The witching night is here
And knocks come on our door.
Costumed kids hold out their hands
Saying, "Trick or treat."
A little goblin takes a fistful
Of Milky Ways,
And gobbles one down.
Taller skeletons seek bigger fare,
Some with voices changing
Make us wonder
If we should open the door.
Usually, though, they're just
Moving into their teenage years
A bit slowly.
Then it's lights out at nine,
And the door shuts
Upon the spooks,
Till they return next year.
Mary S. Palmer
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Monday, October 29, 2012
President Nolan White of the Baldwin Writers Group announced that Don McNair and I will be on a panel of speakers at the November 17 meeting. It takes place at the Daphne Library in Daphne, AL, from 10 a.m. till Noon. We will discuss writing techniques such as cliffhangers, pacing and foreshadowing. The public is welcome.
Monday, October 8, 2012
Book Signings: David V. Wilton and I have a book signing at the LoDa Art Walk in Mobile 10/12/12 from 6 to 9 p.m. and in Gulf Shores at Orange Beach during the Shrimp Festival at Zeke's Landing (Shaggy's Restaurant) Sat. & Sun. 10/13 and 10/14 from 11 a.m. till 2 p.m.
Both books below will be available
Mary S. Palmer
TIME WILL TELL - Science-Fiction
TO CATCH A FISH - Novel (co-author David V. Wilton)
Friday, October 5, 2012
I heard the familiar loud popping noise, but it didn't frighten me. It comes from behind my TV or somewhere on that side of the room every night. Or I hear noises near my jewelry armoire on the opposite wall, near the chest of drawers, or in any part of my bedroom. Have for years. It varies from being almost inaudible to sounding like a person's tripped over a chair or a picture fell off the wall. Other times, it's more like a huge branch being snapped in half. I rarely find the source.
A few minutes later, though, a different, louder noise in the hallway got my attention. It sounded like a person staggering down my long hall was bumping into the walls every few feet.
With a disbelieving sigh, I got out of bed and turned the knob to open the bedroom door and see what my resident ghost was up to now. I did this with every confidence that I wouldn't find out. The ghost that we named Ezechiel was a figment of my imagination. I knew that.
As I cracked the door asking, "Who's there?" I expected no response, but I also had no qualms. Even though we rarely called him by name, we knew all about Ezechiel. He was a poltergeist. He went bump in the night, made indescribable racket, rattled door knobs, and even disturbed our sleep when he got too loud, but he never seriously bothered us or made any kind of threats.
Perhaps half-awake, I stepped out of my bedroom and peered down the dark hallway, squinting at the shadows coming from a light always left on over the bar in my kitchen about fifty feet away. I took a deep breath. Did I see a figure? No, couldn't be. My husband was out of town on business. No one was in the house but me. Right? Who was I asking that question, then? Oh, Ezechiel. Yes, or no?
I decided that my mind was playing tricks on me. The form of a young curly-haired male in a dark T-shirt covered with blue daisies with white centers floated nearer. When it drifted to the wall, I clearly heard a bump. Illogical, I thought. Nonetheless, seconds later, another ka-klump made me shake my head. Taking a deep breath, I pinched my wrist to prove I wasn't dreaming.
A very loud bird-chirping jerked me awake. Blinking twice, I sat up in bed and stiffened my shoulders. It was my alarm sounding that it was six a.m.
Funny thing, though. I quickly noticed that the bedroom door--which I never, ever fail to close and lock when I turn off the bedroom TV before going to sleep--stood wide open. And, as I headed for the bathroom, I heard another solid thump coming from the hallway.
Shrugging, I said with a yawn, "It's morning, Ezechiel, go away, and peace be with you." If he was there, he didn't respond.