The Confabulator Cafe

Author: sbredeman

  • The Election

    “Dear, what are you looking at?” The man, hunched over in the doorway, looked over at his wife. She had one hand on her hip, the other held back the dark curtain just enough to poke her sun-spotted nose through the opening. She glared at something outside.

    “It’s back!” She said and let the curtain flutter back into place. She turned to her husband, her white visage a stark contrast against the panel behind her. “What will we do?”

    He sighed and hobbled over to the door and flipped the bolt into place, slid the chain lock over with a click, then grabbed his wife’s hand. “For starters, keep yourself away from the windows! If it sees you, you’re as good as gone!”

    If not for the stillness in the neighborhood, you wouldn’t know anything was amiss. The sun was shining, a slight fall nip chilled the air. In the distance, children could be heard playing and laughing– they had nothing to worry about. Not yet, at least.

    The season was beginning to turn and with it came the election. And with the election came the monsters creeping around the neighborhood. Yes, even in the light of day. One must stay diligent or else you’d be trapped by one. They’d quick-spit their vitriol in your face and then you’d be devoured. The thought sent a shudder through the man.

    “Don’t leave the house! They’ll be gone in a few days,” the man said. They agreed to stay shuttered in until the election was over. (more…)

  • The Shadow Thief

    Their feet came down on creaking floorboards. Broken glass, from their clumsy break-in, scattered across the floor and crunched under foot. Screeches echoed through the corridor and pierced through Philippa’s body until her blood ran cold.

    “Here! In here,” Jensen shouted above the noise and grabbed her arm and yanked her into a room with a large, heavy wooden door and thick, patterned carpet. Whitney stumbled in behind them and slid down the wall.

    It wasn’t total reprieve from the noise, but almost.

    “So, banshees?” Jensen asked, turning away from the door and looking to Philippa with one eyebrow raised.

    Banshees had been her first guess as well, but now that she could gather her wits, hear her own thoughts through the unnatural screaming coming from somewhere inside the house, she wasn’t so sure. “Where’s the stench? The roost,” She asked, sweeping her arm across the room. “Where are the victims? No, it’s something else.”

    “Specters are known to howl. Some tribes and gypsy colonies have described it as a kind of singing,” Whitney chimed in, standing and walking over to the other two.

    “Sound like singing to you?” Jensen asked, then let out a breath. His exasperation was clear in his expression.”What are we dealing with here?” He wiped his sleeve across his forehead and knelt to the carpet, setting his bag in front of him. He dug out a small, leather-bound journal and flipped through it.

    “Look for a history of specters here. Or maybe it’s just a ghost. A really vocal ghost.”

    “There’s nothing on this area at all,” Whitney chimed in.

    “If it’s a ghost, there’s one way to tell for sure,” Jensen said, stuffing the journal back into his bag and standing.

    “We need salt,” Philippa said. (more…)

  • On the Twelfth Day of NaNo, the Muses Brought to Me…

    NaNoWriMo week two is in full swing. Most of us know of this time as the dreaded week two, and/or The Week Satan Created. It’s a tough one. You’re probably stuck, or looking down the barrel of stuck at a few looming plot holes (ME! That would be me!).

    So take inventory: How are you feeling? What is working, what isn’t? Hydrated? Grab WATER- Not soda, not coffee, not Whiskey. Water. Drink a lot of it.

    Are you listening to music? Does your playlist inspire you? No? Change your music. Get a different chair. Use a pen that you really love- mine is a Retro 1951 ‘Tornado’. It’s a beaut.

    Do the thing that is necessary to get you out of your funk.

    Opposite of that, what is working? Have you found the perfect seat in the corner at Starbucks (Me! That would be me!)? Have you struck inspiration gold in a NaNo forum? Is your outline shining brilliantly during this marathon writing event? Excellent. Keep up the momentum.

    Keep the line moving, as they say.

    It’s Day 12. You’re almost halfway there.

     

    On the twelfth day of NaNo, the muses brought to me…

    Twelve chores I’m ignoring

    Eleven late nights writing

    Ten plot holes looming

    Nine pens a’leaking

    Eight websites crashing

    Seven caffeine headaches

    Six antagonistic protagonists

    FIVE PROCRASTINATION FACEBOOK/TWITTER/BLOG/FORUM  POSTSSSSSSSSS

    Four new friends made

    Three badges earned

    Two regional write-ins attended

    And a novel that I’d like to throw from my window.

     

     

  • NaNoWriMo Day 5: A Royal November

    Royals baseball is over for 2015.

    The parade has come and the crowds have gone.

    Memories were made. A championship was won. My home, my city came together in a way like I’ve never experienced.

    In 2014, the Kansas City Royals lost the World Series in Game 7 against the San Francisco Giants on October 29th. I was in Augusta, Georgia for work and scribbled my NaNoWriMo outline notes at a table at Buffalo Wild Wings with a crowd that barely noticed the World Series was happening. I was nervous for the impending November because I didn’t feel ready. I felt consumed by October fall ball.

    In a city I didn’t love, with a few colleagues I barely knew, I watched my team fall heart-breakingly short of a world championship we’d yearned for in 29 years of [mostly] bad baseball. We wanted the crown, and we watched another city take it from us.

    I finished NaNoWriMo 2014 with just over 50k words. It was my third NaNoWriMo and my third win, but I was heartbroken during most of November. I did get a full November, though. I may have scribbled frantic notes for a mostly useless outline in a notebook I wouldn’t know where to find now, but I was able to start writing my novel on November 1st without many distractions. I threw myself into that novel because there was nothing else to throw myself into.

    This year, the Royals WON THE WORLD SERIES! In Game 5, down by 2 runs against the New York Mets. In the top of the 9th we scored two miraculous runs to tie it up, and in the twelfth we scored five more to take the crown we knew we deserved. The one we missed last year.

    That was on November 1st.

    It almost seems like a lifetime ago. It was less than a week from the time I’m writing this.

    We’ve had late night watch parties, parades, celebrations that are, potentially, once-in-a-lifetime events take place in Kansas City. Excuses are excuses in my book, but I am willing to concede that Royals baseball has made it an extremely hard first few days of NaNoWriMo (in Kansas City…)

    I wouldn’t trade it for the world, of course.

    I guess the point of all of this is that this October and November has been one of the most exciting, gut-wrenching, heart-pounding falls of my entire life. And then NaNo started. If I could set up life in a perfect bubble, the Fall Classic and NaNoWriMo would not coincide. Perfect is relative, though, and I’m not sure I want a perfect life. Perfection is boring writing, and a perfect life gives me no inspiration.

    What I’m taking from the experience is a lesson the Royals taught me: be relentless. Fight! Never give up, never back down, never look away when you’re backed into a corner. Believe. Do work and make it hard work.

    It’s day 5. I’m behind in my word count. But I’m from Kansas City, a Royal town. I’m a comeback kid who’s learned from the best comeback kids in all of baseball, maybe all of time.

    I’ll win this Fall Classic. I’ll take that halo.

  • The Murder Cabin

    “Babe, how far is it again?” Peter asked, looking out the window as they turned onto another Missouri county road. Their two-car caravan would carve its way through rural Missouri from Oak Grove to Jeff City, then on to Salem.

    “About five hours,” Samara said.

    “Okay, well wake me up when we get to Jeff. I’ll drive from there if you want.”

    “I can also drive at some point if you need a break,” Jackie said. She was stretched out in the back seat and flipped through a magazine with her head propped on a pillow.

    “You guys just relax and sleep. I’d hate to put you out.” Samara said and laughed.

    “Aw you’re so sweet,” Peter said, digging in a duffel bag at his feet. “Hey, I made a playlist for the occasion.” He shoved the CD into the slot and smiled as “Holiday Road” started playing.

    #

    The last turn took them from a gravel road to dirt, and Peter sat up with wide eyes. “Where in the hell are we going?” (more…)

  • Don’t Let Me Drown

    I finally found the exit. Through a barred door with creaky hinges toward the back of my mind, where I mostly don’t go because the cobwebs of unpleasant memories are thick.

    The spiders are long dead, of course. Only their gray, dried carcasses remain, hanging by threads or wound tightly in ancient silk strings strung across dark corridors and pressed into hard-to-reach corners. The spindled legs fold into hollow bodies and beady eyes, once shining with sabotage, are dull now. Those corpses still cast wide shadows, though, and they aren’t any less frightening than before.

    It started with the drugs. I’d had them a long time, a potential prescription treasure chest with my name on it, sitting forgotten in my medicine cabinet. But really, before that, I suppose it started with the feeling that I was drowning on dry land in a stream of my own salty tears, because I was raped. I was drunk, he was drunk, I don’t really remember a whole lot and most people made it clear that I was asking for it. Then, the panic set in. (more…)