A Paranormal Easter: 14 Paranormal & Fantasy Romance Novellas

by Tiffany Carby

  “Hurry up Maria, I want to see if you like it,” Danny said as he jumped around in anticipation of my opening his package. I teased him a little as I took time taking one piece of tape off at a time.

  “You are too slow, I can help you if you want me too” Danny said.

  I finally ripped open the package as he looked over my shoulder.

  “Oh Danny, did you draw this picture of Noah for me?”

  “Yes, I did, but he wouldn’t sit still.” Noah, our old black lab, was a little slow, except when Danny wanted him to do something. We could just imagine Danny trying to get Noah to sit still, as Mom, Dad and I laughed.

  Mom looked at Dad and I saw him nod and then smile. Mom smiled back and handed the last gift to me. I sensed a calmness, one of peace between my parents.

  The package was wrapped in a shimmering silver paper with a pink bow.

  I removed the bow and paper. When I started to open the box, my heart fluttered and I felt a soft breeze caress my cheeks. The same breeze I had felt in Crystal River. Everyone was quiet, even Danny. I looked at my parents and saw tears in their eyes.

  I slowly opened the box and under a piece of cotton was a bracelet, made of glass beads, it looked very much like the bracelet I saw in the museum, like beads of crystal. But it was when I saw, laying under the bracelet, a little white feather and it was then, I knew. I knew the answer to the biggest question in my life.

  I looked to my Mother.

  “Maria, you have asked many times about where you came from and have been questioning what we knew. We wanted to answer your questions, but we felt it would be better to wait until today, your eighteenth birthday. There is a note, she said, as she handed it to me. This may not answer all your questions, but it will show you that you were not abandoned and you were loved. The box and the note were given to us when we brought you home from the orphanage and we were asked to hold it for you until your eighteenth birthday, honey.”

  Tears were streaming down my cheeks as I read the note;

  This baby girl was made from love, a love as pure as the earth’s riches. Her father was a good Christian man, but his life ended too soon and her mother was ill and could no longer care for her baby girl. The bracelet was made with love, our tribe’s tradition for many years, to make after the birth of a girl. A gift made by the baby’s mother. All her mother asks is her baby know her heritage, she be given the note and bracelet on her eighteenth birthday. The little white feather represents the spirit she was given at birth, Little Feather. God Bless you and your family as you enjoy the years ahead with this very special child.

  “Maria, I have another surprise for you, Dad said. This morning I attended an early morning meeting where I was asked to transfer to another power plant, I told them not for another year because I wanted to have you graduate with your friends next year. How would you like to move to Crystal River and attend college in Florida?”

  I jumped up, hugging my Dad.

  “This has been the best birthday ever and I have been blessed with the best family ever.” We all joined in a group family hug, the very best kind of hug, and then I ran to call Christian to tell him the news, all of it.

  About the Author

  Judy Swinson is a Virginia native with a diverse background from Airline Stewardess in the 60’s to healthcare worker from the 70’s until retirement in 2015. More recently, she has been working with shelter animals, rescues and foster groups. Loves to travel especially to Florence, Italy. Member of RWA {Romance Writers of America} and Sunshine State Romance Authors. Dreamed of being a children’s author, but life took her in a different direction and her first article was a key article published in The International Journal of Volunteer Administration. Judy has two books coming out in 2018; Finding Love in Italy, a contemporary sweet romance and a non-fiction book, Finding Love at the Animal Shelter, short stories from volunteers, staff and those working with animals and the impact on their lives.

  Upwards Over the Mountain

  Alison Diem

  To my husband, Bear, who supports me even when he doesn’t always understand me.

  1

  So may the sunrise bring hope where it once was forgotten

  Sons are like birds, flying upward over the mountain

  - Iron and Wine

  * * *

  He stole the keys to his dad’s truck, although he knew that if he’d just ask, his dad would have said yes. But instead of making the request, Hemery surreptitiously hooked the keys with his finger as he left the kitchen and slunk out the back door, planning to circle around and take the truck.

  It was only after he was a few blocks away that he noticed the gas card sitting on the passenger seat with a post-it attached. At the next light, he picked it up with two fingers, as though it would bite him, to read the note.

  Make sure they’re safe before you leave. Gas it up before you bring it back. – Dad

  Hemery’s chest hitched as he tried to breathe, and then he was crying, the light now green, but he couldn’t drive just yet. He couldn’t see the road through his tears.

  When Elliot had first come to him with the plan, it had seemed pretty crazy. There were things that Hemery didn’t understand about it, parts that he just couldn’t imagine what they’d even look like, but Elliot was sure that it would work, and so was his mother. Hemery had been willing. That was never a question. He’d helped Elliot clean up bloody noses and split lips, held ice to quickly blackening eyes, and he knew better than most what Elliot was up against. It was going to take a lot to get away from the monster living in Elliot’s house but Hemery was up to the challenge.

  Mrs. Hardstark had always watched out for Hemery, especially after his mother had died, baking things for the PTA sale in her stead, doing pick ups and drop offs when Hemery’s father just couldn’t get away from work. She did it all with a smile, bringing snacks for Hemery as well as Elliot, and making sure he always had dinner, and his homework was done.

  She treated him like her own, so when Elliot and Mrs. Hardstark came to him, asking for help in their escape, he never thought of saying no.

  It wasn’t really relevant that Hemery was totally and completely in love with Elliot. He would have done it even if it was just a sense of duty to his best friend and his best friend’s mother.

  But loving Elliot, whether Elliot knew it or not, certainly helped.

  Elliot’d found it one rainy Saturday afternoon, part of his attempts to avoid his father. He’d pulled down the rickety ladder to the attic and decided to make a day of exploring the old house. Elliot pulled the ladder up after himself, careful to close the entrance completely, and pulled the chain that lit up the only bulb up there.

  Built by his great-great-grandfather back in the day, it had been occupied by his family since then, and all the shit piled up gathering dust in the attic was Elliot’s history. He wasn’t all that interested, honestly. His father was a piece of shit and his grandfather had been of a similar disposition, so he wasn’t trying to find out all the ins and outs of who they were as people. What he was trying to do was twofold: pass the time when he couldn’t get away with leaving the house, and to find any ammunition he could to fight back.

  The dust hadn’t been disturbed in years, laying thick and still like fresh snow. Except. There was a narrow path from the attic entrance back to the far wall where the dust was thinner, a series of footprints indented in the dust, filled up again, but clearly a deviation from the rest of the attic.

  Bending closer to the prints, Elliot could see they were work boots, size 12. His father. What the hell was he doing up here?

  Ignoring the leaning tower of trunks and moving boxes to his left, Elliot followed his father’s shoe prints to the right, where they curved around the chimney, and disappeared into a dark corner. Elliot pulled out his phone and fumbled with it until he had the flashlight turned on.

  The prints led to a stack of boxes, a wall of them looking intimidating and heavy. Except, there was a stack of them where it l
ooked like a few had been moved, and somewhat recently. A handprint in the dust and drag marks on the floor pointed the way.

  “This isn’t weird or anything, dad.” Elliot muttered to himself, trying to determine the best way to pull the boxes out. He ended up pulling down the top three boxes which felt almost empty once he had them in his arms, then lifting each of the other boxes to the side, also feeling empty.

  More footprints behind the boxes, heading towards the wall. He used his flashlight but couldn’t see anything there, just the wall. What had his father been doing back there? Elliot dropped his head back in exasperation, and when he opened his eyes, he was looking up at the support beams in the ceiling. On which, he could see a box resting, one corner hanging over the edge of the beam.

  It took him three jumps but using his phone to add a few extra inches to his reach, he was able to knock the box off the beam, letting it crash to the floor. The lid flew off and the contents scattered across the floor, kicking up a cloud of dust. Sneezing, Elliot kneeled to pick everything up.

  A few photographs of the beach, of something in the water, the picture out of focus, and shawl. Make that wo of them. He grabbed at them to put everything back in the box but when he touched the shawls, he was hit with he could only describe as longing and sorrow, his mind throwing him images of the lake, of the water, and his desperate need to get back to it.

  He let go of the shawls immediately and the feelings faded somewhat, but not completely.

  “What the fuck?”

  Using the top of the box, he scooped the shawls back into it, along with the photos, and slammed the lid back on top. He looked up at the beam, his every intention to return it to the place he’d found it. But something about the feelings he’d just experienced made him pause.

  Instead of returning it, he tucked the box under his arm and headed directly for the exit.

  Later, when his father had passed out in the recliner, TV set to FOX News, Elliot had motioned for his mother to come into his room, and showed her the box, open on his bed.

  “Where-“ She’d started to ask, but broke off as she grabbed at the shawls with shaking hands.

  “The attic,” he told her, unable to look away from the myriad of emotions running over her face, the way her eyes had a spark to them for perhaps the first time, as far as Elliot knew.

  “I’ve looked there, but never… It doesn’t matter. This is wonderful.” She’d flung her arms around him before he’d realized she’d moved, his face pressed into her neck. He hugged her close, closing his eyes. It had been a long time since she’d shown much interest in physical affection, even from him.

  “I don’t even know what that is, but okay.” She pushed him away gently, taking his face in her hands, and he took a steadying breath, trying not to show her how disappointed he was at the end of the hug.

  “This is our freedom, El. This is our ticket out.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “No, I know. It’s okay. I’ll tell you everything.” She kissed his cheek and rushed to the door, locking it and sliding Elliot’s desk chair under the door handle. Then she sat next to him on the bed and took his hand. “This might be hard to believe,” she said, her voice low but steady, “but I’m not actually from around here.”

  “Elliot, what are we doing here?” Hemery said it as low as possible, not wanting to alarm Elliot’s mom with his uncertainty. Elliot leaned forward from the backseat, right next to Hemery’s ear.

  “This is where my mom says we can get back to where she’s from. Beyond that, I don’t know.” Elliot sounded like he was being honest, but the constipated look on his face via the rearview mirror told Hemery that he had some idea what was going on. It was anything but reassuring.

  “I don’t see any boats or cars or anything. Is someone else meeting you?”

  “Hem, what part of ‘I don’t know’ are you struggling with?”

  “I don’t want to just leave you here, in the middle of nowhere, in the cold, when I don’t know if you’re going to be okay.” Hem’s voice broke on the last word and he looked down at the steering wheel to try to collect himself.

  “Darling, it’s going to be okay.” Mrs. Hardstark pressed a gentle kiss to Hemery’s temple, then opened the passenger door of the truck and hopped out. She had a small duffle slung over one shoulder that hung as though it were empty. She turned back to look into the truck cab, eyes locking with Hemery’s. “Your mother would be so proud of you, Hemery. So proud. You’re everything she had ever hoped for. I’m so glad I was able to see you become this kind of man.”

  And with that, she slipped away towards the shoreline, the darkness folding around her like a cloak.

  “I don’t know what to say to that,” Hemery said, his voice catching. “What do you say to something like that?”

  “I don’t honestly know,” Elliot said from the back seat. And then he was crawling over the back of the bench, slithering into the front passenger seat his mother had just vacated. He had his own duffle with him. It was the same dark gray one he’d carried his soccer uniform and practice clothes in since the sixth grade, battered and familiar. Hemery’s fingers twitched, aching to reach over and slide his hand into Elliot’s, but he did nothing. He kept his hand where it was and focused on not crying. He would. Not. Cry.

  He counted to twenty in his head, anything to distract his from making a total ass out of himself in these last minutes.

  Hemery wasn’t an idiot. He knew the plan was to run away, plain and simple. With cellphones and the internet, it was so much more difficult to fall off the radar or to start over, so Hemery was sure that Elliot wasn’t planning to text or email, or even write postcards with cryptic signatures. This was possibly goodbye, maybe forever.

  And then Elliot, that asshole, started talking.

  “I always knew there was something different about me. And I assumed that it was because I was gay. But when I was finally able to admit that to myself, I didn’t feel better. I still felt… alien. Other.” Elliot played with the pull tag on his duffle, his long fingers shaking just enough for Hemery to notice. “I’d said something to my mom and she’d made this face, you know? Like she knew what I meant but couldn’t say anything. And then I found something.”

  He unzipped his duffle with a sharp jerk, then gently reached inside. Using both hands and the utmost care, he withdrew the silky garment that seemed to flow from his fingers like milk. Like if silk and water had a baby. It shimmered brown and gold under the truck’s dome light, beautiful and mysterious. Hemery had no idea what it was.

  “It’s my coat.” Elliot took a deep, careful breath. “It’s my coat. Because I’m not a human. Not completely.”

  He looked up at Hemery, his eyes wet and wide, his whole face begging.

  And despite the ridiculousness of Elliot’s statement, there was a truth to it that Hemery instinctually recognized. He understood that Elliot-- wonderful, beautiful Elliot-- was not normal. And now there was an explanation for it.

  Hem could feel every atom in his body, all at once, the power of this moment almost unbearable. “If you aren’t human, then what are you?”

  “Have you ever heard of a selkie?“

  “I don’t think so.“

  “It’s like a seal? But not all the time. It’s also a coat. That I would wear. That I could take off, and be me. On land. If I wanted.”

  “Or you could be a seal? In the water? Like, Seaworld?” Elliot gave him a look, the most Elliot thing he’d done in the whole evening, which grounded Hemery a bit more.

  “Seaworld. Really?”

  “What? I’m working with what I know here.”

  Elliot rolled his eyes and wiped a hand down his face. “Yeah. I guess.”

  “Haven’t you tried it out yet?”

  “No.” Elliot spread out the coat across his lap, fingering the material like he wasn’t sure it would still be there if he stopped touching it. Hemery ached for Elliot that he was only just now finding this out. This crazy,
wild truth that Hemery understood as fact without needing a demonstration.

  “Okay.”

  “That’s how we’re getting away. We’re running to the water, putting on our coats, and swimming away.”

  “That sounds… cold, man.”

  With that, Elliot let out a choked sound that might have been a laugh. “I said the same thing. Apparently, it won’t matter to me. To us.”

  “Are you coming back?” Hemery couldn’t help the desperate ache in his voice, so he looked away, focusing on his hands, fingers wrapped around the steering wheel, knuckles white.

  “I don’t know.” Elliot looked up at Hemery. “I plan to. Because I can’t leave you forever.”

  “Me?” Blood rushed to Hemery’s face and his cheeks burned with it, only his dark skin prevented Elliot from seeing it as a blush. “What do I have to do with any of this?“

  “Hem, you have to know, especially before I leave--.“

  Elliot was cut off by the sounds of an engine backfiring and tires grinding on gravel. Hemery flicked his gaze up to the rearview mirror and blanched.

  “Oh, fuck, E! It’s your dad’s car.” Hemery reached for the keys, to start the engine and get the hell out of there but Elliot stopped him with a hand on his wrist. Then Elliot was leaning forward, pressing his soft, warm lips against Hemery’s. Their first kiss was passionate and desperate, and far too short. Elliot pulled away and with only a quick glance out the back window, he opened the door and jumped out.

  The glistening coat hung from his fingers, flapping dangerously loose and wild, his duffle still on the passenger seat. He took two steps, before eyeing his father’s fast approaching car.

  Shouting over the increasingly loud engine noise, he called out, “I can’t ask you to wait for me, Hem, but I’ll be waiting for you. I’ll come back, you have my word.”