Contemporary Paranormal Fiction
Date Published: January 31, 2014
My
grandfather, who went by Henry his entire life, was really born Francis
Michael Laskin. On occasion a few of the older relatives would call him
Frank, a name he neither acknowledged nor accepted. I had never
understood it as a child but... now in my early thirties, everything I
knew about the man, his entire life, those that loved him and those that
tried to control him all became clear and it all began with a pair of
my grandfather's pants.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
EXCERPT
Silhouette framed by a lamp in
the next room, casting a pale yellow light behind her, the dark, supple form
entered. Coming closer, she hopped a
little, bending at the waist, raising her right foot, removing her shoe. A step or two more and the sound of the left
falling to the floor followed the first.
Another step, and to my astonishment, the soft, slow, sound of a zipper
and her skirt slipped to the floor in a muffled heap.
My heart pounded so hard I could
not swallow and feared the need to blink, certain it was a dream and she would
be gone if I did so.
She stood near the foot of the
bed, undoing her hair with both hands, shaking it lightly to hang loose about
her face. Closer now, her features
became clearer and she smiled.
She stood in the delicate light
and began to unbutton her blouse.
Slowly, one button at a time, she undid them all, allowing it to hang
open, leaving her chest unencumbered.
"I have never been so
afraid," she said softly as she undressed.
"Afraid?"
"Afraid, I would lose you,"
she eased herself onto the bed, crawling on hands and knees, to sit next to me.
"Gabriel, we can't. I
can't..." I couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. I couldn't think.
"Are you not my mon
coeur? Am I not your Gabby?" she
asked, placing a hand at the center of my chest, her voice, low, husky, her accent thick with
desire, pulled at the core of me.
"You know Connie and
I..." I tried to push her hand away.
She held mine in return, pulling
it close to press it against her cheek.
"I am beautiful for you,
no?" Her voice held an edge of concern, as if I might actually say no.
"You are very
beautiful. You are one of the most
beautiful women I have ever met," I answered honestly.
Her expression lightened,
becoming more contented.
"It is not what you think,
being beautiful. Men ignore me, thinking
I am out of reach. Women hate me because
they think I am prettier than they and that I am one of those... how do you
say...?"
"Bitch," I offered.
"Yes, that one." She
seemed happy that I got it right, sitting up, pointing at me and then to her
nose as if we were now playing charades.
"Gabriel, we can't."
"Do you not want me, mon
coeur? Do I not please you?" She leaned forward, coming closer, her blouse
bulging open.
"More than I can say, but
Connie and I..."
"No one will know,"
she whispered, placing a hand across me on the bed, lightly pressing her lips
to mine. Her mouth was soft, warm,
inviting. The feeling was electric,
thrilling. Her shirt had fallen open,
exposing her exquisite skin and ample charms.
My heart fluttered with excitement, accelerated by a flush of wild
desire. The smell of her need, the perfume in her hair, mixed in my nostrils
and became an intoxicating cocktail, scrambling my brain.
“The stars knew we were to be
together when they were young and the world had not yet come to be. We could live in that moment... in that passion... in that hope the stars have waited all this
time in expectation. We could be happy,
you and I. No one but the stars
themselves would know." She kissed me again, more urgently this time.
"I would know."
Her expression shifted. Tears began to fill her eyes. She sat up, pulled her blouse closed with
both hands, and moved away from me.
"There is no room in your
heart for me?" she asked softly, half to herself, half to me.
"I'm sorry, Gabby, but I
love Connie," I offered my hand in comfort.
"You have not said these
words to me before. Then she is the sun at the center of your universe and I am
but a moon, hidden in the shadow of her brightness," she said sadly, getting
up off the bed to find her clothes.
"Gabriel," I called,
throwing off the blankets to follow her.
Without another word, the house
filled with the sound of her running down the stairs, followed a moment later
by the thud of the front door closing.
My heart sank and I felt like
crap.
Tegon Maus
I
was raised pretty much the same as everyone else... devoted mother,
strict father and all the imaginary friends I could conjure. Not that I
wasn't friendly, I just wasn't "people orientated". Maybe I lived in my
head way more than I should have, maybe not. I liked machines more than
people, at least I did until I met my wife.
The
first thing I can remember writing was for her. For the life of me I
can't remember what it was about... something about dust bunnies under
the bed and monsters in my closet. It must have been pretty good because
she married me shortly after that. I spent a good number of years after
inventing games and prototypes for a variety of ideas before I got back
to writing.
It
wasn't a deliberate conscious thought, it was more of a stepping stone.
My wife and I had joined a dream interpret group and we were encouraged
to write down our dreams as they occurred. "Be as detailed as you can,"
we were told.
I was
thrilled. If there is one thing I enjoy it's making people believe me
and I like to exaggerate. Not a big exaggeration or an out right lie
mine you, just a little step out of sync, just enough so you couldn't be
sure if it were true or not. When I write, I always write with the
effort of "it could happen" very much in mind and nothing, I guarantee
you, nothing, makes me happier.
Twitter: https://twitter.com/TegonMaus
BUY LINKS
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/My-Grandfathers-Pants-Tegon-Maus-ebook/dp/B00HZH5A7O/ref=la_B009PFZILW_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1395117295&sr=1-2
Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/my-grandfathers-pants-tegon-maus/1118328469?ean=2940045599832
My
grandfather, who went by Henry his entire life, was really born Francis
Michael Laskin. On occasion a few of the older relatives would call him
Frank, a name he neither acknowledged nor accepted. I had never
understood it as a child but... now in my early thirties, everything I
knew about the man, his entire life, those that loved him and those that
tried to control him all became clear and it all began with a pair of
my grandfather's pants.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Silhouette framed by a lamp in
the next room, casting a pale yellow light behind her, the dark, supple form
entered. Coming closer, she hopped a
little, bending at the waist, raising her right foot, removing her shoe. A step or two more and the sound of the left
falling to the floor followed the first.
Another step, and to my astonishment, the soft, slow, sound of a zipper
and her skirt slipped to the floor in a muffled heap.
My heart pounded so hard I could
not swallow and feared the need to blink, certain it was a dream and she would
be gone if I did so.
She stood near the foot of the
bed, undoing her hair with both hands, shaking it lightly to hang loose about
her face. Closer now, her features
became clearer and she smiled.
She stood in the delicate light
and began to unbutton her blouse.
Slowly, one button at a time, she undid them all, allowing it to hang
open, leaving her chest unencumbered.
"I have never been so
afraid," she said softly as she undressed.
"Afraid?"
"Afraid, I would lose you,"
she eased herself onto the bed, crawling on hands and knees, to sit next to me.
"Gabriel, we can't. I
can't..." I couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. I couldn't think.
"Are you not my mon
coeur? Am I not your Gabby?" she
asked, placing a hand at the center of my chest, her voice, low, husky, her accent thick with
desire, pulled at the core of me.
"You know Connie and
I..." I tried to push her hand away.
She held mine in return, pulling
it close to press it against her cheek.
"I am beautiful for you,
no?" Her voice held an edge of concern, as if I might actually say no.
"You are very
beautiful. You are one of the most
beautiful women I have ever met," I answered honestly.
Her expression lightened,
becoming more contented.
"It is not what you think,
being beautiful. Men ignore me, thinking
I am out of reach. Women hate me because
they think I am prettier than they and that I am one of those... how do you
say...?"
"Bitch," I offered.
"Yes, that one." She
seemed happy that I got it right, sitting up, pointing at me and then to her
nose as if we were now playing charades.
"Gabriel, we can't."
"Do you not want me, mon
coeur? Do I not please you?" She leaned forward, coming closer, her blouse
bulging open.
"More than I can say, but
Connie and I..."
"No one will know,"
she whispered, placing a hand across me on the bed, lightly pressing her lips
to mine. Her mouth was soft, warm,
inviting. The feeling was electric,
thrilling. Her shirt had fallen open,
exposing her exquisite skin and ample charms.
My heart fluttered with excitement, accelerated by a flush of wild
desire. The smell of her need, the perfume in her hair, mixed in my nostrils
and became an intoxicating cocktail, scrambling my brain.
“The stars knew we were to be
together when they were young and the world had not yet come to be. We could live in that moment... in that passion... in that hope the stars have waited all this
time in expectation. We could be happy,
you and I. No one but the stars
themselves would know." She kissed me again, more urgently this time.
"I would know."
Her expression shifted. Tears began to fill her eyes. She sat up, pulled her blouse closed with
both hands, and moved away from me.
"There is no room in your
heart for me?" she asked softly, half to herself, half to me.
"I'm sorry, Gabby, but I
love Connie," I offered my hand in comfort.
"You have not said these
words to me before. Then she is the sun at the center of your universe and I am
but a moon, hidden in the shadow of her brightness," she said sadly, getting
up off the bed to find her clothes.
"Gabriel," I called,
throwing off the blankets to follow her.
Without another word, the house
filled with the sound of her running down the stairs, followed a moment later
by the thud of the front door closing.
My heart sank and I felt like
crap.
I
was raised pretty much the same as everyone else... devoted mother,
strict father and all the imaginary friends I could conjure. Not that I
wasn't friendly, I just wasn't "people orientated". Maybe I lived in my
head way more than I should have, maybe not. I liked machines more than
people, at least I did until I met my wife.
The first thing I can remember writing was for her. For the life of me I can't remember what it was about... something about dust bunnies under the bed and monsters in my closet. It must have been pretty good because she married me shortly after that. I spent a good number of years after inventing games and prototypes for a variety of ideas before I got back to writing.
It wasn't a deliberate conscious thought, it was more of a stepping stone. My wife and I had joined a dream interpret group and we were encouraged to write down our dreams as they occurred. "Be as detailed as you can," we were told.
I was thrilled. If there is one thing I enjoy it's making people believe me and I like to exaggerate. Not a big exaggeration or an out right lie mine you, just a little step out of sync, just enough so you couldn't be sure if it were true or not. When I write, I always write with the effort of "it could happen" very much in mind and nothing, I guarantee you, nothing, makes me happier.
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/My-Grandfathers-Pants-Tegon-Maus-ebook/dp/B00HZH5A7O/ref=la_B009PFZILW_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1395117295&sr=1-2
Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/my-grandfathers-pants-tegon-maus/1118328469?ean=2940045599832
The first thing I can remember writing was for her. For the life of me I can't remember what it was about... something about dust bunnies under the bed and monsters in my closet. It must have been pretty good because she married me shortly after that. I spent a good number of years after inventing games and prototypes for a variety of ideas before I got back to writing.
It wasn't a deliberate conscious thought, it was more of a stepping stone. My wife and I had joined a dream interpret group and we were encouraged to write down our dreams as they occurred. "Be as detailed as you can," we were told.
I was thrilled. If there is one thing I enjoy it's making people believe me and I like to exaggerate. Not a big exaggeration or an out right lie mine you, just a little step out of sync, just enough so you couldn't be sure if it were true or not. When I write, I always write with the effort of "it could happen" very much in mind and nothing, I guarantee you, nothing, makes me happier.
Twitter: https://twitter.com/TegonMaus
BUY LINKS
Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/my-grandfathers-pants-tegon-maus/1118328469?ean=2940045599832
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