t hold on to the past. So, that being said, your past is exactly that, in the past, and now that I’ve read it, I’m going to leave it there.

 

A darkened wood. The rustling of leaves behind you. Shadowy ghosts slipping from the waters. Cries in the night. These are the sounds that will chill your bones as you race through the new adrenaline-pumping, fast-paced thriller by Calvin Demmer.

Lara Adams and her college boyfriend, Ray, are in a rut. Ray’s charismatic charm that had first made him irresistible to her, has begun to dim. So the couple agree to on an adventure as a last-ditch effort to revive their deadened relationship. They travel overseas to China, in what is to be Lara’s first, and possibly last, trek abroad. It isn’t long before the pair find themselves lost in a dense wood, at the height of the Zhong Yuan Jie, or “The Hungry Ghost festival”. It isn’t long before the pair are forced to pull themselves away from their petty issues, and smacked in the face with real, life-threatening drama.

The character structure and development was well-rounded for such a short story. You get a good sense of the dynamic between Lara and Ray, and begin to feel Lara’s disgust and frustration almost from the start of the book, as you tire of their lifeless relationship right along with her. So many questions ran through my mind as I devoured Lara’s plight. I would love to see this story developed into a full-length novel, complete with answers to questions that this intriguing story stirred up in my mind: What city in China are they in exactly (so that if, I ever have the money, I know to definitely never spend it on a trip there), and a more detailed history of this mysterious festival. Where did it originate from?  Is there a legend? What about the former lives of these now-ghosts? After all, they were once human, feeling creatures themselves…

I have very few negative things to say about this book. Despite the few spelling and grammatical errors, the story quickly picks up the pace, and keeps the reader hooked to the finish.