The cheek! The gall! The...I'm out of words for this outrage!

So I have this shirt. Says, 'Bucky, take the wheel!' on it. (Winter Soldier reference.) Yesterday, I'm minding my own business, checking out at the store, and the cashier, as I'm walking away, goes, 'Hail Hydra'.

WHAT. WHAT YOU SAY? LITTLE PUNK KID!

So that's my story of meeting a fellow nerd in the wild. Shame we'll never be friends now, after that.

Anyways, today marks the beginning of The Maze having a free period. Yes! From today 'til the 26th, you can grab a copy for your very own.

https://www.amazon.com/Maze-Ravens-Curse-Book-ebook/dp/B00EPG45M4/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&qid=1469195882&sr=8-4&keywords=lalla+squeglia#nav-subnav

-Lalla

Wesley Graves

Wesley-or Wes, if you'd rather-is the protagonist of the upcoming November Hotel.

I've been chipping away at the idea since early 2013-finally powered through and finished the first draft around midnight on Halloween of that year. (Strange, the things that stick in your memory.) It hasn't changed so very much, really, which is a little odd for me-usually somewhere in the second draft I'll go 'OH! this big thing needs to happen!' but not this time. It just got a touch more creepy, that's all.

I think, out of all my characters, Wes is probably the most like me. He's quiet, he could do without crowds, his default 'unexpected social reaction' response is to turn into a stuttering, awkward mess. He's a sensitive soul, really-very non-confrontational.

I didn't intend for that. I never really intend for anything, you know. The characters give me very little choice. Anyone wanting to be a writer and thinking that 'I can play God!'...you can't. You really can't. Prepare to sacrifice your sleep at the very least.

I think, out of all my characters, that I probably love him the most. Partly because of our commonalities, it's true, but partly because he's equal parts brave and a craven coward. Climbing elevator cables? Fine. Murderous ghosts? Bring it on. Talk to the girl he's had a crush on (even if he won't admit it) for years? Nope. Stars. Can't do it. Not today.

He's precious.

And I'm not very nice to him. Poor Wes.

-Lalla

Save a muse, download a book

...

Okay, that sounded better in my head.

You can all laugh at me. I have carpal tunnel syndrome, which means I have to wear wrist braces sometimes. They're hideous and uncomfortable, but they work so oh well. Buuut the other day, I got a new one, and I spent about ten minutes trapped in it.

Yes. Really. The Velcro was really, really strong, and there was no way I could get it off one-handed, and I eventually had to Houdini my way out. (I have tiny hands, and have never been so grateful for them.)

So yeah. It was not my finest moment. And I chipped a nail, which just made it worse.

Anyways, The Muse is free from today to the 20th, so grab a copy. Make Layne a happy muse!

https://www.amazon.com/Muse-Lalla-Squeglia-ebook/dp/B00MY6Q5M0/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1468675842&sr=8-3&keywords=lalla+squeglia#nav-subnav

-Lalla

Friday, Friday, Friday is my favorite...

She hates that song. Mitch sings it every single Friday and insists it's not his fault she got stuck with that for a name. Whatever. Lies. Anyway, One Sunny Afternoon begins its free period today-from now until July 14th, you can get a free download. Tell you friends!

https://www.amazon.com/One-Sunny-Afternoon-Mystery-Mysteries-ebook/dp/B014AM9WGG/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1468160076&sr=8-1&keywords=lalla+squeglia

-Lalla

Newletter

I know. I've been...y'know what? I have been dead. Yes. I pulled a Winchester and returned from the dead.

What? It's not like you can prove anything.

This is basically a little newsletter, because it's that time of year again!

Important things first: as always, August 22nd. New book. A nice ghost story for the fall-November Hotel. You can get a sample over on Wattpad-it's at the link below.

https://www.wattpad.com/story/70083650-november-hotel-sample

So that'll be exciting! I like ghost stories, m'self. I like scary stories period, but there's something classic about a ghost story. This one has a running theme song-Ivy's Worry About You. I like that song. I find it vaguely creepy, but that's probably because I first heard it as the theme song for Kingdom Hospital-which, by the way, has a surprisingly pretty opening. It wasn't bad-shame it got screwed over.

Other exciting things: because of the new book, everybody gets a promo. Free book bonanza! Here's the schedule, but I'll remind you guys the day of.

July 10th-14th: One Sunny Afternoon

July 16th-20th: The Muse

July 22nd-26th: The Maze

July 28th-August 1st: The House on the Moor

Set your calendars, ladies and gentlemen! It's coming.

-Lalla

Sample

I'm about 90% certain that my bout of sleep paralysis the other night (see previous entry) was punishment for inflicting something similar on poor Wesley. Here, have a look-this comes from the upcoming November Hotel. Really, I don't know why he was so pissy. I'm stuck with that problem. His will go away once he deals with the ghost issue.
*********************************************************************************

What time is it?

Late, Wesley knew. Very late. His eyes were dry...why were his eyes open? When had that happened? 

He forced himself to close them and then began to wonder what time it was, and why he was awake. 

He would roll over and turn on the light-wasn't electricity wonderful?-and look at the clock. It was probably around three, but he liked knowing exactly what time it was. And proving himself right. 

He tried to turn onto his side and...nothing happened. He wanted to move, it just...wasn't happening.

He tried again, concentrating on shifting his body, and still nothing. 

Time to panic.

Wesley jerked frantically at his arms and swore he felt them move, but when he strained his eyes downwards, they weren't even twitching. 

Oh god oh god- 

Why wasn't he moving what was wrong what was wrong-what was that? 

His bathroom door was open, just a bit. He hadn't closed it after his bath, but surely he hadn't left it open quite so wide. And surely no one was poking their head out from behind the door. 

He tried to speak, tried to move his tongue to ask who was there, and found that wasn't working, either. He couldn't even see the door properly-just a bit, out of the corner of his eye. 

His breathing heavy, he concentrated on at least proving to himself that no one was there.
 

Three...two...one...now!

He forced his head to twist, and it did, slowly and feeling as though he was pressing against a hand trying to keep him still. 

Something moved just out of his line of vision and he strained his eyes trying to see. No luck.

It was an effort to keep his head here and it lolled back without his permission.

What's wrong with me?

He swallowed-or tried to, his tongue felt swollen-and forced a shallow breath through his nose.

What was that noise? 

A soft but raspy sound that sounded like someone breathing had begun just below his ear.

Someone's here.

He tried desperately to turn his head again, or to jerk his body away from the edge of the bed, but he couldn't move and whatever was down there inched closer. There was a weight on the side of the bed now, a small one, but it felt like something was pulling the covers off. 

Then he saw the shadow by the door.

It was dark in that corner, but not so dark he couldn't make out shapes. And this one was very much human-shaped. 

His lips, already half-open whether he wanted them to be or not, tried to form words, to ask who was there. But all that came out was a strangled wheeze. 

The shape came closer, but Wesley didn't see it move-one minute it was in the corner and the next it was in the middle of the floor, just staring at him. Burglar, had to be, a burglar or some kind of homicidal maniac... 

The raspy breathing grew louder and he got the shock of his life when a woman's breathy voice whispered, "Help me."

That seemed to break the spell, because when he tried to sit up he ended up flinging himself upright, throwing the blankets halfway down the bed. His hand shot out for the lamp and-

-no one was there. No woman, no shadow, no sign of anyone.

Breathing hard, eyes flitting to every possible place they could have gone, Wesley forced his shaking limbs to get out of bed and check the closet, the bathroom, and under the bed.

Nothing. And his door was still locked-a precaution, sometimes guests' children wandered up here.

A dream? But it hadn't felt like a dream. It had been real, he'd swear on his parents' graves. 

He washed his face and made his way back to bed, trembling badly now. There had been someone there, he knew there had. Two someones, a scared one and...whoever had been in the corner. 

He flipped his pillow over and sank back, fingers reaching for the lamp before he thought that maybe he didn't want to give up the safety of the light just yet. He'd leave it for a few more minutes, just until he calmed down. 

Come sunrise, the light was still on and he hadn't slept again.

Sleep Paralysis

It's

It's about three in the morning, so says my internal clock. It's never wrong, I dunno why.

Why am I awake at three in the morning. It's too early. My eyes hurt. How long have they been open?

It's cold. It's cold and I

I hear

I hear a sort of static. Like in those old radio programmes, when nobody's speaking and there's no sound effects but you can still hear something.

I don't think I'm alone.

A dog. It's a dog, one of them's busted in that's probably what woke me. I'll just roll over and look.

Heh. Too tired to move. I'll give it a minute. Tell the dog to just get up here and go to sleep.

Why isn't the static going away?

My mouth is open but it isn't making any sound and it isn't closing why isn't it closing what's happening to me who's here

I look

That's not static. That's breathing, raspy and fast and not a dog.

Someone's here.

I look

I can't breathe I'm breathing too fast I need to move why aren't they speaking what do they want

I look at

The static is laughing and I can't see my eyes are open but it's just black fog

I can't move. Mouth won't shut. Eyes won't close. There's pressure, a hand on the bed just behind me it's grasping the covers and pulling.

Silence. No more pulling. But it's still there, I know it is it's crouched just beside the bed on the rug waiting for me

I look at the doll's house

Stoppit stoppit I don't want to think about it get out of my head get away get away

and the doll's house

If I can reach the light it'll go it'll all go but if I put my hand out it'll grab me

looks

Finger twitched need to move why is it laughing

at

I roll over and stretch blindly for the lamp cord can't reach why can't I find it it was there this evening when I went to bed god somebody please

me.

Click.

There's no one here. The door's shut. The static's stopped.

I don't sleep again tonight.