Happy October! The season is finally well and truly upon us. Let the spooks begin! (Did anyone else hear evil laughter echo in the background? Weird.)
Per my annual tradition, which started out as a way to celebrate All Hallow’s Read, I’m going to be giving away some treats to good little children readers. This year, I’ll be giving out prizes to a first AND second place winner. First place winner will receive a spooky book and a Starbucks gift card to get a tasty drink. Second place winner will receive a spooky book. (Both paperbacks.) Win, win!
Every year Starbucks comes out with some gimmicky, fun Halloween drink, and I am all about it. Of course, the winner can use their gift card on any type of Starbucks goody they’d like, but you’re probably going to want something warm and comforting to sip on while you read. This year I’m giving away one copy each of two books I have stories in! First place winner will get first choice between Tales from the Shadow Booth Volume 1, which has my story “That Which Never Comes,” and Suspended in Dusk 2, which has my story “Dealing in Shadows.” Not sure how to decide? How about an excerpt from each to get a little taste?
“That Which Never Comes” (from Tales from the Shadow Booth Volume 1)
At fourteen, Daniel was much too old to be afraid at night. That made it worse. No one close to him had ever really said anything overt or teased him—he had nice parents and good friends—but he still felt their silent assessment and the less-silent assessment of kids who weren’t his friends. He was generally a wuss. Adding in a fear of the dark would ruin him.
It was in the closet, whatever it was. It was alive, but not breathing. Unspeaking, but audible. Invisible in the darkness of his bedroom, but absolutely present. Daniel couldn’t help but wonder if there was some seed of truth to all the monster-in-the-closet stories. Was it coincidence, or had people’s lizard brains been on to something from long since before he was born? It didn’t matter. It was in his closet now.
It hadn’t woken him. He hadn’t been asleep. He’d been lying in bed thinking about Todd Okiro at gym. The utter lack of light in his room usually helped him sleep, but when he couldn’t sleep, it helped him dream.
It had started as a faint click, like the sound of two plastic coat hangers tapping together. Click, click, click. The air conditioning wasn’t on, though. It was still spring enough to feel cool at nights. So how had the hangers clicked? The slow slide of gravity finally shifting a shirt, maybe, or a fly hitting a wrinkle just so on its path through the air, or maybe even a distant vibration snaking imperceptibly through the house, up the wall, and through the wooden rod the hangers rested on, moving them ever so slightly from beneath.
Daniel’s eyes were open wide, staring into the darkness above his face, imagining the fine crack in the ceiling though he couldn’t see it—couldn’t even see the color white floating there above him.
Click, click, click.
Or a long fingernail tapping the painted shell of his hollow closet door.
Silly. Kid stuff. Still, his blind gaze slid to where he knew the door to be, shut tight in its jamb. There was room in his closet for a man to hide. Or something else.
Silence then, as if it knew he’d heard it—as if it knew exactly when to bide its time.
Daniel stared so hard into the darkness where his door should be that shapes began to shift inside it, his eyes projecting motion he couldn’t possibly see, even if it were there. Was it possible that some other sense picked up movement and told his eyes to make up impressions to match it? Could he hear something? Would he hear anything at all if the doorknob should turn ever so slowly, slower even than five deep breaths, until the metal tongue was fully out of the way and the door could be pushed forward from the inside, easy, the gap below it just tall enough to keep the bottom of the wood from brushing the carpet fibers, the hinges just well-oiled enough to withhold all protest, and would he hear it if the knob was gently released, again slowly, so slowly that he would almost fall back asleep before it was done, so that the knob was still and the door fully ajar so whatever waited inside it could come out?
And did Daniel sense these things, or did he imagine them?
His pulse jerked through his body in constant, violent cycles, trying to convince him to pant, but Daniel forced his breaths to be slow and low and deep. Even so, he could barely hear beyond his own body—or maybe his own body was the only sound left in the room.
If the closet door were open, would it come out? Had it?
The muscles where his jaw met his temples ached from straining his ears, as if they were exterior muscles he could flex to listen better.
Something shifted. Low, against the carpet.
Not a step, exactly. Certainly not a man walking, but not a shuffle, either. Not a drag. What then?
Almost imperceptible, but distinct. Definitely real. Not his imagination.
“Dealing in Shadows” (from Suspended in Dusk 2)
The shadows below seem to hold their breath at my approach. I always seek them out—something to do with grief, maybe. My sadness draws me to dark corners? I don’t know why exactly, but ever since I started noticing shadows, they seem more and more alive to me, as if they’re only waiting for me to walk by so they can let out their breaths.
“Where are you going now?” Charlene’s voice whines in my ear like a moped. I’d almost forgotten she was on the line.
I fidget with my necklace, wanting to finish the conversation so I can go down into the metro without losing cell reception. “Home. I’m exhausted.”
“Are they still overworking you? I thought you said you’d talk to them about cutting back your hours.”
“I was going to, but then two of the new nurses left. I can’t just leave them high and dry.”
Charlene huffs. I picture her pressing the phone between her ear and shoulder as she picks at her nails. “So you’re not coming out with us?”
“No, I’m going home.”
I brace for her rebuke, but she sighs and says, “That sounds good. I kind of wish I was too.”
“Then go,” I say absently, eyeing a deep shadow at the bottom of the stairs. It almost looks like something is moving in the pit of it. “You’re not obligated to go out with them.”
“Yeah. But I hate my apartment. You’re so lucky to have your own place, Eva. How many twenty-six-year-olds own a house in the city?”
My face suddenly feels hot. “I think I hear my train. Gotta go.” I hang up without waiting for a reply, but it’s either that or explode at my best friend. I know she didn’t mean anything by the comment. Her life still bustles with dates and drinks and one-liners, like it should. Like mine used to. I can’t expect her to understand.
I tuck my phone back into my purse and descend into the griminess of the metro. I try to ignore the shadows as I pass.
You’re so lucky, she said. Lucky to have my own place. In a way, on a logical level, I know she’s right. But the problem with that statement is that to get so “lucky,” my dad had to die last year. I can only afford my house due to the inheritance.
My train pulls up to the stop, and I slip through the doors. The metro is almost deserted, which isn’t too unusual this time of night. The car I sit in is empty.
I lean my head back and close my eyes, trying to let go of all the worries I carry home from the hospital. Since I’m a physician’s assistant in the hospital’s psych ward, I deal with many disturbed and disturbing patients. There is one man in particular—Jerry—who came in today claiming he’d forgotten just one person. How he knows he’d forgotten the person, we still can’t figure out.
I shake my head. No work outside of work. But without the distraction, I’m left with thoughts that circle like vultures. Charlene’s comment bites at me. Am I lucky? Is a house, some furniture, and financial stability worth the death of my dad?
I squeeze my eyes tighter as the train rocks me from side to side, an oversized bassinet making its way through the dark tunnels. The mechanical sounds of the inner-workings of the engine are sterile and familiar. My chest feels tight.
It’s not worth it, I vow. I miss him so much. I would give it all back just to see Dad one last time. Everything.
A soft scuff draws my eyes open. I look down my nose at the deep shadow under the seat across from me, where the lights of the train can’t penetrate. Detecting a small rectangle, I lean forward and pick it up.
It’s a slip of black construction paper about the size of a large match box. I hold it up to the light and angle it to read the words scrawled in pencil: Shadow People. That’s all it says.
Praise for “That Which Never Comes”
from Blair Rose at Learn This Phrase:
“Unusually powerful and—I want to say elegiac; there is something so melancholy and, yes, haunting about this. It follows Daniel from his teens to the age of 93 as he is intermittently menaced by an inexplicable, unseen presence. I suppose it’s a story with a moral, when you think about it, but not even a bit as sanctimonious as that sounds. Instead, it’s moving and elegant.”
Praise for “Dealing in Shadows”
from Gracie Kat at Sci-Fi & Scary:
“There was one in particular, Dealing in Shadows by Annie Neugebauer, that hit me very hard and everything about it was just so well done. […] (thank you for tearing my heart out of my chest and stomping on it, by the way)”
from Tracy Robinson:
“This short story by Annie Neugebauer boasts a slow, dread kind of horror while tackling the question ‘how far would you go for someone you love?’ It’s a beautiful tale. Scary and heartbreaking.”
from Frank Michaels Errington at Horrible Book Reviews:
“Quite an imaginative tale of bereavement and the shadow people. Another high note in a strong anthology.”
Both of these anthologies are dark and horror-leaning, but thoughtful and literary. (Don’t let the centipede fool you.) And both of my stories in them are deep, meaningful, and creepy. And of course with each you get many more stories by tons of talented authors!
SO.
Coffee and a spooky book, you want this, yes? Good. You can enter up to 13 times! (Lucky!) The winners will be randomly chosen from all entries, so the more you enter the better your chances. Eligible entry methods include:
- Commenting on any/each of my 4 October blog posts right here at AnnieNeugebauer.com (including this one!), 1 per post. All commenters will be automatically entered unless requested otherwise.
- Tweeting to share any of my promotional links this month—up to 4 tweets. To have your tweet counted, please include the hashtag #BooksBrewBoo . (You’re welcome to retweet my tweets–please do!–but to count as an entry you must tweet directly from your account. It’s also a good idea to tag me to be sure I see it.)
- Posting on Instagram to share any of my promotional material this month—up to 4 posts. To have your share counted, please include the hashtag #BooksBrewBoo . (Update: posts to you feed OR your stories will count; be sure you tag me so I see it.)
- Posting on Facebook to share any of my promotional links this month—1 post. To have your share counted, please include the hashtag #BooksBrewBoo . (It’s also a good idea to set the privacy of the post to ‘public’ and tag me to be sure I see it.)
Please help me out by making your sharing/posts interesting and/or useful! In other words, don’t just tweet the hashtag 4 times in a row and call it a day. Spread them out, say something about the giveaway, link to my blog or my work. Send people my way to join in. You get the idea. If you’d like an image to share, feel free to grab one or more from this post! If we get lots of entries, I just might throw in an extra surprise or two. 😈
Regarding postage: I don’t want to limit this to US only, but I also can’t afford to pay $64 in shipping. Let’s say that if I can get the book to you for $15 or less, you’re eligible. BUT, I will send an ebook and/or Starbucks e-giftcard to any winner(s) too far away for shipping, so everyone can still play! All entries must be made by 11:59 CST on October 30, so I can announce the winner on Halloween!
Best of luck to everyone! Have fun! And don’t forget to hit me up in the comments with any questions and/or content requests for the rest of my blogs this month. ♥
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