Won't you check in?

Or rather, don't-the November's got some nasty...long-term...guests.

Here we are again. I like this one. It's got some scares in it, I hope. There were a couple of scenes that I wrote a little late at night. When I write later, I turn off the light because one of the dogs (sweet thing, but dumb as a brick-once thought the TV was a window) gets convinced something's wrong and bothers other people if my light goes on really late at night. Whatever. No one's kidnapping me from my bed, I guess.

ANYWAYS, there were a couple of scenes that I wrote, and about halfway though went, 'screw the dog, I have to turn on the light'. Hopefully you, too, will be struck with the need to turn on an extra light.

Here it is, at long last, my go at a  Good Old-Fashioned Ghost Story^TM.

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the November Hotel.


https://www.amazon.com/November-Hotel-Lalla-Squeglia-ebook/dp/B01KTRUDKK/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1471891650&sr=8-2&keywords=lalla+squeglia#nav-subnav


-Lalla

Selective Wimpism

I am what shall henceforth be termed a Selective Wimp. In certain situations, I can be brave. Sometimes even stupidly, first-to-die-in-the-horror-movie brave. In others? Well...



Exhibit A: that time I thought there was someone in the house.

I was home alone. At night. At the age of like, thirteen years old. And to make matters worse? It was October, season of serial killer movie marathons. Well, I hear a noise in the back of my house. A thump-thump noise. So, because I was thirteen and not spectacularly bright (I was in my dumb phase...), I thought someone was inside. Never mind the lack of barking dogs, someone was in the house.

What do I do? Do I call the cops? Call my parents? Call a friend? Nope. My dumb ass gets a kitchen knife and goes back there. I fling open the door, aaaand...

One of the dogs got himself locked into the bedroom and was trying to bump his way out. Yeah. It was...not my proudest moment. But I was gonna go back there and stab somebody! I was gonna do it, man!

Exhibit B: the roach in the bathroom.

Potential intruder? Bring it. The lowly cockroach? NOPE NOPE NOPE.

I hate roaches. I hate them. I don't know why, but I do. I have Katsaridaphobia-fear of roaches. (I feel a bit validated that there's a name-I'm not alone!) I won't go near them, dead or alive. If I must deal with it, I will get the vacuum extension and do it from a distance. Or do what I did last time I saw one in the bathroom-fling a sticky mouse trap inside and slam the door and run to another room.

Hey, I did say I was a Selective Wimp...

-Lalla