What Horror looks like to the Wimp!

I love reading and I enjoy a good movie but I have a secret. Horror stories movies scare the hell out of me or put the hell into me. When I was a child or even at the young adult stage I could have covered it up as a normal pubescent quirk that you would grow out of.

Now I am a grown adult with offspring of my own so it’s hard to explain why my brain doesn’t understand the level of make believe or fantasy that came from another human’s brain into the arts to me. I internalize it. I dream about it and it remains in my psyche for weeks: crawling under my skin long after the television has been turned off and the book returned to its shelf.

So why care?

Well, I like to watch movies with my husband. When I choose a movie he muddles through it without complaining and I would like to return the favor. Instead of always screaming, “Oh my gosh, that’s what you want to watch,” or watching it and filching, squirming, complaining or pretending to fall asleep because I am hiding the fact that I haven’t developed the ability to conceptualize the images in my brain like others seem to have. So I blame the other person who could watch a horror flick and not flinch for having a lack of taste in movies instead of dealing with it.

It took me a while to figure out that I needed to watch the movie or read the book to the end so that I wouldn’t spend too much time imagining the different ways that it could have ended. Once I see it through I would only have one scenario to ponder and obsess over.

I still think Exorcist is very scary. It was scary for its time and still is. You will understand why I broke my rule and didn’t finish it. I watched The Ring once, never again. Jaws still make me shiver when I put my foot in the ocean (and no I never go out swimming to far). Movies like SAW, Scream and the Texas Chain Saw Massacre is not on my watching or reading list. Silence of the Lamb was watchable and readable, Predator and even Se7en too. 28 Days later was strangely too much to bear. I may have been able to make Nightmare on Elm Street (all of them) but didn’t try. The Thing, crawling and gushing violently out, not on my list to watch again. I remember filching in the end when the last thing was a light. Thank you for a reprise. Final Destination was eerie much like The Others. Dawn of the Dead, no I haven’t seen any. I didn’t watch Omen (children in Horror make me queasy) but I did watch IT, which I refer to as “Kiss me again fat boy.” If I had to pin point a show that started this entire psychosis it may actually be IT. So I watched IT again a few years ago and I released that it wasn’t as bad as I thought. Someone should make it over with better effects and I am sure it will continue to scare without prejudice.

With the special effects of the twentieth century I abandoned horror altogether because it was becoming too realistic and my psyche just couldn’t endure. Much because is due to my overactive imagination (code for wimp).

When I became a parent I got caught up in the world of Disney and cartoons before I went back to grown up programming. The closest thing I get to horror these days is True Blood – the last season I watched was season four. Watching a crazy vampire flick makes me zone in on too many necks while I am in a normal conversation and at night, I am always looking for a sudden attack by a stranger or friend. So yes I abandoned that too and any other horror flick in between.

Other than watching World War Z recently (yes I flinched). I have to say that Criminal Minds is wonderfully creepy and psychotic without having to commit to a Horror experience. So it got me to thinking. What if I wrote something creepy and eerie without delving into the being scared out of your wits realm?

I wanted to write something simple enough so I chose a haunted house with the genre being a Romance Horror. At first I thought of a couple moving into a haunted house and being provoked by a ghost but Beetle Juice did that already. So I opted to having the house stay haunted but let the male character be the ghost and love interest be the woman who moves in.

The task was to make it sexy without losing the eerie feeling you get when you think. What she’s crushing on a ghost?  Well crushing and a little bit more (wicked grin). After a couple of rewrites I found a back story that I was comfortable with, which made intimacy possible and I created a villain that I am proud of.

As I wrote I got braver. I kept saying to my fingers, you know it could be a little scarier for impact. Maybe the characters don’t have to be all good or bad. You can put in some ulterior motives and gave someone a dark side. My happy ending was also pulled apart as I needed to leave an eerie feeling with readers when they closed the book.

The more I wrote, the more I got comfortable with being true to the character even if it meant putting them at more risk. Which is what others writers do. If you have a Zombie character you can’t let him drink tea and discuss his feelings. He has to scare and evoke terror and maybe even bring the plague to thousands. As a writer with my new found bravery (it’s not bravery just yet but it feels good so I call it that). My New Horror Romance, The Ghost at 1 Cheshill Lane is a soft horror based in the Caribbean. It is available on Amazon and Smashwords) but I feel inspired now to write something that can really be classified as a Horror.

I’m just kidding. I’ll write myself into a nightmare if I go further.

Cover Ghost1 - k

I hope you enjoy the book.

 

Email : info@marshagomes.com

Website: http://www.marshagomes.com

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The TV Wife

The TV Wife

553361-557560-man-holding-remote-control-and-watching-television

It’s about midnight and I overslept.

My daughter cradles next to me and I smile as I brush a curl from her face. It was not my intention to share my bed with my daughter, who has a room of her own across the corridor. Nevertheless, she’s seems so happy sleeping with me maybe he’s right, we’ll give her the time she needs to adjust. She needs me.

I long for his touch and ease out of the bed. I move a pillow close to her, she grips it and I hold my breath. “Please don’t wake up,” I whisper, “I need your father now.” She understands and cuddles the pillow and steadies her breathing.

I am off, feet barely touching the ground as I reach the living room and I jump on him. He’s dosing on a mattress in front of the television. I don’t care what he’s watching because I know he’s naked under that towel waiting for me. He laughs as I strip. I’m so hungry for his sweetness and I can barely wait to taste his manhood inside me. The television is turned off as we moan and listen for small cries but she doesn’t get up. Tomorrow is work but I don’t care, he’s so beautiful, I will feast on him until I’m done and I come in an amazing radiance and fall back to earth with a thud.

We lie quietly in each other’s arms and I listen to his heart beat but it doesn’t last. He eases out from under my grip and head to the bathroom. I do the same. I watch the bedroom, she’s sleeping soundly and I go to him again and rest my head on his chest. I want more than sex, I need a hug. Hold me my heart yearns let me lie with you, be more, gave me more.

“Let’s go to bed, there’s more than enough room,” I say.

“You know, I can’t,” he answered. “That bed is too soft for my back; you should go back to her.”

“I’ll stay here then,” I say with a sweet smile.

The television flips back on.

“You know I can’t sleep with the television on,” I groaned, “just a little while longer…”

He’s flipping through the channels and raises the volume. All I get is a dull stare. “Go back to her,” he moans.

My pride cannot ask again and my body shakes as I’m ignored. I move to get up and he pulls me in and kisses my lips. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he grins.

I stare at him; confused and annoyed, I walk away. The corridor seems longer now that I’m walking back and I hold my tears in as I climb into bed and move my face into the pillow. “Move over,” a voice says crossly a minute later.

“Go back to the TV,” I snap.

She jumps and I regret my outburst. He goes to her and holds her close and rocks her back to sleep. He’s a great father and a good man. I chide myself for being so selfish. The things some woman have to endure like smoking, drinking and violence was not my fate, he was just overly preoccupied with the television.

He kisses her gently as he puts her back in bed. I watch him as he moves towards me and kisses me softly once again. This time I kiss back. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he whispers and I nod in agreement and give a faint smile. He walks out of the door and I lay for the next hour watching our daughter and listening to the television. I ask myself over and over what will happen to my marriage when she grows up and out of my bed.

******

My daughter cradles next to me and I move her foot off of my stomach. She follows me around the bed, looking for the warmth. It’s getting to be uncomfortable sharing a bed with a little person who moves and kicks at random but she’s growing well and just started school. She well adjusted the teacher says and far happier than most children. That’s good to know, I guess she gets that from her father he is also far happier than most. He’s married but has his own room and sleeps in front of the television. She moves again and this time I get a hand in my face. I barricade her between three pillows and look for space on the bed to sleep where I wouldn’t wake her but could still dose off.

This master bedroom held so much promise when we first moved in. It was not my intention to share my bed with my daughter, who has a room of her own across the corridor. A room well suited for a child her age, I resolve to try to get her into her own bed once more, with or without her fathers’ help.

I hear footsteps in the corridor and hastily find a spot and close my eyes. My husband walks in and moved towards our daughter and kisses her goodnight. He frowns at the barricade and moves the pillows away. He’s watching me and I know it, but I don’t care, the whore is not on call tonight go screw your television.

In my haste, I’ve moved away from my daughter’s ear and he gets the opportunity to isolate me. He nibbles my ear and kisses my neck. “Come outside,” he whispered and turns me around. I pretend to awake from a deep sleep confused that he’s there and he smiles. Always oblivious to my resentment, could his world be so simple? TV, food, exercise, sex and he’s happy. He smiles as he walks away and I shrug, I should have never opened my eyes.

I walk to the bathroom and stay to long and then walk outside where he’s waiting. I no longer pounce on him with lustful intent; I wait for him to start. I sit quietly and pretend interest in the television. After a while he takes it off and hugs me. The sex is good I never really regret getting up but I leave as soon as we are done. “I’ll see you in the morning,” I say. My heart breaks every time I hear the TV turns back on as I walk away and morns at the thought of how life would have been if we had bonded. If I was able to hear his heart beat with mine all night and breathe with his rhythm. I kiss my daughters forehead as I climb back into bed. Sleep sweet child, I will hold on as long as I can.

******

My daughter cradles her pillow. She’s older now but she still doesn’t want to sleep in her own bed. I’m always stressed and I need to do something about this abhorrence festering in me. I feel like my life is there’s and they will both out live me. Why does being a good mother and wife mean losing me so completely? Look at my husband; he’s practically a bachelor still. He always out, walking, swimming, doing stuff in church and I have become the eternal, keeper of the child. Stueps.

I need to exercise more, to read more; I used to read so much. I wish I could fit into those jeans I brought last year. I don’t even invite friends over anymore. The mattress now resides in the living room and I don’t care to explain why. Life is passing by in this bubble and I morn for it. We don’t talk much at home anymore, just the necessary. We put up a good front when we go out though: the lady and the princess with that handsome man at their side. I am always surprised that even though we dress apart we usually color coordinate. It isn’t deliberate it more of a weird quirk, the universe’s wicked sense of humor saying that we belong when we don’t. We could win the award for the best family on the block, I am sure but when we get home where will we put the trophy? In my room, in my daughter’s room or in his room: there is no family room. Maybe there is no need because there is no family – an illusion of sorts for a woman who doesn’t know her worth.

I’m horny, really horny. I’ve tried cutting my husband off but he’s still in front of the television.  It’s so embarrassing to pick a fight with the TV and lose.

It’s not that late and I curse the clock as I alternate between the moving numbers and the ceiling. The sound of torture echoes into the room as he puts on a movie. It’s a movie I like and if we were on better terms I may have been inclined to go outside and watch it with him. Eat popcorn maybe.

I walk to my closest, so many dresses unworn, so many pieces no longer fit. I wish I had places to where these dresses; to dance with a man who looks deep in my eyes and sing “Mere Cherie Amore.” I start to wonder about the men I didn’t choose, what were they up to? Were they men who slept with their wives or in front of the television? Maybe I could start over; maybe I could explain to the child why daddy doesn’t live here anymore. Maybe I could find myself again. It wasn’t a maybe I had to, soon she would be moving to her room and what would be my excuse then. He isn’t going to sleep with me and I’m not sleeping in front of the TV all night, every night so it was time to prepare for the inevitable.

I take the sexy skinny jeans out of the closet and hang it on the door. It’s time to fit back into this. It is time to prepare to move on. I can’t sleep; the determination to ask for a divorce keeps me awake. When the house quiets I venture out into the corridor, my feet barely touching the ground.  I take the remote and lower the TV which is my nightly routine but today I stand there and I stare at him as he sleeps. I love him, he ignites a fire in me but I can’t understand him. I move to wake him wishing to kiss him, needing his touch. My eyes fall on his phone, and I pick it up quietly and run through the calls and texts. He been calling his exes and everyone but me. I read the texts as he sleeps not caring if he awakes, nothing incriminating, and nothing to warrant my decision. No proof, nothing to strengthen my accord. I place the phone gently back in place but my mind is already changed, I don’t wake him. We are too different, we always were and we will both survive the split.

******

I’m home. I walk through the door and I spot them in the living room watching a kiddy show both perched on that mattress. I’ve started back writing, joined a group and fit perfectly into these skinny jeans which I wore to my writers meeting tonight. I stayed back a little later than needed. I no longer rush out the door to go to church with them as I usually do and I walked idly with the group and accepted compliments as we waited for transportation.

“Your husband normally picks you up?” One questioned as I kept walking with the group. “True,” I replied, “but some days it just feels good to be alone,” I grinned.

I am taking back my life; father and daughter can take care of themselves. I pass them with a smile and reach the delight of my room. I take a bath and look for a book to read until she’s ready to sleep. My life is so busy now and even though I’ve changed around her room to suit her age, she’s still not budging but I’m not making it a problem. By the time I tuck her in and say goodnight, the TV is off and he’s praying.

He’s been praying more these days, and I’ve been praying less. Is it because I already got my answer? I’m not sure but I still say, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

******

My daughter cradles her pillow as I look at her sleeping in her own bed. Nine years, I’m both relieved and lonely.  The first month my sex life improved and it seemed as if I worried all those years for nothing. He held me close and I began to believe once again but after a month I woke to an empty bed.

Now he doesn’t wait until I’m asleep it’s servicing then return to the TV wife, I don’t know how to leave. I endure.

******

She’s no longer in that room. She’s grown and off to college.

I have a new job now, one that takes me out of the country every month and I’ve met someone. It’s someone we both know, even though he’s younger he’s already divorced and I’m ready to ask for one so why not. The sex isn’t as good as my husband, actually it’s rather horrible. I always close my eyes and think of my husband so that I can reach an orgasm but he holds me close after and we sleep together in each other’s arms until the sunrise rises.

It’s what I wanted but not with him. This isn’t the one and I have to figure out how to end this delicately. I can’t be seen to be the one at fault, I say, I need a clean break first and then we can try again. He’s looks taken aback but he nods in agreement and leaves quietly.

It’s like I’ve gone from bad to worse, I have no plans of ever calling him again.

I can’t help but have sex with my husband when I get back home. He does it so well, he stays tonight all night and I wish he had gone back to the TV because I need to cry.

When I get up he was gone. Sunday morning run as usual with his group. He’ll be back before I know it. Something is different, the TV is in the bedroom, it isn’t plugged in and the remote is wrapped in gift paper with my name on it.

I cry, to little to late. Did I even have the sanity to try this again? My heart wondered if I could find a way and I knew that we could.

I hear the car pull up and watch through the window. It was him he was parked outside the house waiting for my husband. I pulled back and peeped through the curtains. He was telling him. I could see my husband’s hand drop from the handshake as he stepped back and floored him. His face was in shock as he turned towards the house. The news pierced his heart; I could see it in his face and grew afraid. All those years in front of the blasted television and he was still surprised that his wife was unhappy with him, stunned that she had turned to his fool for comfort. He had an affair with the television, the running track and the ocean; always leaving to go to her.

I should have run, I should have hidden but I was tired. I didn’t even care to deny it. My entire life I thought too much and said to little.  I should have broken the TV into pieces years ago, hidden the remote, burnt the mattress but I waited until it was too much to take.

I stopped praying and endured what was not mine to endure. I used my daughter as an excuse and left no legacy of what a real relationship should look like. So I got back into bed, which is where I would have been when he returned and turned my back to the door.

When the door flung opened and he shouted, I said nothing.

When the TV crashed to the floor and he screamed, I didn’t move.

He packed his clothes and the car sped off an hour later and I lay quietly praying for my life.

He never came back.

I never brought another television.

There is nothing more to endure.

I have time to read my books.

THE END

This is a short story that I wrote this morning when I considered an alternate reality asking myself: What if I was this woman, how would things work out? or could it work out? Next week I’ll do another one. I hope.

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The Ghost at 1 Cheshill Lane

Cover Ghost

If you are like me and you like soft horror (eerie but nothing that keeps you up at night) this Ghost Romance will do the trick.

Magdalene inherits the neighborhood’s haunted house when her grandmother dies but she didn’t even know her family owned it. She bravely decides to move in and finds that the house is really haunted by a ghost who awakens her sensuality. He spends his time strumming an old grand piano and she knows she has found a soul mate for her violin. As she digs into his past she unearths a family secret and comes face to face with a curse that threatens to hold more than her heart captive. She wants to free him so badly so that they could be together but in the process she starts a chain of events that puts them both at the mercy of an evil spirit. Can she find the means to break the curse or is she destined to be yet another causality of the house on Halloween?

Available

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The writer, the outsider ….

I woke up this morning and said to myself. Christmas is nearly here. Maybe I should think of going back to working full-time.

A voice from deep inside me said, “…but you have a job you are a writer.” A deep rasp laugh penetrated my soul and came out in a loud ha! I was becoming a comedian if it thought that writing paid especially in the Caribbean.

Most (meaning all) submission requests come with a promise of exposure not money. Publishers invest in anthologies and chapbooks that would make them income with little output and writers juggle between keeping their name out there and becoming irrelevant. Yet I do not begrudge the industry because sometimes I think it is hanging on by a thread.

Self-pushing successfully has fascinated me for a long while and plan to persevere until I find a rhythm with it. I have found my rhythm in writing finally and I love it and I want to share my work on my own time and in my own way.

My Debut Novel Lightning Fire: The Blue Moon’s Calling (Book 1) is out and available on Amazon and Smashwords.

I want to thank everyone who have purchased and reviewed.

Marsha
http://www.marshagomes.com/romance-novels.html
“Life is in the Living and the Giving”

Parenting and Intimacy

I tend to always put my daughter’s needs over my husbands’ and I am sure he isn’t mad at me for it because he does the same. When it was just both of us in the house we had a wonderful sex life that explored and tested every piece of furniture in the house (big smile).
Now as a parent of a very clingy child, keeping the passion alive has become harder but not impossible. It’s no longer passion on impulse but it’s scheduled, which sounds horrible but it has the same end effect, so why fuss over it. The main point is that we maintain our intimacy, which drives the passion. One day our daughter will be gone and it will just be the two of us and if we don’t find a way to keep the passion alive during that transition we may even find ourselves divorced, before she grows up.
Parenting is very important but marriage is also important and so many times we choose one over the other because we have work and bills and school stuff… and the one most women choose is parenting. (Splitting with husband ‘is not a major worry for over-40s’).
I always say that of all the reasons to break up, lack of intimacy isn’t going to be on my list as it gives me a welcomed release to the day as much as it gives him. So I will love to find out ways in which parent’s keep the intimacy alive.
Cover - Copy
My Debut Novel Lightning Fire: The Blue Moon’s Calling (Book 1) is out and available on Amazon and Smashwords.

Find me on Facebook and Twitter

Marsha
http://www.marshagomes.com/romance-novels.html
“Life is in the Living and the Giving”