Guest Post Exchange: Writing YA Characters That Kids Will Love and Adults Won't Even Notice by Michael Hiebert

I recently met author Michael Hiebert through Writer's Village University. He came up with the fantastic idea of exchanging guest posts on our blogs. If you're writing for the YA market, I think you'll really enjoy this post about winning over young adult readers. When you've read this one, go read mine on his blog! And leave us comments. They make us warm and giggly!

Writing YA Characters That Kids Will Love

& Adults Won't Even Notice

by

Michael Hiebert

BUY it HERE!

I write a fair amount of YA, although if you looked at Amazon, you wouldn't know it. You'd see one book that gives the appearance of being a YA book, and that's my book Dolls. However, I also have five short story collections available and many of the stories in those books I would also call YA, even though the collections themselves don't say it on the covers. See, I trick people. What's the difference between a YA book and an adult book if the main character's a really cool kid who's designed to be a weapon and is only twelve years old, and the story is an SF/Fantasy with tons of rockets and exploding things, and it grips your attention and doesn't let go until nine thousand novella-length-words later? Far as I can tell, nothing. It's just a good story that you can leave on the table and if your kid happens to pick it up and start reading it, you don't have to snatch it away, embarrassed.

Kids don't want characters that pander to "their level." They want to read the same great stories everyone else is reading, albeit without any naughty words or elicit sex. And actually, I recently bought a Harlequin Teen Romance and I don't have any idea what age group it's targeted for, but there's more sex in that book than there was at my wedding. And it's a book about zombies (It's called Alice in Zombieland, if anyone's interested).

 I mentioned my one "official" YA book, Dolls. Let me tell you the premise: Sixth grader, Kite Morgan, is madly in love with boy in seventh grade who kisses her in water fountain lineup because he "apparently" broke up with his girlfriend, Carla Bell, the toughest girl in school. After school, Carla forces Kite to fight her in the playground because Carla's definition of break up is apparently different than everyone else's. The fight lasts ten seconds and Carla goes home with a black eye and a broken ego. Pulling out an old craft box, she makes a paper doll of Carla Bell and then proceeds to run over it with her little brother's Tonka truck.

 Strangely, ambulances race by their front window with their sirens blaring and lights flashing. Neighbor folk crowd the sidewalks and start walking toward where the vehicles have stopped. Kite follows, only to find the real Carla Bell underneath a real dump truck, looking very much like the paper doll on her table.

 It doesn't take much for Kite to put it all together.

 She's somehow learned to make voodoo paper dolls of her friends allowing her to torture them as she sees fit. The story then spirals out of control, but hey, I don't want to ruin it for you.

 The tag line? Absolute power corrupts absolutely--especially twelve-year-old girls.

 Some may think the story's a bit graphic for the age group. But kids LOVE it. My agent did make me change one thing, though. Originally, Carla died on impact. In the book now sitting on the shelf, she falls into a coma. It's actually funnier now anyway. I got a really funny line out of the coma bit. So, apparently, you can't kill kids in YA books, but putting them in comas is fine. Good to know.

 That's another thing. Don't pull back your humor with kids. They get it. They get it a lot more than we get it. Make your characters funny. And edgy. Don't be afraid of the Edgy Police.

 Then there's the biggest, most important rule of all: when you get to the end of your story and your characters need to figure out what's going on or your protagonist has to endure and win the Climax, the solution to the story cannot come from an adult. This is vitally important.

 Just as important is the use of Mentors. Mentors cannot be adults. They can be opposite of whatever your protagonist is. If she's a level-headed girl with street smarts, they can be the school nerds. If she's afraid of being picked on, a bully can become a Mentor, but the Mentor and all the rest of the major roles in your story have to be played by kids.

 And absolutely, positively do not put a moral into the story. Kids smell morals from a mile away. It will destroy any credibility you have. You can have a theme, just like you would in an adult novel, but make sure it's just a theme and not a moral.

 That's about that. Thanks for letting me sub-in for Mysti.

 Michael out.

****

Michael Hiebert is an award winning professional writer who owns enough books to make him never want to move again. He lives in Canada, in British Columbia's lower mainland to be exact, and has three children and a dog named Chloe that prefers sleeping to just about anything other than eating. His highly lauded mystery Dream with Little Angels just received a starred review on Publisher's Weekly and will be released by Kensington Publishers on  June 25th.

web site: www.michaelhiebert.com

blog: www.michaelhiebert.com/blog
twitter: @Hiebert_M
facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/michael.hiebert67

Call Me MAYbe Flash Fiction #21: When Fate Calls by Gabrielle Jones

Welcome to the Call Me MAYbe Flash Fiction Challenge!!

All stories begin with "The phone rang" and are no more than 1,000 words. Deadline to submit is May 31. For full contest rules and prize list, visit this link: http://mystiparker.blogspot.com/2013/04/next-month-call-me-maybe-flash-fiction.html

#21: When Fate Calls

by

Gabrielle Jones

The phone rang, but Lacey was so absorbed in her book that she barely heard the first ring so when the same sharp tone pierced the comfortable quiet of her cozy apartment Lacey was so startled she nearly threw her book across the room.

She took a moment to let her heartbeat return to its natural rhythm before moving swiftly to the little table in the corner near her front door, the number on the phone’s caller id was sickeningly familiar but Lacey was certain it was important so she answered.

“Hello?”

“Lacey? It’s me Nathan, sorry for calling so late but I have to talk to you.”

Lacey could barely resist rolling her eyes when she heard her cousin’s voice on the other end of the line, she loved Nathan dearly but she was getting tired of talking to him almost every night and as she stood with the phone to her ear she couldn’t help but wonder why he’d been given full responsibility for his mother’s welfare once it’d become clear that she could no longer care for herself properly.

Her cousin was a good guy and he meant well but Lacey remembered that he’d been rather spoiled by his father when he was a child so he’d never truly learned to take responsibility for anything he did and if memory served her correctly he hadn’t really improved as he got older, now knowing Nathan as well as she did Lacey was pretty sure she knew exactly what this phone call was about.

“Lacey? Hello, earth calling Lacey!”

Hearing her name being shouted over through the phone allowed her to snap out of her reverie, “Sorry Nathan, I’m here what’s wrong what is so important that it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

Lacey braced herself for what she knew was coming, she didn’t usually hear from Nathan unless it had something to do with his mother Cecelia. She’d been a wonderful caretaker and influence for Lacey after she’d lost her mother to an illness when she was in high school and because of that there was nothing Lacey wouldn’t do for her aunt even if it meant putting up with her irresponsible slightly annoying cousin.

“Jeez Lace I wish you wouldn’t space out on me like that, you know how much it annoys me. Now back to the matter at hand. As I said before sorry for calling so late but I didn’t know who else to call, it’s mom she’s lost touch with reality again.”

Lacey listened intently and realized that this was the first time since Nathan had called that she was able to, it wasn’t that she zoned out on Nathan purposefully it was that she couldn’t seem to help herself. Lacey shook her head when she realized that she was doing it again, she’d missed the part where he’d repeated his earlier apology but when Nathan mentioned Cecelia’s name she instantly knew that the situation was serious.

Her aunt had been this way for about two years now and because neither Lacey nor Nathan wanted Cecelia in a nursing home right now they’d compromised with a private nurse who came to stay with her from mid morning to late at night when either Lacey or her cousin would continue the personal care, Lacey had also comprised a schedule to make the situation easier for all four of them. Tonight was her night off which was why Lacey had been at home relaxing with a glass of Chardonnay and a good book, that is until she was both interrupted and terrified half to death by the tone of her very loud telephone.

 “Nathan what exactly do you mean by “she’s lost touch with reality.”? Did something scare her, did she see something outside? What happened?”

Lacey heard Nathan’s loud heavy sigh through the phone and this time she did roll her eyes, he always sighed like that when he thought that what he was telling someone should be obvious he felt like he shouldn’t have to explain things to people in deep detail because it was more work for him, “poor baby” she thought with extreme sarcasm.

 “Okay cousin, are you listening? Mom said she saw two wolves outside her living room window, real wolves. I tried to tell her that she was seeing things that they must have been very large dogs but she wasn’t hearing me, she told me to call you and that you’d believe what she said. I’m a little freaked out here Lacey, could you please come over here and calm her down? You’re good with her she trusts you.”

Lacey closed her eyes for a moment and mentally counted to ten, she knew that this is why her cousin had called. It really hadn’t been all that different from a couple of weeks ago when he’d called her, once again on her night off minus the wolves of course. She didn’t want to go but she was certain that Nathan probably couldn’t handle this on his own and even as annoyed as she was with her cousin she could not, would not abandon her aunt.

“Alright Nathan, try and calm down I’ll be there. Just give me about twenty minutes okay?”

Lacey couldn’t help but smile when Nathan began thanking her profusely and she could almost picture him bowing to her in immense gratitude which made her laugh. She did love her cousin even though he could be troublesome.

She glanced briefly at the light purple clock on her living room wall and said again in a voice she hoped didn’t sound too annoyed; “You’re welcome Nathan I’ll see you soon okay?  Bye.”

Lacey hung up and a few minutes later she was dressed and getting into her red VW Bug that was parked in the garage she shared with the other tenants, and as she started the engine she couldn’t help but think that this night was going to be anything but ordinary. 

****

While not extremely versed in the language of writing, Gabrielle's been dabbling in Paranormal romance and some Ya Paranomral romance writing since her High School years. As a freshman is when she was certain that writing full time was something she wanted to persue, writing has become more then a hobby and devouring books whenever possible has become an integral part of her life. 

 

When she's not reading or writing, she's second in command next to her mother and is helping with dinner and household chores as well as keeping her younger brothers in line.

https://www.facebook.com/gabrielle.jones.96742?ref=tn_tnmn

Call Me MAYbe Flash Fiction #20: The Phone Rang...by Halley Elise

Welcome to the Call Me MAYbe Flash Fiction Challenge!!

All stories begin with "The phone rang" and are no more than 1,000 words. Deadline to submit is May 31. For full contest rules and prize list, visit this link: http://mystiparker.blogspot.com/2013/04/next-month-call-me-maybe-flash-fiction.html

#20: The Phone Rang...

by

Halley Elise

The phone rang and Tina’s heart skipped a beat; that seemed an unusual response, because all was well. It was a Saturday and only 8AM, everything seemed in order, odd. She would soon find just the contrary was true. The familiar voice on the other end of the line sounded strained.  “Mike, what’s wrong?” He began slowly with, “I don’t know how to tell you, so am going to just come out with it.”

Tina’s cousin quickly explained that it was very wise that she decided not to go to the party last night. Her boyfriend and two others were hospitalized. Now her stomach dropped in addition to her heart’s irregular beat. “Bobby?” Her eyes flooded with such heavy tears they could not be contained.

Her voice became almost indistinguishable as she prompted Mike for an in depth explanation. All the while a surplus of scary thoughts ran through her head. Though there was one that stood out that was different; “A really good thing you listened to that intuition of yours, or you could be in the hospital or worse”. There was no reason not to go, except every once in a while, she’d get a feeling and would be obliged to listen to it.

The party took a particular turn when Bobby’s sister’s boyfriend, Craig came in toting marijuana, Quaaludes, and acid, enough to share with all. Along with his store of drugs, he had a new acquirement, a loaded 45 to show off. Everyone was having a good old time, laughing and smoking and being goofy. Craig at some point declared that everyone should have a turn at handling the loaded gun.

Craig was older than the rest of the group because Bobby’s sister had a thing for older guys. Especially since he rode a hog and was considered a bad boy. He was perfect for the times, a renegade like a character from a late 70’s film. His jeans torn, just so cool; long unkempt hair, didn’t go to school and of course he had his bike. Craig had it all, except perhaps basic common sense, or humility. Proprieties didn’t matter though to Bobby’s sister, he was hot! That was the only thing that ever mattered.

The police called when at midnight the music could be heard from three blocks out, did not come, then again when a gunshot was heard. This time Police and ambulances arrived on the scene, none knowing what to expect.

The entire group was carted away, to jail and some to the hospital. The news reported “A drug party gone wrong”, thinking that Craig was the ring-leader and that one of his flunkies gave him guff, igniting already elevated drugged up emotions. They had no clue that it was simply a group of stupid teens.

The truth, Bobby was given the cocked gun and it went off! The bullet broke skin, severed tendons, shattered bone in his hand and continued to move. It boomeranged off Len’s shoulder, making its insidious way to Sean, piercing his abdomen and wreaking havoc within.

The perfect hole in Bobby’s hand needed urgent attention, though he too stoned to realize it, began to fight the medics; landing him in the Psych-Ward. Len was patched up in triage and then sent over to the authorities. Sean’s injuries so critical they rushed him into surgery; removed his spleen and he was left in a coma.

Tina attempting to gain composure, wanting to immediately go to the hospital had to somehow convince her mom that her boyfriend was not a hoodlum, or the others either. Tina did not have her own car yet and had no other way to get to where she needed to be. Her heart was breaking, the love of her life in a Psych-Ward and her friends injured; others in the news in such a negative light. She knew these people, they were good people, just didn’t always use their heads.

After pleading and crying hysterically for more than the better part of an hour, her mother finally acquiesced. “Alright, alright, I will take you to the darn hospital. But, I can tell you young lady this will be the last of your interaction with those people”. The lecture ensued and escalated at the hospital door. Tina had strict orders to be in the lobby exactly one hour later!

First on the agenda was to see if there was any change in Sean’s condition. Sadly Tina couldn’t enter ICU, but the staff at the desk was pleasant enough as they shared the news, Sean had very bad odds. Feeling her

head swim and her stomach in total turmoil she stumbled towards the elevator. The 7^th floor, she needed to go see Bobby. The sign read, Only Authorized Personnel Permitted on the 7^th Floor. She did not have the specific clearance. There was a reason the Psyc-Ward was off limits. But she just wanted to see for herself that her beloved was okay. 

Like the face of a small child finding out there is definitely no Santa Claus, all color drained from Tina’s face. She was overwhelmed, emotionally exhausted, and she just puddle to the floor. Time seemed to be of little consequence.  Tina’s face quickly changed to a beam when she heard Bobby’s mom exiting from the elevator.

Clara gently bent down to help Tina to her feet. She hugged her with the reassurance that only a loving mother could as she began to fill in all the blanks. Bobby was sedated, but well. His hand would mend and hopefully have full range of motion. They just needed to keep him calm so that he would heal; and no charges were being pressed.

Clara told Tina that Bobby asked after her, she was relieved. She then heard her inner voice, You will be able to rest, go home and begin envisioning your love, and friends well and they will be. 

It was true.   

****

Halley Elise, B Div, C Ht

Web TV Host, The Halley Elise Show

Author, Treasures Within©, contributing Author, Thank God I (vol 2)

Former Columnist Happy Times, Table of Love©

Creator and Host of the International Radio Program/ Blog Conscious Sex©

Psychic Apprenticeship Program© Creator and facilitator

Motivational and Stress Management Trainer/Speaker

Halley Is Conversant In Many Subjects:

Psychic Phenomena, Universal Principles, Energy Practices, Hypnosis, Graphology and Divination. She attended Yeshiva, is an Ordained Non Denominational UB Minister, and is naturally Clairvoyant, Sentient and Intuitive. She is a Meditation Expert, Lecturer and Artist.

Halley has Certification in Divinity, Literacy, Clinical Hypnotherapy, Art, Psycho-Social issues and Jungian dream theory. She has conducted programs extensively at South Florida schools.

Halley has appeared on radio and television many times and has worked with FBI agents and police officers. 

Since childhood she has accurately predicted events. 

http://www.HalleyElise.com

Call Me MAYbe Flash Fiction #19: Who Ordered Pizza? by Judy Beaston

Welcome to the Call Me MAYbe Flash Fiction Challenge!!

All stories begin with "The phone rang" and are no more than 1,000 words. Deadline to submit is May 31. For full contest rules and prize list, visit this link: http://mystiparker.blogspot.com/2013/04/next-month-call-me-maybe-flash-fiction.html

#19: Who Ordered Pizza?

by

Judy Beaston

“The phone rang. That has got to be the dumbest ending line to a story – ever!” Mandie tossed the summer issue of Tin House onto the table. “Nobody’s adventure ends that way. Begins, maybe, but ends? No way.”

Tricia peered over the top edge of Dan Brown’s latest thriller. “How about that time Tom called, and you picked up the phone and said ‘Get lost’?”

“Ah, see, my story didn’t end when the phone rang. There was more to follow. There’s always more to follow.“

“Speaking of follow.” Tricia’s eyes were focused on some point behind Mandie. “Guess who just walked in the door.”

Mandie turned and found herself face to belly with Tom, who never did understand the concept of personal space. As she shifted her chair away from him, Mandie noticed a pair of long, shapely legs planted close to Tom’s. The body and face above those legs belonged to a Victoria’s Secret model. She couldn’t begin to imagine why a beautiful female would hang out with a loser like Tom.

“Hello, Mandie – Tricia.” Tricia nodded, Mandie stared, her mouth open, until Tricia kicked her under the table.

Blushing, Mandie cleared her throat. “Hi, Tom. Long time no see.”

“Who’s your new friend, Tom?” Tricia asked.

“Yvette.” He drew her closer to his side. “Yvette, meet Mandie and Tricia, old friends and classmates from Dartmouth.”

“Would you like to join us?” Tricia’s invitation received an evil-eye look from Mandie.

“Thanks, but we must decline. We’re meeting a wedding planner.” Tom searched the coffee shop. “I don’t see her yet, but there’s a free table over there that I’d better grab while it’s still available.”

Yvette still hadn’t said a word, her face frozen in a model’s unnatural smile.

###

Mandie kept sneaking glances of Tom and Yvette, catching them once with their hands entwined like snaking vines, another time with their noses touching. “Oh, yuck! Get a room!”

Tricia rolled her eyes. “Why are you so interested anyway? You always said he was a self-centered loser.”

“Yeah, but he was my loser,” she sighed. “At least he was until I intercepted that phone call from his brother.”

“Who told you about Tom’s latest tryst with an old high school flame.” Tricia closed her book and set it down. “And from where I sit, that makes him a total jerk not worth the time of day.”

“Or a phone call,” Mandie added, laughing. “Not even one that ends a story.”

###

Two evenings later, Mandie found a note tacked to her apartment door. The paper was bright pink and the ink purple. The message was simple: He’s mine now.

“How creepy,” Mandie said to her cat. “A note from Tom’s new friend.”

Mandie set her keys and the note on the sideboard near the door. “Just wait ‘til I share this tidbit with Tricia. She’ll love it!”

Before she could place the call, Mandie’s phone rang. She glanced at the screen. “Private Caller” was displayed.

“Hello?”

“Tonight.” Then silence. The call ended.

Mandie’s heart skipped a beat. Now she really needed to talk with Tricia. She called her immediately. “C’mon, Trish, answer the phone.”

“Hi! This is the voice of action, as in “Trish isn’t here right now, just me” So please leave a message and I’ll be sure to get it to her.”

“Crap. This is yoga night.” Mandie turned back to her front door and flicked the deadbolt.

“Okay, Mandie, calm down. The phone call was probably just a wrong number.”

Before she could move, a loud pounding rattled her door. Holding her breath, she peered through the spy hole. An agitated Tricia stood in the hallway.

Mandie fumbled with the locks and pulled the door open. “Tricia! What are you doing here? Don’t you have yoga?”

Tricia was already halfway across the room. “Close the door.” She hurried to the window, closed the open blind, then peeked around the edge.

“What is going on, Tricia? Who are you looking for? Were you being stalked or something?”

Tricia turned her flushed face toward Mandie. “It’s that new friend of Tom’s.”

“What is?”

“She followed me to my yoga class, then just stood in the doorway eyeing me.” Tricia headed for the kitchen. “Do you have any wine?”

“So she was checking out the yoga class. So what?” Mandie pulled two glasses from the cupboard. Tricia grabbed the wine from the refrigerator.

“And, there was a message on my phone today.” Tricia took a big gulp of wine. “It said ‘He’s mine now.’ That was creepy. It had to be from her.”

They both jumped when the intercom buzzed.

“You invited somebody over tonight? I’m sorry, Mandie, I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Mandie shook her head and poked at the intercom button. “Who is it?”

“Pizza for Mandie.”

“I didn’t order a pizza.”

“It’s paid for already. Should I just leave it here or bring it up?”

Tricia mouthed “leave it.”

“Just leave it. Thanks.” She looked at Tricia. “Why’d you say that?”

“Too many creepy things happening today.” She headed for the door, then turned back. “I’m not going down there alone.”

Mandie shook her head and followed her to the lobby where they found a pizza from Luigi’s, their favorite pizza parlor.

“I didn’t order pizza,” Mandie insisted as they headed back to her apartment.

She set the box on the kitchen counter and opened the lid. “Oh-my-gawd! It’s Hawaiian with artichoke hearts, my favorite. But, only Tom and you knew that.” She eyed Tricia suspiciously. “YOU ordered this, didn’t you? And YOU made the call earlier to me. You’re just trying to creep me out, aren’t you?”

“What’s that paper stuck under the crust?” Tricia reached across the pizza and freed the note. “Your life is in danger tonight,” she read. “What does that mean?”

“C’mon, Tricia. Game is O-ver. Fun is fun, but this is enough.”

Before Tricia could respond, the lights flickered and went out.

And then the phone rang.

****

Judy Beaston draws her inspiration from the interactions of people and nature. Some of her favorite haunts for inspiration include The Japanese Gardens, ocean beaches and any coffee shop. When not lost in the words of poetry and stories, she enjoys the creative connections found playing tenor saxophone. Three grandchildren help keep her views on life youthful.

Call Me MAYbe Flash Fiction #18: The Yellow Light by Pete Fanning

Welcome to the Call Me MAYbe Flash Fiction Challenge!!

All stories begin with "The phone rang" and are no more than 1,000 words. Deadline to submit is May 31. For full contest rules and prize list, visit this link: http://mystiparker.blogspot.com/2013/04/next-month-call-me-maybe-flash-fiction.html

#18: The Yellow Light

by

Pete Fanning

The phone rang, shaking me from the tranquil stupor of my dark hole.  I awoke in the Econo lodge, reaching for the device as the trucks rumbled along the overpass. Rubbing my eyes, I saw my wife’s picture on the screen.  I pressed answer and waited. 

“I can’t do this Mark...”

My wife was cheating on me.  After eleven years of marriage you know these things, the subtle changes that spilled her secrets. Her walk was different, livelier, as though the springs had been uncoiled. Of course I wouldn’t go making wild accusations on the account of my wife’s walk, but take for instance, her deodorant.  Just hear me out.  For ten years her deodorant was that of a summer breeze that tingled my nose when we dressed for work. But now, spring flowers. No tingle.

“I’ll talk to you in a few days, but after last night I don’t want to see you...”

A while ago I began putting it together, the hair, the red wine, the sudden interest in romance novels, Michael Buble. Last night it all came out when she practically confessed.

“So how was the seminar?” I had asked on the way to dinner as the light on our street flashed from green to red, skipping the cautionary yellow.

My wife is an insurance agent and her life is one of dreadful seminars.  Seminars for new products, risk management, annuities, selling to seniors, and a slew of other sleep-inducing training seminars, the recaps of which I tuned out like an Easter morning sermon. 

“Well, on Thursday…”

That was as far as I made it before getting sidetracked. Why in the world did that light always change without regard to traffic or reason?  My letters to city council had been ignored.

I turned to Jane, who was waiting for me to say something.  My wife’s name is Jane by the way.  My apologies, I’m awful at introductions. Anyway, Jane—my cheating wife—was staring at me and awaiting my response.   

“Wow.”  I managed, and waited for the deep sigh, the disgusted headshake in response to my bland answer.  But instead she glanced down towards the phone, her fingers working the screen with calm precision.  That was another new development, the constant phone.

Dinner was uneventful.  Our weekly Saturday outing with Steve and Laura, old friends from our old neighborhood, was a tradition started out of boredom.  Steve ordered the ribeye, Laura the Santa Fe Salad.  Laura needed less Santa Fe and more salad.  After droning on about our respective workweeks and my job search, we discussed the housing market, or the housing mirage as Laura called it.  This led to a snooze fest involving interest rates and FDA approved loans.  I drank three Sam Adams and plotted the death of my neighbor.

Not my old neighbor Steve—although had he kept on about golf I may have tightened the grip on my fork—but rather my new neighbor, Chris.  Hunky Chris rents the bungalow next door.  He’s tall, single and apparently quite the handy man.  He came over unannounced one Saturday morning and fixed our fence just as I was waking up.  Sipping coffee, I stumbled upon them through the kitchen window.  Him, holding a shovel in his hands smiling and nodding, Jane talking with her hands, using her sweet voice I remembered from a different life.  I watched their cute little conversation come to an end, with several thank you’s and sturdy no problems before Jane fluttered back towards the house, her smile vanishing with each summoning step up the porch.

On the way home from dinner Jane was back to her phone, the screen illuminating her glasses.  The glasses have made a comeback after 10 years of contacts. 

The walk, the spring flowers, the glasses, I couldn’t take it any longer.  How long were we going to play this little game? 

“So how long have you two been screwing?”

My voice faltered just a touch, but it was out there.  I wanted to hear what she had to say for herself. What did she have to say about those vows that we made eleven years ago, vows weakened by time and circumstance, forgotten after trying for nearly 8 years to have kids until giving up on sex all together?  At least with each other.

She brought the phone down gently; the gesture lending dramatic pause to the moment as the car went dark.  The radio announced a one time blow out sale extravaganza event this weekend only at a local department store.  A yoga breath through the nose before both lenses were trained on me.

“Who am I screwing Mark?”

“You know who.”

“No Mark. I don’t.  Please tell me who I’m screwing.  I would love to know what you’ve cooked up.”

“Don’t make this about me, I saw you with our neighbor, your little boy toy.”

She turned back to the window, bringing her hand to her mouth as the lights streamed in the distance. I drove in silence, letting her guilt hang in the darkness before she cleared her throat with her gaze still at the window.

“Mark, let’s get you some help.  I’m serious.  At first with the job, I thought it would be good for you to have some time off, but….”

“There you go again.  This isn’t about me Jane.”

We pulled into the driveway, the headlights shining on the unpainted fence post in the side yard, another excuse for Chris to come over and take his shirt off.  Jane stepped out and then leaned in with her hand on the door, the interior light exposing the path of a tear escaping down her cheek.

“Thanks for a spectacular 40^th Mark.  Don’t bother coming inside.”

A shove of the door and she strode towards the house, a hybrid of walks both old and new.  I backed out of the driveway as the porch light next door clicked on, positive that my wife was cheating on me.

 ****

Pete Fanning, brand new dad and aspiring author working on his first novel. 

Email:

Shwnfanning@gmail.com

Blog:

www.fatherknowslittle.com

Twitter:

http://twitter.com/fatherknwslttle

Call Me MAYbe Flash Fiction #18: Tased & Confused by Melissa March

Welcome to the Call Me MAYbe Flash Fiction Challenge!!

All stories begin with "The phone rang" and are no more than 1,000 words. Deadline to submit is May 31. For full contest rules and prize list, visit this link: http://mystiparker.blogspot.com/2013/04/next-month-call-me-maybe-flash-fiction.html

#17: Tased & Confused 

by 

Melissa March

The phone rang, echoing through the house. Why couldn’t he leave me alone? Didn’t he know I couldn’t take it anymore? I reached behind the little table and pulled the plug, killing the phone mid-ring.

            Archie Philips thinks he loves me. He’s also insane.

            Four weeks ago I left for a research project in Germany that changed my life. I met Dr. Oskar Heinz and fell head-over-heels in love.

            After only four weeks—four amazing weeks—he asked me to marry him. I must be out of my mind because I said yes.

So, here I am, in my little apartment—with boxes marked donate or keep scattered everywhere—once again trying to ignore Archie and his frantic calls. 

Archie’s first surprise call—the day I got home—was very disturbing.

“Carrie?”

“Yes, this is Carrie.”

“Thank God you’re home. I was so worried.”

“Who is this?”

“It’s me, Archie.”

Archie? How’d he get my number, its unlisted?

“Archie, how did you get this number?”

“I found it online. It’s a good thing you don’t list it, there are some real nut jobs out there.”

Don’t I know.

“What do you want?” I tried to sound casual.

“You’ve been gone so long and no one would tell me where you were.”

Archie lived in a home for people who were on the unstable side: the kind that needed to be locked in 24/7. He was diagnosed paranoid delusional.

I was working in the lab when he’d ventured from the third floor to the sixth when some idiot intern forgot to lock the door. He didn’t look crazy. I didn’t have a clue he was a patient until the guards came for him.

After that he started sending me cards and homemade presents. I wrote it off as flattering but harmless.

 “That’s because I don’t work there anymore. Remember?”

“You need to come home now. You know you shouldn’t be out after dark. That’s the rules.”

“Archie, I didn’t live there. I worked there—”

“NO!” He screamed. I hung up.

He called right back. I was so frazzled I forgot to look at the caller ID.

“Don’t hang up on me.” His voice was chillingly calm.

“Archie, I don’t have time to argue with you. I’m busy.” I pinched the phone between my ear and shoulder as I taped another box.

“What’re you doing?”

“I’m packing.”

“Why are you packing?”

“I’m moving.”

“Moving? Moving where?” He was getting frantic.

“To Germany.”

“You can’t leave me! Why are you leaving me?” Each word was more shrill and louder than the last.

 “I’m getting married,” I blurted.

Dead silence. I waited a minute before hanging up. Just as I started to pull the phone away I heard him.

“If you marry him I’ll kill him.”

Okay, totally freaked out now. How could I forget that this was not a sane person? Was I that stupid?

“I’m calling the police.”

“Go ahead. They won’t do anything to me. I’ll get to him before they get to me. I’ll—”

I hung up. When he called right back I unplugged the phone.

I called the hospital director. Today was the first Archie’d called since. I let the answering machine get it, he didn’t leave messages, just kept calling. It was too much, so I unplugged it again.

I was a little worried, but knew he was locked up good and tight surrounded by plenty of armed guards.

The sun dipped under the horizon, shadowing the room. Exhausted from all the packing—and the psycho stalker—I stretched onto the sofa and fell asleep.

The clink-scraping noise wasn’t loud, but it woke me. I thought it was the neighbor’s cat clawing the door again, until it squeaked open. Mr. Darcy couldn’t do that.    

My heart tripled its beat, thundering in my ears. A faint whisper of footsteps eased across the carpet. 

My taser was tucked in my purse in the kitchen. Carefully, I rolled onto the floor, hands and knees.

Sudden light flooded the room.

“Carrie, why are you on the floor?” Archie asked.

Fear had a strangle hold on me.

“Are you hurt?” He came to me, hand extended.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m going to take care of that man and then we’re going home.”

Ignoring his hand I stood, facing him and the kitchen. My mind raced to form a plan of escape.

“Are you hungry?” I asked, setting my plan in motion.

“Starving. I missed dinner.”

“How about grilled cheese?” I offered, thinking of the taser.

“I love grilled cheese,” he smiled.

I led him to the kitchen where my purse lay on the counter by the fridge.

“Have a seat.”

He slid casually into a chair, drumming his fingers on the table.

“I’m glad you’re not upset about this,” he said. “I knew you’d be okay, I mean, I know you don’t love him. I’ll make sure he never bothers you again.”

Archie wasn’t wrapped too tight, you can’t predict crazy so I kept quiet as I pulled the taser from my purse, listening to him ramble on about killing Oskar.

I plunged it into Archie’s neck, sending a bazillion jolts into his insane ass. He fell on the floor, flopping around like a fish out of water.

I probably should’ve stopped after he quit moving, but I wanted to make sure he was unconscious.    

My hands were shaking so bad I barely got 911 dialed.

I ran out of the house and waited for the police.

They arrived, rushing past me into the house only to come out a few seconds later looking confused.

“There’s no one in there.”

“What?!”

“Are you sure you—”

“Yes, I tasered a psycho in my kitchen! Look again!”

The cops hustled inside, guns drawn. I followed. The kitchen was empty, the chairs neatly tucked under the table.

There was no sign of Archie.

The two officers eyed me suspiciously.

I about jumped out of my skin when the phone started ringing.

****

Melissa March is a stay at home mom and wife. She spends her time playing with matchbox cars with her toddler when she isn’t nose deep in a book or writing one.  She lives in Pennsylvania and her debut novel Love You to Death will be available March 2014 from Melange Books.

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