Saturday, March 10, 2018


     Leanne hadn't left her house in over seven years. She hadn't even been outside on the porch or the back patio. She'd forgotten what the air smelled like; the smell of fresh cut grass and the stench from the meat processing plant that should've been shut down ages ago.
     She walked carefully along the new sidewalk, observing the turquoise houses. Just yesterday there had been nothing there. Just a wide expanse of weeds and wildflowers growing unchecked. Wasn't it just yesterday?
When had it changed? No, it wasn't yesterday.
     She shook her head and tried to remember the way. She counted four pink houses in the row, and one yellow one. The rest were greenish-blue with white shutters. It made her sad. Maybe she wouldn't go back home. Maybe she would keep walking; walk and walk and walk until she fell down from sheer exhaustion.
     The row of houses seemed to go on forever. She couldn't go back home now; she had no idea where she was. She shivered and pulled her gray cardigan tighter around her. 
     Her flip flops made a smacking sound with each step and she tried to remember the rhyme her father had told her when she was a little girl.
     That was yesterday too. But she'd already forgotten.
     He had told her what to do when she felt like this. She could see his face and hear his voice, but now the words were jumbled inside her head.
     “If you get lost, find a policeman.” He'd spoken gently and patted her on the head. She had been five then.
     A tear rolled down her cheek as she remembered the happy times with her father; living in his car, playing at the beach and collecting shells. He'd bought her cotton candy at the fair with money they'd gotten from collecting bottles, and they'd walked hand in hand to the end of the pier to watch the sun set.
     That was yesterday too. But she'd never forget that. It was the one thing she could remember forever.
     The sidewalk ended, but the row of houses never would. She sat down and pulled a half eaten moon pie from her sweater pocket. She wished she had an orange soda. The moon pie was a bit stale, but the sweetness took her back to her childhood; when there were no yesterdays, only tomorrows.

© Garden Summerland 2018

Photo Cred: Sasin Tipchai 

Saturday, February 3, 2018


“What kind of message does that send when you go out of the house looking like that. Do you want people to call you a freak?" Lenny cocked her head to one side, and gave me that disapproving look she'd perfected.
I stared down at the floor. People already called me a freak. It wouldn't matter what I did now, I'd been labeled. And I really didn't care, it was who I was, or at least it was who I'd become. And maybe I'd done it on purpose. I didn't belong here; I didn't belong anywhere. I knew it and so did she.
“Annalise? Are you listening?”
I shook my head without looking up at her. “Yes ma'am.”
“Well then go back upstairs and change your clothes. And wipe that black stuff off of your face. You look like a Satanist.”
That was her favorite one. A Satanist indeed. She wouldn't know a Satanist if one held her down for a blood ritual. Of course for that matter neither would I. I'd lived my entire life in Colvale; a quiet little town with a grand population of just under two thousand. There was one religion and two churches. The residents all looked the same, thought the same, acted and reacted the same. Anyone with black eyeliner and an Anarchy t-shirt was a devil worshiper and a freak. That was me. A wanna be member of a sub-culture that didn't exist in my neck of the woods; just a freak, a lonely freak. It probably also didn't help matters that I was almost six feet tall with slanted golden eyes and fiery red hair that I kept cropped close to my scalp. I was their lost lamb; a project to some. Those with their plain clothes and religious zeal. I sat next to them in the pew every Sunday, waiting for God to strike me down. He couldn't miss me. The pseudo-goth in the third row amidst a sea of long print dresses and modest hairstyles. My face had been scrubbed clean, and yet the wildness within me screamed from every pore. I had no control over it.
Lenny didn't know how to deal with me, no one did. I'd been in seven foster homes since my mother abandoned me when I was two years old. I'd been with Lenny for three years; and she had more patience than most. I think on some level that she loved me, no else had even tried. Not that I'd ever heard her say it. But it was in her soft gray eyes. She cared, and it was for that reason I decided to spare her. But none of the others.
It was the second Sunday in February of last year the first time the pastor shook my hand. The iciness of my skin burned into his, stealing his warmth until he yanked his hand away. I smiled and narrowed my eyes concentrating my thoughts into his until I heard him gasp for air. I looked away and he coughed.
"Nice sermon Pastor Jim." I winked at him as the color began to return to his face and I lost myself in the crowd. I knew then that he would be the first.
Days turned into weeks and now it had almost been a year to the day, but he hadn't looked at me since. Maybe he knew what I was waiting for; he was, after all, a man of the cloth. As an educated spiritual man, he should've known the signs.

The day of reckoning had arrived; a Sunday on a full moon, a bitter cold morning with frost on the ground and even colder hearts waiting to receive their judgment. Today was the day.  

©2018 Garden Summerland

Photo/Artist Cred: Iulian Dragomir via

Monday, July 10, 2017

Business As Usual

“Olin Elijah Whitaker!”
I heard Miss Johnstone screaming at the top of her lungs from across the playground.
The boy sitting on top of me rolled off and got up, running away.
I couldn't move; paralyzed with fear, I was face down on the ground. I had a mouthful of dirt, and scraped knees; my pink and blue flowered dress up around my neck, my underwear pulled down on one side.
Lily Johnstone ran past the groups of children on the monkey bars and swings, barreling towards me at break-neck speed. She snatched me up and smoothed my dress as she pulled me into a protective hug.
“There now Amelie, it's all over. Olin will be severely punished. You just let it out honey. It won't ever happen again.”
I wasn't even crying anymore. I was all cried out.

I blinked my eyes trying to shut out the memory; unintentional tears rolled from the corners of my eyes. I wasn't cried out after all. But there was no comfort to be found in a county emergency room. All I felt was the cold.
And Miss Johnstone had been wrong. Time after time, she had been wrong.
The doctor mumbled something to the nurse and he left the room. I was glad. Enough people had seen me naked for one day.
I was ashamed. Not unlike that embarrassing day on the playground.
I had been seven then, I was thirty-seven now. Time had flown by, and nothing much had changed. Continual onslaughts against my person-hood; my privacy; my soul. Life had not been gentle with me. Not since Olin Whitaker.

I pulled the paper gown close around me. I wondered what had become of Olin. Probably in prison somewhere. I hoped so.
Thirty years ago he'd shown me the brutal side of human nature, and it was all I had bothered to see since. Today had been no exception.

“Miss Donovan, the police would like to speak to you now.” The nurse opened the door and a male and female officer entered the room. I glared at the male and rolled my eyes.
He stepped back, letting the female officer introduce herself, and then him.
“Miss Donovan, I'm Officer Denise Pettit,” she spoke softly as she motioned towards the uniform behind her, “and this is Officer Whitaker...” I bolted upright, not hearing any of what came after.
Fear struck my very soul.
My eyes pierced through his, boring into his skull. It was him. Thirty years later, and that bastard was a cop now.
I lost control and lunged off of the exam table towards him, shoving Officer Pettit out of my way.
I clawed at his face, leaving long scratches down both of his cheeks before Officer Denise tackled me to the cold tile floor.

I was handcuffed and read my rights. No one ever asked me why. They didn't care. Now I would be taken to the county jail, with no one to bail me out. And there I would suffer yet again, innumerable barrages against my person-hood.

It would be for me, business as usual.

©2017 Garden Summerland

*This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, places or situations is purely coincidental. 

Tuesday, April 11, 2017

The Remedy

“Here, drink this.” It was my third attempt in an hour.
Solomon shook his head, “No. It smells funny. Take it away.”
“Come on Sol, take your medicine.” I steadied the spoonful of red sticky liquid and held it to his lips. He knocked it out of my hands.
“Dammit Sol. This stuff is expensive. You can't keep doing this.”
“I'm not sick anymore. I told you, I'm getting better. I... I took care of it.”
“Sol... really? What'd you take this time? That last 'herbal remedy' you took put you in the hospital for a week. I pay good money for the best medical care in the city. I promise, you will get better, but you have to take the medicine prescribed for you by an actual doctor. These snake oil sales pitches that sucker you in are ripping you off, and making you sicker.”
He leaned back and smiled.
“Just fluff my pillows and bring me soup Jillian. No more saccharin pharmaceuticals, okay? I told you, I took care of it.”
“You're crazy. And I can't take it any more. I have been here through it all... the hospitals, the tests, the transfusions... I've bathed you and fed you and changed you... but if you won't do what you are supposed to do, geez, if you won't help yourself, then... I'm done.”
He patted my hand.
“It's okay Jilly. You'll see. I'll be up and dancing in three days.”
Tears rolled down my cheeks. He was a breathing skeleton. In three days my only brother would be dead.
But in three days, sure enough, Sol was up dancing around. And I could have sworn he looked ten years younger.
“Oh my sweet Lord, Sol.... what have you done?” It was a miracle.
He smiled at me, grabbed my hand and twirled me around. It made me dizzy and giddy. I was thrilled. For the moment.
“I'm well Jilly. I've been cured.” He paused and a sly grin crept across his face. “You know, you don't look so good sis. I hope you're not getting.... sick.”
All at once, I felt weak as his face twisted into an evil contortion. My skin was feverish and then ice cold.
I screamed at him. “Solomon, no... how could you?”
He sighed, and a relaxed expression returned to his face. He was Solomon again. But no, he wasn't. He spoke in a gravelly whisper. “It was easy. You see, I wanted to live, and in exchange... all I had to do was offer up the three people I loved the most. You, mom and dad. A tough sacrifice Jilly, but now I'll live forever. I'm sorry Jillian... I truly am. But I just couldn't be sick anymore. It really wears you down. I was given a choice, and well, I chose to live.”
I didn't want to believe it, but I did.
“What? A choice? Who gave you a choice like that? Sol... really... who? What... It's not possible...” My head was spinning and my voice trailed off. I felt ill, suddenly not just heart sick, but physically sick, in the pit of my stomach. I ran towards the bathroom, but didn't make it. I vomited twice in the hall.
Sol was right there with me; he pulled back my hair and wiped my mouth on the sleeve of his shirt.
“Don't worry Jilly... I'm here for you. I'll take care of you like you did for me. And you'll get through it just like I did. But you'll take your medicine won't you? And you'll get better, just like you said I would.”
I couldn't fathom what was happening; it just didn't register in my mind. No....he wouldn't have, even if he could. His own family? I was his only sister, he wouldn't have bargained me away to... to what? He hadn't even said.
He stroked my hair.
“Don't you worry Jilly, you have a choice too. I know the remedy, and it won't cost you a dime.”

©2017 Garden Summerland

Thursday, December 15, 2016

Favourite Son

“Is that you Jamie?” She squinted without her glasses. I knew she couldn't make out my face.
I squeezed her hand gently.
“No ma, it's Joey. Don't try to move, you were in a car accident. You're in the hospital now...everything will be okay.”
She groaned and her eyes fluttered.
“Where's Jamie?” She croaked, her voice dry and brittle.
“Don't try to talk ma... just get your rest.”
I bowed my head and stared at the green tile floor. Should I tell her that I was all she had left now? Jamie had died six hours ago in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. I knew somehow she would blame me, she always had; for everything. I'd spent my life apologizing for never being good enough; for never being Jamie. And now he was dead and I was the one left to comfort her.
I swallowed hard and let go of her hand. Maybe it would be better for everyone if she didn't pull through. It would certainly be better for me. The thought sickened me and yet gave me hope. She'd done nothing but make my life hell. Twenty-seven years, and she'd hated me for every single one of them.
I looked around. No one was watching...
She was in bad shape; broken and old. It wouldn't take much.
“Ma... Jamie didn't make it. He's dead.”
It took a moment for it to sink in. Then her eyes opened wide and machines started beeping erratically. She opened her mouth but no sound came out. Cardiac arrest.
Nurses rushed to her and doctors came in as I backed away slowly; watching through tears as they tried to save my mother.
Was I really sad? She'd never loved me. The only one she had loved died today, and now she would join him.
I would go on living. A peaceful life now, with both of them gone.
I should've been grief stricken. I should have been heart sick to the core. Two family members taken from me right here at the holidays.
But my tears were tears of joy. I was free.

©2016 Garden Summerland

Thursday, September 8, 2016

Against His Will

I had been warned.
Never against his will. It would end badly.
But I was willing to risk it, even if he wasn't.

I waited a long time before I moved his body. It had been at least an hour. Within the first ten minutes I'd stopped bleeding and my wound had begun to close. I traced my fingers along my neck and remembered how good it felt to be on the receiving end again. It had been eons since I'd had that pleasure. A dark alley in the early 18th century; there had been two of them. And I'd never been paid. Unless the token of immortality had been my wage. I remembered them fondly. One light and one dark, shredding my clothes and then my skin. It was a beautiful savagery that I would never experience again. Until tonight.

It was after midnight, and the street below was quiet. I sat on the living room floor of the darkened apartment, the light from the bedroom down the hall barely illuminating the scene. There was a growing puddle of blood on the floor and crimson streaks down the wall. And it was on his mouth. Flashbacks in my head... his mouth on my neck, the exquisite pain and then the ecstasy. I'd forced him to feed. He hadn't wanted it. At least not at first. He had fought me, and then he'd lost control.

Frenzied tearing into my throat until I threw him across the room. His head smashed against the wall cracking his skull open; splattering blood across the pink floral wallpaper. He hit the floor with a sick thud and I sat there, shocked at my own brutality. I'd never done that.
He bled out in front of me and I did nothing to stop it. I could have healed him; stopped his transformation. Something.
But the truth...I was overjoyed; his humanity had drained; and it wouldn't be long now.
My feelings had over-ruled my better judgment. I loved him and I wanted him to be one of us... like me.
I'd asked, and he'd said no. But I'd made him do it anyway. And he'd loved it, just like I knew he would.
Would he hate me when he resurrected? Would he finish ripping into my throat? Or would he take me as the humans did to each other? Stripping my clothes away to press his bare body against mine, and inside of mine, trying to become me, to own me. Was it really so different than what I had done?
I stared at his serene face. He looked dead; his face was pale, his eyes closed and darkness creeping in around the lids. I wanted to kiss him. I did not.
He was as perfect in mortal death as he had been in life. I stroked his wild blond hair and caressed the side of his face. He had immaculate features; chiseled cheekbones and a pouty bow mouth that was made for kissing. My eyes traveled over the rest of him; his onyx shirt unbuttoned revealing a smooth chest and a raven tattoo. Even lifeless, his hot body screamed out for my vampiric desires. Who could've resisted?
I'd fed on him numerous times and he was none the wiser. I'd hidden the memory from him; I was nothing more than the beautiful and mysterious woman that lived in the apartment across the hall. Occasionally we'd meet on the elevator or in the stairwell, and he'd look at me with a puzzled expression, waving sheepishly before he made himself turn away. I always returned his glances with an innocent smile, fighting the urge to lick my lips as I remembered his salty copperness. I craved him. And I'd broken my own rule by continuing to feed on him. Once and then move on. But he tasted so damn good, I couldn't leave him. And then I'd really screwed up, I'd allowed it... that feeling.
Love; such a twisted emotion. It makes the body want things the mind knows it can't have; that it shouldn't have. And vampires don't like being told 'no'.
I continued waiting; impatiently for hours until he regained consciousness. Now he was fully awake in his new form. A vampire like me. I smiled at him.
It was immediately apparent he did not share in my elation. He was upon me in seconds, using his new found strength to pin me against the wall. My joy had made me weak.
He didn't know he couldn't physically hurt me, but he sure gave it his best shot.
He was tireless, and the night dragged on with him wailing away upon my body, until finally his anger wore him down.
He would never know how to truly hurt me... the one action he could take that would break me. I would never let it happen. I would revel in his anger and his hatred, the knowledge that he felt something for me.
As long as I could be with him forever, I could be happy.

And maybe one day, he would be happy too. But for now...

©2016 Garden Summerland

Tuesday, August 23, 2016

Stupid Beautiful

Ella took another sip of her cafe au lait and looked at her phone. Tom was predictably late, but usually just ten or fifteen minutes. Initially, there had been anger over his thoughtlessness, but it had subsided and her emotions had turned to concern. Reluctantly, she shook it off. Surely there was no cause to worry. They'd been meeting in random coffee shops for almost a year now, and he'd never been on time. Plus, he was worth waiting for.
She waved to the waitress for the check. She looked at her phone again. Nothing.
No calls, no texts. Where was he?
Another ten minutes passed and still no Tom. She was rummaging in her purse for change to leave the waitress when she felt his presence behind her.
She turned in her seat, glaring at him over her shoulder.
Where the hell have you been? I thought... I thought something had happened to you. I was...” she paused not wanting to admit to him how deeply she really cared.
Oh, how sweet, you were worried about me. Well, I just like to see if you'll wait for me.” He smirked.
“So you're testing me? Seriously? I was getting ready to leave. You're coming up on two hours now. I think you beat your own record.”
Come on Ella, don't be mad.” He produced a red rose from behind his back and smiled that dazzling smile that made her heart race; his green eyes twinkling with mischief.
And you think that's all it will take? A rose and a smile?” Her countenance was stern. But she couldn't hold it for long and let out a defeated sigh. “Yeah, okay.”
She took the flower and her face softened. She was fully aware that he was working her but she didn't care. Within the next hour they would be naked and entangled with each other in a motel bed, everything else falling into oblivion. She was slowly becoming accustomed to his lateness, his excuses, and his utter disregard for her schedule and her feelings; and now she couldn't stay away. He brought her the utmost pleasure, and an escape from her husband Mark, an over-bearing, abusive control freak. The tighter he held her, the farther away she had become; mentally and now physically. He was the reason she'd become such easy prey for Tom.
She had traded one master for another, and she didn't even realize it.
Tom was just as controlling and abusive in his own way. He used sex to manipulate her. She enjoyed it but it didn't mean she hadn't fallen into the same trap all over again.
It was easy to call it abuse when Mark left bruises. Or when he openly belittled her in front of their friends, humiliating her at cocktail parties by calling attention to her lack of book smarts. He always turned it off as a joke of course, and she always tried to laugh so no one else realized his true intent; but Ella knew.
Tom was different because he was subtle. He'd been doing this a long time, and Ella was hardly his first. He had perfected the art of skillful debasement.
He was having the time of his life. Ella was easier to manipulate than any woman he'd ever been with, it's what kept him coming back. He could make her do just about anything, and he never even had to ask.
So it came as no shock when she suggested getting rid of her husband. Tom had no interest in pursuing anything beyond what they did in seedy motel rooms, but Ella didn't know that. And he had already felt a twinge of boredom... so why not? Ella would murder her husband in the hopes that with him out of the way, she and Tom could finally be together. And Tom would get to experience the thrill of ultimate control.
He smiled. Yes, Ella would kill for him. She wouldn't kill to save herself, but she'd do it to trade herself into a different kind of slavery to another man. She was beautiful, but quite stupid.
It didn't take long to lay out a simple plan; Mark was to be the victim of a random break in. He'd surprise a burglar and poor Ella would come home from shopping to find his dead body in the living room.
She'd been careful over the years to hide evidence of his anger; no one knew she was a battered wife. No suspicion would fall on her, she adored her husband, all of their friends would confirm it. Ella had renewed hope for her life now; and she was certain she could pull the trigger then play the part of the grief stricken wife.
They planned the murder for the following Friday; she had a week to practice her story.
Tom gave her the gun he'd bought months ago, the day after he met her. He had known he would need it for something. But he hadn't dreamed it would be anything this exhilarating.
Surprisingly, the plan went off without a hitch. Ella played it to the hilt. It would be a closed case soon enough.
She met Tom three days later at a deserted gas station six miles out of town to give him back the gun.
He sat in his car and waited for her, grinning as he watched her pull up and park next to him. She got out of her car, the gun in hand and walked slowly towards him. He rolled down the window, and motioned for her to get into the passenger side. Why not have one last tumble in the sack?
He was still smiling at her as she leveled the gun and shot him in the head. She took his watch and his wallet and left him wide eyed, slumped over the steering wheel of his Mercedes.
Ella was indeed very beautiful, and she wasn't so stupid after all.

©2016 Garden Summerland