Below is an excerpt from my second book in the Sophia Rey series: The Coven of Retribution. Book 2 is not out yet but will be in 2020. This is just a sneak peek. I hope you enjoy.
-------------- In 1692, Lenore, Odette, and Rose witnessed the hangings of their mothers at Gallows Hill in Salem, Massachusetts. In carriages with their heads down, tied up at their waists, their ruffled mob caps with blue ribbon covered their silent cries that yearned for help. But they knew; everyone knew their fate. It was the Amur Cork Tree that took their mothers’ last breaths. The rope that constrained them at the waist on one end was tied into a noose at the other and thrown over the thick tendril branches of the Amur Cork. They didn’t have a chance. Lenore was thirteen years old. A wicker basket full of bread hung on her arm in the crevice of her elbow as she watched and tried to see her mother’s face hiding under that white mob cap. “Mama, mama. Let her go,” Lenore said. No one acknowledged her adolescent pleas. The only acknowledgment was that of the arms of men holding her back. The bread spilled out of the basket and onto the ground and Lenore fell with it. Gripping it in her fists, the bread broke into crumbs and mixed into the dirt. Sprawled on the ground, Lenore tucked her head down into her arm, hoping this madness of terror could be blindfolded. If she couldn’t see it maybe it wouldn’t happen but as she lay on the ground, the sounds of her mother fighting for her life pierced her ears. The wooden carriage wheels creaked as they slipped away and the heavy weight of her mother’s body dropped down; a small thud and the rope twisting from her jerking body. Lenore heard the gasps from all directions. Next was Odette’s mother then Rose’s. Odette was ten years old and Rose was seven. Standing side by side, all three girls stared at the Amur Cork at the tangled branches that were weighed down by the women who brought them into the world. A world that separated them within seconds. Rose clenched a brown, ragged teddy bear and brought it to her face. Looking at her mother hanging from the Amur Cork, Lenore said, “They can’t get away with this.” “But they did, they did get away with it. They’re gone and we’re never getting them back,” said Odette. Odette ran to her mother, now just a limp body and shoulders hanging like a weeping willow. Wrapping her arms around her mother’s legs, Odette’s tears soaked her mother’s long cotton skirt and lifeless fingers brushed against her shoulders. Death tickling and mocking her. “I want my mama, I want my mama,” Rose said. Odette hugged her mother’s hanging legs, turning them left and right, left and right. “I want mama, I want mama,” Rose said. Watching the rhythm of Odette’s movement and listening to Rose’s repeating plea against the breeze of the wind, Lenore stood with her hands at her side as everything around her spun into a dance of death. “I want mama.” The hanging bodies turned left and right. “I want mama.” Limp heads pulled tight by the ropes watched over the young girls with shocked, lifeless eyes. Lenore looked at her mother’s bloated face and bruised neck. Her almond eyes bulged with broken, popped blood vessels. Then, for a quick moment, everything around her fell silent like an empty house without a living soul. Odette was still there, rocking her mother’s legs. Rose was still saying she wanted mama but there was no sound. Hanging from the rope, Lenore’s mother lifted her head and with a red stained sorrowful stare, she said, “Lenore, you must get retribution.” “But how?” Lenore said. “You know how Lenore. You’ve always known how.” Thanks for reading, Sterp Check out the first book in the Sophia Rey series The Cult Called Freedom House here.
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This poem is dedicated to the people in the world who thought it was their time to go. This poem is dedicated to my brothers and sisters who think the world is better off without them because the world is not. I suffer from depression and I am here. You are not alone. If you need to talk, please reach out at writersterp@gmail.com. The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is here to help also at 1-800-273-8255.
This poem is called Whispers in the River. Written by Stephanie Evelyn I always wondered how. I always wondered why. Buried by mystery, With souls lost to cries. Mystery knocks at your door, Until it finds a way. It whispers to your thoughts, Asking if it can stay. Close your eyes, Because more sleep might be what you need. Close your eyes, Because when you sleep the whispers seem to cease. But who can visit you when you’re asleep? Born alone to be alone, Lonely rivers that run past, Love alone and see alone, It’s loneliness that is our last. The whispers remind us, That they are the only ones there. With the world moving around us, And no one seems to care. It feeds off dark corners, The ones that reside in the mind. But, we forget the wind is there, When the lonely river rushes by. We forget the same sky, We all see when we look up. Or how sorrow wraps around our necks, When our hearts feel stuck. We forget how loneliness is not alone, The whispers talk to me too. So, before you go to sleep, Tell me, what do the whispers say to you? Graveyard Dance
Written by Stephanie Evelyn When the day started out It was claimed by the sun. Reflected light rolled across ocean waves, And the wind made it all dance. I danced with it, since it took my hand. Spinning like a hurricane, Laughing until going mad. Nestled in its eyes, eyes only for me. The sky could have been blue, black yellow, or not. There was no way to tell, wrapped in its arms too tight. Dancing under the sun and the moon. Spinning into nothingness, I rest my head but need to dance again soon. No one told me that it could kidnap me. Disguised as pride. Creating what seems a bigger life. A farewell party but the farewell is to me. Years ago that day started out, It was claimed by the sun. I locked myself away with it Then said farewell to everyone. I am thrilled to introduce my next Woman Thought Leader in Horror: V. Castro. This series is meant for one thing and one thing only; to amplify the voices of women in horror.
As V. Castro puts it, "Men don’t get to set the standard for women anymore. I’m fucking sick of it." Buckle up horror family. 1. Why horror? What fascinates you about horror and enticed you to write in the genre? I have always loved horror. I grew up with dark folklore and urban legends. As a Mexican American we have a lot of superstitions and the supernatural is never far away. 2. What is your favorite era of horror and why? Film wise I have to say the 80s and 90s because so many iconic characters and films were released then. Otherwise I would say now because horror is slowly becoming more inclusive. Horror has the opportunity to take on so many different dimensions right now. 3. What are some of your favorite horror films? How much time do we have?! I love The Lost Boys, Event Horizon, Nightmare on Elm Street Halloween, Here Comes the Devil, Hereditary. So many! 4. What do you think the genre of horror brings to the world in terms of values, beliefs, impact? I think horror lets us explore ideas we can't always explore in the open. I write creatures because they are looked as “Others”. I am an “Other”. This theme is recurring for me and I use it to show people my humanity. We can use horror to show the world there are a hell of a lot of gray areas in life. These areas should be looked at. The shadows should be looked at just as the status quo should be challenged. We can do that in horror because many times there are huge challenges, even fights to the death. 5. How do you think your writing of horror reflects you as a person or your life overall? Horror has helped me tease apart many difficult aspects of my life experiences and how I view the world. I try to better understand myself and others through horror. There are so many questions I have, and it seems like most of the answers dwell in the dark. 6. What do you think lies ahead for the genre? I think we will see a lot more diversity. Times are changing and the world has to change with it, including publishing. 7. Like many things, women are underrepresented in the horror genre. Why do think this is and why is it critical to have women more represented in horror? Women are underrepresented because men have had a strangle hold over it and don’t want to let go. We also hail these men as heroes instead of branching out and celebrating lesser known horror writers, ESPECIALLY women of color. These guys set the standard and you always have all else compared to their standard. It’s vital women are included because we are often used in the male driven standard as objects. There is way too much rape, assault and humiliation going on and this has to stop. Let women write about their body, their sexuality, their dreams and nightmares. Men don’t get to set the standard for women anymore. I’m fucking sick of it. 8. Any tips for new women writers in the horror genre? Persevere. Get back up if you fall even if that means taking a break or reaching out to writer friends. Don’t compare yourself to other writers and their journeys especially if you are a woman from a marginalized community. It’s more difficult for us. Don’t be afraid to write what you want and what your truth is. Don’t write to the male standard. 9. Who are some of your favorite women horror authors to read? There are so many out now! I would recommend Tananarive Due and Linda Addison. Both fantastic Black women in horror. 10. For readers who have never read your work, what should they start with and where can they find more information about you? Depends on what they like! Sed de Sangre – very short 3 erotic horror stories Switchblades and Hairspray - Chicana Jaguar shifters Maria The Wanted - book 1 of an epic vampire saga www.vvcastro.com has all my books listed including the anthologies. Twitter an IG @vlatinalondon All women that need a boost can go to www.frightgirlsummer and get involved. Until next Time, This is Sterp |
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