As the Moon Climbs

“Great as usual, Sara,” Mike said, studying the sores and wounds lining his green-tinged arms.

Sara smiled. “Thanks. Send the next victim over, please? Six more and we can start shooting when Steve is ready.”

Mike ambled over to the group huddled around the coffee cart, nodding in Sara’s direction. One actor tossed his cup and took his place in the makeup chair. Soon, he sported a dangling fake eye and ragged flaps of skin over bloody, striated muscle. His fellow extras each repeated the process until the zombie mob was assembled and appropriately macabre.

“I’ll be in my trailer if anyone needs touch-ups,” Sara called. A chorus of groans answered, and she chuckled.

Inside her tiny home away from home, she sat in front of the vanity and studied her reflection critically. She’d smiled too much; the skin around her mouth had warped a bit. And her damn ear was giving her trouble again; the Caribbean heat was murder on skin glue. But then, they didn’t call her the world’s best zombie makeup artist for nothing.

Nothing like a little bickering in the dog days of summer. We’re all doing it anyway, right? No, just me? Oh well.

Kristen at Take It As It Comes is graciously hosting the Bickering Blogfest so we can all get some nastiness out of our systems. This excerpt is from my last NaNoWriMo novel, which continues to be in progress. The main character is Dr. Katherine Lancaster, a literature professor trying to recover a stolen occult book that can bring about the end of the world. Eliza is her TA and Phillips is a psychic and old friend.

Note: Phillips has a bit of a potty mouth, so if the occasional naughty word offends, please do not continue reading.

* * * * *

“Go away,” Phillips shouted from somewhere inside the building. “I’m closed.”

“It’s me, Phillips,” Katherine shouted back. “I need your assistance again.”

“Tomorrow!” he yelled. “Need sleep.”

Katherine rapped firmly on the glass door and continued rapping until Phillips opened it, frowning and rubbing his eyes.

“Are you still able to read?” he said, gesturing at the door.

“Read what?” Eliza asked.

“The sign that clearly states that I am, to use the French parlance, not fucking open.”

“There is no sign,” Katherine said. “Stop being cheeky, I need your help.”

Phillips looked at the front of the door and sighed heavily. “No sign, damn, where is that blasted sign…” He released the door to rummage around behind a curtain, and Katherine pushed it open and shouldered her way inside, Eliza fast on her heels.

Triumphantly, Phillips held up an ornate metal sign that read “CLOSED” and waved it in Katherine’s face. “See, look, closed. Unavailable. Absolutely exhausted. Now make like a tree and go away.”

“I need you to find someone,” she said. “The person who stole my book.”

“If you know who stole it, then call the police,” he grumbled. “I have a full marching band playing Souza in my head and I have no interest in dowsing until it stops.”

“The police won’t be any help and you know it.”

“Yeah,” Eliza interjected. “I got rear ended a year ago and they still haven’t caught the jerk who did it. I gave them his license plate number and everything.”

“My heart bleeds,” Phillips replied. “Unless you’ve discovered the cure for a psychic hangover, make yourself scarce so I can get back to my appointment with Club Bed.”

“I’ll pay double your hourly rate,” Katherine said. “Time is of the essence.”

Now she had his attention. “Triple plus expenses, which will include a nice steak dinner at Christy’s.”

“Double and I won’t tell your boyfriend about that night in Vegas.”

Phillips paled. “That’s blackmail, you bitch!”

“Oh, fine, double and lunch at Morton’s.”

“I just don’t know,” Phillips said, closing his eyes and posing dramatically with the back of his hand against his forehead. “I am so overtired already…”

“Take it or leave it,” Katherine said. “I don’t have time to waste. I’m sure there are plenty of other well-rested psychics looking for work.”

“Fine, fine, slave driver. Do you have an object I can use to hone in on this person? Hmm? Or am I supposed to just wave a magic wand and–”

“I have something,” Katherine said. “A photograph.”

“That should do nicely. Let’s get into my reading room. I’ve got dowsing stuff set up in there.”

As they walked down the hall, Eliza leaned over to her and whispered, “How did you get a picture of Hernandez so fast?”

“That’s not important,” Katherine replied. “What matters is finding him as quickly as possible.”

In the thick of the fight, he had ignored the screaming alarm that he now knew signaled a malfunction in his yaw sensor. His only worry was avoiding the nearest enemy’s cannons, weaving and dodging until he was no beyond pursuit. But with the sensor broken, his guidance systems were worthless; he couldn’t be sure in which direction he had fled, or more importantly, how to get back to the fleet. He’d tried to raise them on comlink but either he or they were too far to receive the transmission.

A few times during his training period, when the station’s lights dimmed for the mandatory sleep cycle, he’d had nightmares of being stuck out in space like this, his short-range ship parsecs from any inhabited world. But this wasn’t a bad dream. At first, he sat in shock, staring at the stars that flickered light-years away. Then as the hours passed, he screamed and cried, made deals with deities that turned a deaf ear. Finally, he settled into a sort of calm and reached for the pain-numbing pills in the first aid kit.

He set the ship turning so he could see what was around him. There, in the distance, was what he had hoped to see: the solar system’s star, a red giant slowly collapsing into a white dwarf. He studied its beautiful, bright corona and smiled.

“Twilight and evening bell,” he whispered. “And after that, the dark.”

He set his ship on a collision course and disabled the self-preservation overrides, then swallowed all his pills at once. He knew he would be long gone before they ever reached the star, far away as it was, but he’d make it someday. At least this way, his passing in the empty blackness would end with blazing light.

Choose one person to start.
Follow directions carefully.
Drive to the darkest place possible on the appointed night, as far away from streetlights and city lights as possible.
Wait for an appropriate song. Anything with a heavy beat will do.
Hold one end of each shoelace in each hand.
Don’t cut into the flesh.
Experiment creating hard consonant sounds such as a “k” or “t.”
Imagine your lungs as a tire around your body expanding and contracting on the back and sides of your torso, not just the front.
Sit and look closely at rocks in one area.
Make a list of foreign films you want to see.
Draw and redraw as often as needed to get the desired shape.
Move your tongue while inhaling or exhaling to change the space inside your mouth.
Do not try to persuade anyone who seems reluctant to join a conga line.
Shorten the string if it’s cumbersome or to obtain higher pitched sounds.
Don’t be alarmed.
Try to assess the source of the injury.
Draw the head and the neck, then make arm shapes that stretch outward. The arms can be angled upward, downward or drawn at a 90-degree angle to the body.
Be ready and willing to change everything in your life – friends, hangouts, beliefs, habits, thoughts about yourself.
Develop an attitude of gratitude. Trust in the process.
Continue moving forward until you’re tired of it.

The radishes had been bad enough. Jacob’s wife swore she’d die without them, and they were too poor to buy any, so he sneaked into Dame Gothel’s garden to steal some. Just a few, hardly noticeable among the lush carpet of greens. Then it was cabbage, parsley, arugula; he knew pregnant women got cravings, but this was crazy.

Now he was back, tiptoeing across the fields with the sickle moon above clothed in clouds. The daft woman wanted rapunzel; it was too bitter for him, but he’d have porridge while she ate like a rabbit. He was so lost in reverie that he nearly ran into the scarecrow standing guard over the plant he wanted.

That’s new, he thought, leaning down to tear off a long leaf.

The scarecrow swiveled to stare at him. “Thieeef,” it said, and extended a straw-stuffed arm.

With a yelp, he bolted back toward the wall that surrounded the Dame’s lands and scampered over it, heart pounding. He ran all the way home to his expectant wife.

“If you want… any more salad,” he wheezed, “get it yourself.”