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The Last Phone of Gravestone Street

The Last Phone of Gravestone Street

The man remembered the phone clearly. He remembered the way to the Gravestone Street like it was only the day before that he wandered behind the cemetery to the stone-covered roads.

Twenty-eight years ago he was eight, and the vision looked like an image from a fantasy book. An empty road, between the grey cemetery walls and the end of a hill, where five or seven telephones stood silently. All…

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Remember that you can read my brand new story of the year, Mud Water, for the #52weeks52stories challenge! Go to lorenkilldeer.wordpress.com for your short horror story of the day! I don’t know how things wrap around the idea of luck. I personally believe in luck. Like, in having a lucky day. Having a lucky feeling. Having a lucky ray of sunshine in the middle of a black unlucky day. I don’t believe black cats, green four-leaf clovers, red strings around the wrist, or whatever. If someone comes and tells me ‘It’s not luck, most of the time is your attitude and your mood’, I won’t discredit them. I don’t think luck is some kind of invisible force, like gravity, pulling us down, pushing us up, as it wants. It’s a way of naming it. Naming ‘the everything’ in that moment of luck. Your attitude, the mood, the circumstance, what we call chance (or the result of a random succession of events in a chaotic, unpredictable, and uncontrollable world), anything that made you turn your head at the right moment to see the love of your life passing by. You don’t control luck. Cats don’t control luck. Generic mutations on wild plants don’t do that either. They can make you feel more or less lucky, but it’s just that. I don’t believe in having luck as an essential part of your life. I believe of working your ass to be ready at the exact time and place. So, I don’t believe in naturally lucky people. I believe in confident hard workers. But I can’t say anything. So forget everything I have said just before this. Because I have met people. Not lucky people, no. The other kind. #chat #photooftheday #instafollow #writer #writerslife #writersofinstagram #writersofig #writing #iamwriting #writingblog #blog #tumblr #writingupdate #writingcommunity #bookstagram #yabooks #instabooks #readersofinstagram #yalit #horror #horrorwriter #horrorlit #bibliophile #bookrec #bookish

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Picture is completely unrelated. By the way, I have posted the first story for the #52weeks52stories challenge. Week 1 story is, in my humble opinion, not so good. It will teach you not to… mess up with water, I guess. You know, the advice everyone should listen to. Feel free to read Week 1 story Mud Water on my blog lorenhasapen.wordpress.com And if you want to read the whole story inspired by glitched devices and so on, you can read it all tomorrow on my Tumblr page. Just go to lorenkilldeer.tumblr.com and stay tuned! For now, I’ll give you a sneak peek A few years ago I decided to buy my mother a tablet for Mother’s day. So, my father and I, we went to the store, and we bought a bold, good, shiny tablet for techno-mom. She loved it. Actually, she screamed like a kid with a puppy and told us we shouldn’t have bothered that much. I remembered all those years when the common gift was a fancy bottle perfume that only added to a collection of half used, weirdly shaped packages, and thought it was worth it. My mother is the one that taught me the joys of reading, and as much as I complain about her at my twenty-three years, I’m glad she started buying me books from before I was born. With the internet and the right device she suddenly became a child in a candy store. She downloaded every book that could be taken from the depths of the web. And I, as a mother that would yell at her little guy ‘You don’t need that much chocolate, put it back or we won’t get the natural size gummy bears’, I asked her ‘Are you going to read a hundred books?’. The difference is that I prefer to shut up and don’t ask again for the answer while looking at my pile of unread books, and my Wish List. At least books, unlike sweets, won’t give you diabetes when reading in excess. #chat #photooftheday #instafollow #writer #writerslife #writersofinstagram #writersofig #writing #iamwriting #writingblog #blog #tumblr #writingupdate #writingcommunity #bookstagram #yabooks #instabooks #readersofinstagram #yalit #horror #horrorwriter #horrorlit #bibliophile #bookrec #bookish

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Week 1 - Mud Water

Week 1 – Mud Water

This story is the first one of the #52weeks52stories challenge. You can follow my progress on the stories on Twitter and Instagram!

  Ed only saw the puddle of water in the middle of his room just after almost slipping on it. The young man, almost in his thirties, followed the trail to the short hallway, to the door. The whole department looked flooded, and he let his head fall while rubbing his…

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I’m not a photographer. I learned everything I know because I had Photography as part of my career. The teacher, well, was something. She taught us everything, from the History before Lumière and after; the mechanics of cameras I’ll never be able to afford; the physics of lights. She did, though, teach us how to use the camera correctly (which is nice). Still, she didn’t teach us how to make compositions. We worked it out alone, at the end we were studying illustration and our main purpose was to make good looking images as vehicles for meanings. But to illustrate is not the same as to take photos. For starters, if I want to draw something I just need to draw it and it would appear on paper. Name it, sunflowers, a thousand bunnies, or a spaceship from the future. Incredibly, as good as I had exercised my imagination; I needed to work on my plasticity more. In other words, how to make a world appear from what I already have. Last year I had material. I ran around the house, collecting every trinket that would look good under the lenses, and even though I knew I was going to run out of things sooner or later, I still found myself surprised. Even though I still have some un-photographed, I still can’t make them look good or interesting. This is how I ran out ideas for my IG account. I have taken a lot of photos in December, thinking I would have them in stock, but now I can’t find anything good in them. They look wrong, plain and simple. I do have some ideas. Like taking more of those fake portraits of myself without a face that I’m so good at taking, but I haven’t had the time, the stamina, or the brains to make a photo session yet. So, I struggle each day trying to find something interesting to show you, but I fail every day as the sun falls and I’m left without lights. Can you give me more advice? What would you like to see from me in the future? #chat #photooftheday #instafollow #writer #writerslife #writersofinstagram #writersofig #writing #iamwriting #writingblog #blog #tumblr #writingupdate #writingcommunity #bookstagram #yabooks #instabooks #readersofinstagram #yalit #horror #horrorwriter #horrorlit #bibliophile #bookrec #bookish

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Letting the bedbugs bite

So, I’ve been listening to this audiobook the past two days, quite a nice voice reading The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket, of Edgar A. Poe. (At first, my attention was drawn by the title. If you are a writer you know how much do we struggle with titles, and such. This guy just said ‘Fuck it, I’m gonna call it like the character the POV of this novel is written in. So there is no doubt at all who the main character is. Yes. I’m Harry Pottering, before Harry Potter’. At the end, things worked out well).

Well, the character, on the first few chapters (spoilers ahead… I guess), decides to go on an adventure, and arranges with his dearest friend, August, to hide in the ship cellar. At some moment of the story, he falls asleep. And sleeps for what he thinks, many days, years like, has the most horrible dreams and when he manages to wake up, he feels terribly dehydrated and numb.

So well, I have just taken a fifteen minutes nap and woke up feeling the exact same.

And this is the point where the Poe story ends and mine starts (not only because I don’t want to spoil you the entire story, but because the audiobook is six hours long and I haven’t even listened to half of it. So, YOU better not spoil me). My problem is that today alone I have taken four naps. I’m not kidding.

And I’m not taking them because I want to, I don’t have free time at all, but I’ve been falling asleep when working or writing. My boyfriend told me it could be the heat that makes you drowsy and tired, as your body wastes calories on not overheating. This week we had up to 40 Grades Celsius most of the days. But today it wasn’t nearly as hot. As a matter of fact, I drank the tea I couldn’t in the week in this past two days.

Yet I was writing a tweet and I fell asleep while at it. The result was the masterpiece of a dyslexic on an Enigma Machine.

I sleep for fifteen minutes around half past ten. I woke up at nine, and for some reason, my body started to shut off an hour and a half in. I wrote until almost twelve when I tried to take a ten-minute nap (I fell asleep again while writing) and it turned out to be a forty minutes nap. Hello 12:30, I didn’t want to see you on my clock at all. On which my mother called me on the phone. I walked across the room to hang up because I thought it was my alarm. I woke up, quite confused about how I got there.

I lay on my back and had some really weird dreams about faces getting close to me to see something really close, at four in the afternoon. And after polishing some details of a page, I fell asleep just now, at nine. For fifteen minutes.

I had already talked about my problems with sleeping. I don’t know what it is that either my body, or my mind, can’t arrange to stay fully awake (and, you know. Mentally shining brightly) for more than a few hours.

So, from someone that it’s not very sure about what to do… What would you advise me?

And, while we are at it if there are other weird sleepers in the crowd; would you raise your hand and tell me your stories? I would love to hear them!

Until I see you again, and please, don’t let the bedbugs bite, either dance over your sleeping body.

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Fairies would dance in circles, one with the other, hands entangled and jumping high. Parties lasted all night long (longer than any party I’ve ever been invited to), and when the sun raised and the fairies went back home, they left behind a curse circle. Those were known as the Fairy Rings. The mushrooms in the picture are not from a Fairy Ring. Fairies don’t come here because of the economy. The story I read said that if a man stepped on those circles, at night, he would suddenly see the fairies. And the fairies wouldn’t be so happy (don’t crash into parties when uninvited. Rude). As punishment, the person was forced to dance with them until their death or until they fell into madness (with the consequent death). If someone ever tells you that ‘old times were better’, make them remember that the punishment for walking over natural biological phenomena by accident was death through constant torture. Fairies were quite the character. Not only that they partied all night (you know, next time someone calls you a rebel for partying too much, you should answer back that you are not a rebel, but that you have fairy blood in your veins. It could be fun, also a ticket to a psychiatric hospital, so don’t take it too far), but also that they would mostly play tricks on people to make them pay. There are more stories about fairies kidnapping babies than fairies making dresses appear from nowhere. This is a half-truth, but as I know, fairies worked quite like the karma: if you did well, you could make friends with all the fantastical lore, if you did badly, well. Brace yourself. I think that those legends that may have served as a warning worked well as a critic for society. There were more stories about people being fair fully punished, because somehow, humanity messes up quite often, even since hundreds of years ago. In resume, don’t play with magical creatures, and don’t be a dick to mushrooms. # fairy #fairytale #humour #mushroom #chat #photooftheday #instafollow #writer #writerslife #writersnetwork #writersofinstagram #writersofig #writing #iamwriting #writingblog #blog #tumblr #update #writingupdate #writepromotion #writingcommunity #bookstagram #story

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Welcome to the Late Night’s Special Post. This has nothing special at all, but the strange hour. Before we start, I want to make some intercommunicate for you. My latest story, A House Full of Skeletons, is being posted in Jewel E. Leonard blog! ( jeweleleonard.com ) If you want to read the English translations, feel free to go to her page and give it a look! Para leerla en Español, pueden ir directamente a mi blog ( lorenhasapen.wordpress.com ) ¡y leer Una Casa llena de Esqueletos directamente ahí! We are, somehow, taught that everything strange happens at night, and if you are like me, you like to wait up until late for something to happen. I don’t do it anymore, but I constantly think of everything that must be happening while I sleep. A strange radio signal appears at three in the morning and only reproduces a strange message in Morse. A light starts blinking outside your window, someone you thought you would never see again, calling you. The old phone rings and you can hear the voice of the person you will love on the other side; she or he doesn’t know why they called, but they are waiting for you. There is someone you don’t know in the kitchen, but because he is making hot chocolate for you, you decide to let him stay. Then he proceeds to tell you the most fantastic stories, even though he never opens his mouth. The sky turns purple for help a second. You were the only one to see it. You find an old abandoned dinner, open in the middle of the darkness. Looks empty from the outside, but when you enter you find it full. Everything is free to eat, but you are worried at how many of the dishes have eyes. You think you saw someone fly over the starry sky. Then you are pulled up in the air, and she takes you for the longest ride. You are going to be back home late the next day. But well, life is life, and you only get an Instagram post. I hope you have a good late night. #night #nightmare #horror #horrorstory #chat #photooftheday #instafollow #writer #writerslife #writersnetwork #horrorfiction #writersofig #writing #iamwriting #writingblog #blog #tumblr #update #writingupdate #writepromotion #writingcommunity #writerssociety #bookstagram

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Una Casa llena de Esqueletos Parte 2

Parte 1

  Cuando Kenya observaba la casa de la psicóloga, apareciendo al doblar en una de las esquinas, no podía evitar pensar que lucía como una casa de juguetes. Como una casita a lo Barbie, con las paredes pintadas de blanco, esas flores amarillas que olían dulce y atraían a las abejas, el techo de tejas rojas.

Jugaron cartas en la alfombra. Hacían eso cuando Kenya no tenía ganas de sentarse y…

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On the first week of 2018, I remembered my own nature as a night owl unwantedly. It’s incredibly easy for me to stay up late. I feel more awake as soon as the sun hides, and usually, when the night hits I’m free to start working on what I want to work. Still, the truth is I’m way more productive when I follow a routine of waking up early in the morning than when I follow the owl’s path. This week my perfect plan was ruined this way: On Monday I came back home, and I stayed up until the normal. Tuesday was a terrible day, somehow. I stayed up on Wednesday, making extra work. On Thursday I had to find a little time on my schedule to start working on #52weeks52stories ; as in consequence, I stayed up later than the day before. To this day I have, progressively, starting to wake up later in the morning. I have downloaded, a month ago, a cell phone alarm app that you have to shake like the world is ending to turn it off. I have four alarms starting at seven a.m. I somehow manage to walk off my bed to my desk, shake the cell phone while it’s ringing rock full volume, walk back to my bed, and sleep back. When the cell phone sounds the other three times, I still manage to turn it off (to all of this, I have dreams of myself breaking my phone in half. When this happens I already know I’m sleeping, turning the alarm off and I’m not going to wake up). I only manage to wake up by eight a.m., an hour later. I’m desperate by Friday. I finish all my chores around midnight and I sit down to work. On Saturday I gave up and stayed until four a.m. finishing the story for Week 1. It’s Sunday, and I worked a half day today. I invited my boyfriend to sleep. Last time I desperately asked him to wake me up no matter what, he pushed me out of the bed. I guessing this is why I’m going to marry him. He is the perfect Alarm Clock to wake me up. #2018 #2018update #routine #chat #photooftheday #instafollow #writer #writerslife #writersnetwork #writersofinstagram #writersofig #writing #iamwriting #writingblog #blog #tumblr #update #writingupdate #writepromotion #writingcommunity #writerssociety #bookstagram #story #storylife

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Una Casa llena de Esqueletos

I have the honour, today, to be guest in Jewel E. Leonard’s blog. She is an incredible person, and she will be posting this story, today, in her site. So, for the English version for A House full of Skeletons, go check it right here!

And while you are at it, check the rest of her amazing blog!

Thank you, gladly, for reading me.

  Hoy tengo el honor de ser invitada en el blog de Jewel E. Leonard…

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The best beach days are those when storm clouds cover the sky. First of all, because it’s not about slim, thin model clouds, sweet sugar cotton fairy flow. It’s all about the kind of cloud that I love, the grey-black dense cloud that covers the sun with incredible ease, and takes all the light off the day. I love afternoon beach rains. When it rains, the place empties and you suddenly have more space. The sea goes wild and, for some reason, incredibly hot. When I was younger, and still quite the imprudent, I would run to that sea and play with the waves. They cover you completely, and if you are lucky, they throw you back to the beach. If you are not so lucky, you have to fight your way out. Sometimes is not as safe. Sometimes is really wild, and you disappear. I don’t wish that to anyone. Some days, the storms comes with the South Wind, and the next day the beach sand is covered by jellyfish. We call them ‘alive water’ in Spanish, and that’s probably dumber that calling them ‘jelly’, but it makes more sense to me. When the sun rises, the jellyfish, like me, burns and dies. The downside of the after storm is that you know that, at least for a few days, the water will be roaming with the jellyfish that saved themselves from the rain. But it doesn’t matter, because the storm was worth it. #beach #summer #sea #storm #clouds #stormcloud #summerrain #rainy #photooftheday #instafollow #writer #writerslife #writersnetwork #writersofinstagram #writersofig #writing #iamwriting #writingblog #blog #tumblr #update #writingupdate #writepromotion #writingcommunity #writerssociety #bookstagram #story #storylife

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Novedades de Principio de Año

Muchas cosas sucedieron el treinta y uno de Diciembre, y la mitad de ellas provenían de alrededor del globo: Alguien a quien conozco deseándonos un buen cambio de año desde Japón mientras que acá aún era mediodía, mensajes desde Europa, cinco horas antes del cambio, y mientras esperaba, otros países dos horas más jóvenes que el mío estaban celebrando, despiertos y energéticos.

Mi madre señaló que…

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Beggining of the Year's Update

Beggining of the Year’s Update

A lot of things happened on the 31st of December, half of them were all from around the globe: Someone I know wishing us a good change of year from Japan while here was still midday, messages from Europe, five hours before the change, and while I was waiting, other countries two hours younger than mine were celebrating, alive and energetic.

My mother pointed that the moon was big, blue and green.…

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My 2018 writing goals: Grow even bigger. That wasn’t a goal in 2017, because when last year started, I didn’t knew how big I could grow. Get a heart in a jar; I heard that all classic horror writers have one. Meet even more writers to hang around with. Make a mob with the writers. Traffic book smell. Profit. Run and hide in Madagascar when the things get out of hand. Finish my novel. I still have to translate it. But each step is a step closer to publishing. I still have to translate it to English. Try not to die in the meanwhile could make a good goal. Grow a beard. It’s kind of hard for me to so when I’m a lady, but it seems that a lot of writers have writing beards, so I better give it a try. Start the other novel, because, why not. I’m sadomasochist enough. Get a poster of Cthulhu. So anyone that gets in my room knows who is messing with. Hang a photo of a bunny next to Cthulhu. That’s for distraction purposes. Drink even more tea. And that’s more of a challenge, because I drink a lot of tea. Get a bigger teacup. That will help with the other goal. Cheers for a happier, merrier, year! Kampai! #2018 #2018goals #goals #challenge #chat #newyear #newyearsparty #photooftheday #instafollow #writer #writerslife #writersnetwork #writersofinstagram #writersofig #writing #iamwriting #writingblog #blog #tumblr #update #writingupdate #writepromotion #writingcommunity #writerssociety #bookstagram #story #storylife

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Today I’m going to that town by the sea I much despise to visit my family for New Years. The travelling is not long. It’s just an hour from my hometown, a long grey road crossing between fields of grass. When I was little and I could still fit inside my wardrobe drawers, I didn’t have anything to kill the time while travelling. All I knew before the big travelling’s was that town by the sea, and the hour long road trip. It wasn’t an hour long for me. It was much more. At that time my father had a green Torino, and I remember that it always had that strange smell of old car under the sun. It had tinted windows and when I laid down the backseat, the midday sky would like night sky, and the night sky on the travel back home was pitch black, with only the moon lost in the glass. I used to ask annoyingly often ‘How much until we arrive?’ Ten kilometres before the city, there was a sign that says ‘From sun to sun’, then the name of the city. It stood there from so long, from even before I was born, that the sun, ironically, turned it into a pale shade of orange. The best trips were the ones my grandmother was with me looking through the window. We used to play and count the windmills. Halfway to this town there is a cross road where three giant energy windmills stand. They were placed quite some years ago, to feed an entire town nearby, but it didn’t work at the end. She used to say that one of those windmills was my grandfather, the other my dad, and the last one my uncle. We were the other windmill, the little ones. Now, each time we get to the cross road I can look up from the screen that kills the time for me and think ‘There is Grandpa. We are halfway there’. #travel #travelstory #chat #familystory # # #photooftheday #instafollow #writer #writerslife #writersnetwork #writersofinstagram #writing #iamwriting #writingblog #blog #tumblr #update #writingupdate #writepromotion #writingcommunity #bookstagram #story #storylife

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Minutes after New Year’s midnight we go to the beach, we get the old family truck buried in the sand, so we have to get off and push it, and we see the firework show. One year there was this huge storm, and we couldn’t get the truck out of the sand. Sometimes storms on land were just thin rains in the ocean. No one was expecting such weather and the fireworks ended earlier when the wind became violent and the water became just a dense water curtain. I was with my family in the back of the truck. After almost an hour, a car appeared behind and signed us with the lights. They came to take my cousins back home. So we were left alone, me, my father and my crescent worried mother. My father got under the truck and started to pull as much sand as he could with his arms. I waited, looking through the window. Then I see another light, a car that somehow, in the middle of the thunderstorm managed to pass by us and go down the beach. We see them driving in front of us toward the sea, to then stop. Like us, they just got buried in the sand. The lights of the car blinked, only because of them we could see the sea; everything was just a violent black mass. My father enters the truck again and starts the engine. The wheels fight and then they go over the sand, back to the road. We are out. Then these were the events that followed. My father was completely covered in sand, so he decided to take a quick bath in the sea to clean it off. He took all of his clothes, but his underwear and ran towards the sea, passing by the car that now had the lights off. Only after he’s done, he notices the car. We see him as a barely noticeable black shadow, approaching to the car in the middle of the darkness. Then there is a lightning falling close and a huge thunder. Long story short, the couple almost died from a stroke when seeing a very large, almost naked man in front of his car all of sudden. That was a good New Year. #black #dark #blackandwhite #newyear #newyearstory #familystory #photooftheday #instafollow #writer #writerslife #writersnetwork #writersofinstagram #writing #iamwriting #writingblog #blog #tumblr #update #writingupdate #writepromotion #writingcommunity #book