Not too long ago I had Curtis Glassberg, author of Tae Kwon Do for Kids and Adults, on the Author Autobahn radio show.  Curtis is very passionate about being in the martial arts and feels that every adult and child could benefit from Tae Kwon Do.  Not only is it a great stress reliever--and we all know that stress is the number one cause of health problems!--but it’s also a wonderful way to build self-confidence, self-esteem, discipline and patience.  Of course, it’s also a wonderful way to learn self-defense moves.

There are many levels a student must go through in order to receive the much-coveted black belt, and it can take an entire lifetime to work up to being a ninth-degree black belt.  Tae Kwon Do is not a destination, but a journey.

Mr. Glassberg’s book covers everything from the various belt colors, ceremonies, stances, and common Korean words used.

What makes this author different is that he has used martial arts to get his Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder under control.  Today, ADD and ADHD are common labels pinned on children who “won’t sit still” or have problems focusing.  I tend to believe that it’s simply the fact that they’re being kids, but agree that there are some who actually have these disorders.  Parents should look into other ways of coping with and handling ADD or ADHD, preferably natural ways, before rushing to the pharmacy for a prescription of Ritalin or Adderall.  Weigh the pros and the cons since all drugs have side effects.

We want our children to be strong, proud, confident and disciplined, and Tae Kwon Do can do just that.  

Purchase your copy here: Tae Kwon Do For Kids And Adults

A little bear named SugarPaw hopes to get rid of his babysitter, Bonnie Whiskers, by getting her into trouble after making changes to his rules chart. As this loving story unfolds, SugarPaw learns about honesty and friendship. Babysitting SugarPaw, with its child-centered plot on getting to know others, is the perfect book for little ones scared of being left alone with a babysitter for the first time. This book will delight three-to-eight-year-old readers, especially those who like to create mischief.

“The prefect book for children who will have their first babysitter soon and also for someone who is going to be a babysitter for the first time.” ~MommyPR.com

About the Author:
VS Grenier is an Award-winning author and Editor-in-Chief of Stories for Children Magazine (http://storiesforchildrenmagazine.org). She learned how to hone her writing skills at the Institute of Children’s Literature, and her works include: the Best of Stories for Children Magazine volume 1 anthology and over 30 short stories, articles, and crafts for children along with newsletter articles for writers. A California girl at heart, she currently lives in Utah with her husband, their two children, the family’s big fat cat Speed Bump, and miniature schnauzer Taz.

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“The G20 Meeting”

Today, the second day, was to be the kick off to the working part of the meeting but as the members glanced at the meeting syllabus they noticed that the opening would not be given by the acting Chairman of the Board of the Bank of International Settlements but by some relatively unknown think tank expert who wasn’t even a banker. He would be presenting a lecture on “The Future of the World Economic System.”

As they waited for the meeting to begin, many of the members were making comments about the title of the speech by joking that the speaker would come to the podium, lean into the microphone and make a loud farting sound before returning to the guest table to the sound of raucous applause. As the distinguished audience waited in anticipation for the show to start, the opening speaker, Dr. John Waldrop, surveyed the rather self important group and looked forward to seeing the arrogant expressions change to surprise and then horror. He was by nature an iconoclast and today was his day to shine.

The meeting kicked off right on time, as could be expected in Switzerland. A after a few opening remarks by the current president of the G-20, the unknown Dr. Waldrop was introduced with a polite but reserved applause.

Waldrop was a handsome man and his posture and decisive manner showed that as he moved quickly to the podium. He took a draw from a glass of water and then slowly looked over the crowd. The fact that he didn’t launch right into the speech made the crowd a bit nervous, like they felt embarrassed for him not remembering his opening lines. But just as he noticed them starting to be uncomfortable, he leaned into the mic and said

“Most of you in this room will be out of a job within one year.” At first there was some low rumble from the crowd and then sporadic boos could be heard.

“You see, ladies and gentlemen, the future of the World Financial System will need only one Central Bank. Not only that, the future system will not use money in the traditional sense; it will use digital credits and debits. Every transaction in the world will be electronic and be recorded in a super sophisticated network of super computers. All citizens will be issued a debit card as will all businesses and government agencies. Of course, there will be unrecorded transactions but these will be mostly in the form of barter; you fix my toilet and I will trade you my old TV. But for the most part, an instantaneous running balance will be kept on all individuals, businesses and governments. The informal economy will no longer exist. All taxes will be deducted instantaneously on every single transaction. And that’s just for starters.” Waldrop took another sip of water and let his words work their implications.

“When will this happen?” He waited a beat. “Within 18 months,” he replied.

There was an explosion of disbelief from the crowd. He let the noise level rise as the bankers turned to each other and made faces and gestures as if Waldrop had been speaking obscenities.

“Capitalism, as we have known it, is dead.” The crowd really reacted; some were laughing and others looked pensive. Waldrop knew that many in the crowd had probably thought that the recent financial upheaval would bring some major changes. Some might have even anticipated what he was telling them but certainly not for things to change so drastically and in such a short period of time. But then they probably didn’t take him seriously; he was just a think tank guy who makes his living in structured day dreaming.

“The base of what I am saying is that this financial crisis was a stress test for fiat money. Look at what happened to the U.S. dollar; it should have tanked but it didn’t. Why, because people, traders and governments are believers. Besides, how else will they place value? After three plus decades of unbacked currencies, civilization has moved beyond needing even a tangible currency to represent wealth; almost everybody has gone electronic and they like it and even more importantly, they trust it.

What this current crisis has also shown us is that no matter how much money we supposedly pump into the system, it can be easily taken out through the use of load balancing, call it credit control. Everything can be electronically balanced almost instantaneously. But the purpose of this speech is not to go into detail but suffice it to say the old system of using banks as a system of distribution of money and credit is no longer necessary. And for most of you, your future will become like many of our countrymen out there today looking for new jobs or seeking retraining. Call it the new rite of passage in modern time. If you haven’t been divorced or changed a profession, you can’t really call yourself an adult.” That brought some laughter as some of the more imaginative and open minded shed their fear and turned enthusiastic about the idea of making a change. Most likely, they were bored in their jobs, anyway.

“Historically, the financial markets were a mechanism to provide capital but over the recent past, it has just turned into a casino with very little connection to growth of the real economy. Derivatives, margin and billions in phantom instruments made a mockery of the so called free markets; it turned into a thieves market and only gamblers threw lazy money at it.

Now is the time to make changes that will really benefit the entire world and not just a few players. Face it. You know I speak the truth.” He could tell that he had struck a hidden common belief and that his credibility was climbing, but with it the angst that maybe what he was saying might come true. They were paying much closer attention to what he was saying and the smug smiles had disappeared.

“All companies will run like non-profits. Any excess of income can be allocated anyway the company sees fit. If a company needs more capital for expansion or acquisitions, it will get new credits from the Central Bank-notice I said “the” Central Bank- if the business plan seems credible.

“The new Bureau of Centralized Financial Analysis will be made up of experts who have no skin in any game and will judge each application and issue credits with no interest charges. The cost of money and finance will become zero. Imagine what that will do for business.

“Governmental revenues will jump while the individual tax rate will go down because there will be no tax cheating because every transaction will have taxes taken directly before the balance is completed. Hundreds of billions if not trillions will be captured. Making money by commercial lending or investing will no longer exist.

---------------

You can purchase The Meltdown Chronicles on Amazon!

The pregnant girl sobbed as her sister led her away from the Antonia. Night had fully come. There was no light along the street. The wall of the temple mount was to their left, its massive stones dwarfing them.

            “Oh, Leah,” Anna wept. “How can he treat me so?”

            Leah didn’t answer. She’d tried to explain the morning after Vincinius laid with her sister, but Anna hadn’t listened. Their brother and sister-in-law had thrown them out of the family house, but Anna didn’t listen. Now Vincinius had treated her like he treated anyone who begged from him, with callousness, and still Anna wasn’t listening.

            They passed through one of the lofty arches supporting a majestic walkway connecting the temple mount with the upper city, then under arches of two great stairways, which rose up to the temple mount from the Tyropoeon Valley floor. Once through, Leah could see King Herod’s hippodrome ahead of them.

            Slivers of light escaped from around doors and window shutters of the cramped,

mudbrick houses along the street. Leah hurried her sister toward their place, jammed in among so many others in sight of the hippodrome.

            Anna groaned, grasping at her extended abdomen. Leah struggled to hold her up, but her hands felt the dampness of her sister’s clothes.

            “She hurt?” A neighbor woman asked in Aramaic from her doorway.

            “Her time has come,” Leah responded in Aramaic. “Please bring the midwife.”

            …..

            Leah remembered when she was a child watching the cook in her father’s house.  Blow on the fire. Heat the stove to cook the broth or stew. Heat the stone griddle to make the bread. Then her mother would call. Enough time in the kitchen, time to weave.

            Leah would run upstairs to the second-story room that sunshine flooded in the afternoon. There her mother’s loom was set up. Unwoven white wool yarn and dyed flaxen thread hung on wall pegs, waiting to be used, the colors bright in the sunlight.

Together mother and daughter drew threads in and out, warp to weft, then pressed the threads together tightly with the shuttle, and the threads became one, forming one piece of cloth. So they worked, weaving in a rhythm that made the hours and days fly.

            …..

            Oh, how I long to cry, but not for a man, she thought. No, her tears would be for the loss of what she’d known, the pleasant days when their father read to her and Anna and their brother Joseph in the coolness of their rooftop garden. Azariah would sit his children in the midst of the grape arbor, where the sweet smells of mint and citron mingled in the early evening breeze. Their mother Anna would sit with them while her husband read, sometimes from King Solomon’s wisdom or from the great King David’s songs, Hebrew words as beautiful as the garden –

                        “O! Kiss me with kisses from your lips!

                         Sweeter than wine is your love,

                         More fragrant than oil is your name …”

            That life was gone. She and Anna were now living a nightmare brought on by Anna’s childish ignorance, their sister-in-law Miriam’s heartlessness, and their brother’s faithlessness to God. Leah held in her urge to cry and added wine to the water on the stove. Something warm to drink might ease Anna’s pain, she thought.

Click here to purchase Wilderness Refuge: A Prophet's Kingdom

It was 0600 hours, and the sun was just beginning to clear the horizon. Nothing unusual about this day. I was still alive and the first thought that came to mind was thinking it was already too hot, for being so early. Like I said, nothing unusual about this day--so far. As the bright sun pierced my eye lids, the bright blaze of the sun unwillingly forced my eyes to become focused on yet another day of reckoning.

Shit! I thought to myself. I fell asleep again with my boots on! I told myself last night before passing out that I would not fall asleep again with my boots on! And, the thought occurred to me that I haven't changed my socks in almost a week now. If they had the chance, and I know I would, once those boots were kicked off, I would make a run for it. Lord knows they could walk and talk on their own by now. What the fuck! Another day won't kill me, I'm thinking to myself. It gives me an excuse for a new pair, I thought. As I began to sit up from sleeping on the ground behind a few rocks last night, I could hear some of the other troops talking to one another.

"Sarge!" It was Thompson, the first luey.

"Get your ass up! We're bugging," ordered Lieutenant Thompson.

Don't get me wrong, the first luey loves me. My name is Haggard, Sam Haggard, and I am the first Sergent of this secret squad. Lieutenant Thompson calls me sarge, but the rest of my men, the guys that count on me, sometimes call me Thumper. And soon, you will see why.

The sand is everywhere as I brush vigorously the fine dust and sand off my tan BDU's. The morning air was still cool, but the sun was bright. As I use my M-16 as a crutch to hoist my chiseled body up from the cold ground, I begin to feel a throbbing pain in my lower back. Must have slept on a rock, I thought. But, I'm used to it. Shit! The painful thought of home and what I wouldn't do for a nice soft mattress and a brewski right about now, came to mind. It's murder to think like that out here during times as these and one needs to stop thinking like that out here! I can't afford to take my mind off this mission, especially if I want to keep my ass in one piece--I already have a crack in it as it is! I keep telling myself that this will be my last mission. This assignment will be over in a couple weeks and I keep telling myself that I won't take another one. Yeah, right! I've told myself this the last half dozen times or so, and here I am, still telling myself that same shit! Sometimes, I can't help myself--I lie to myself just to keep me happy. There's only a handful of our types in this world that love to hear the blaze of our weapons spread it's ugly death and destruction. And, to see whatever target we choose, disintegrates right before our eyes. Something that the average joe will never get to experience! What a life! Where else can one go and blow things to smithereens without having to go to jail for it? Not a damn place in this world! Except, of course, if you work for the U.S. Government. It's only working for this Government that you can kill people, and blow things up and not having to look over your shoulder after doing it. What a life! Working for the Government gives you a free license to kill, rob, torture and just blow things all to hell and back. And there's no coming back!

As you may of figured out by now, we are no ordinary group of operatives. We are a special tactical unit--Unit SU-236. An invisible unit of six, you might say. Because nobody knows we even exist. Isn't that great?! Whom are you gonna report a Phantom to? Huh? And who's gonna believe ya? For christ sakes, we can pretty much do what we damn well please, just so as long as we don't piss off the president of the United States, that is. What I hope to my last mission here is a mission to take out Osama Bin Laden. The latest intel has him and his top Lieutenant hiding out in a cave, just north of Pul-i-Khumri at 68 degrees latitude and 37 degrees longitude, in the tribal area between Afghanistan and Pakistan, and he has also been reported to have be seen just South of the village of Swat, and in the surrounding Valley area. Our first point of contact will be in the region just North of Pul-i-Khumri, and our GPS device will take us there without any outside guides. It is our hopes that we will encounter Bin Laden there. The area is rugged and mountainous, and nothing grows out there but the deadly scorpions and poisonous snakes, two of my best friends. You can always rely on them to do what they do best. They survive by instincts. And they don't give you any shit! Say helllooo to Frick and Frag!

We're about forty-five klicks south of our target point. We can no longer travel by the long, hot and dusty days. We must now melt into the night breeze as we approach our target--which is easier said than done. The element of surprise will be our best weapon--it has long since been the tactic of choice as far back as the Chinese and a proved mission killer. We are three days now into the mission, and, so far, we have not encountered any flak. Hell, the only resemblance of any sort of human life or anything that breathes out here, so far, were only a few tribesmen and their camels. Other than that, we haven't seen anything else move in this region. I couldn't have selected a better position myself. Intel tells us that Bin Laden may have about eighty foot solders in his company--armed with RPG's and AK-47's and a few heavy machine-guns. But nothing mechanized. Christ, we're fighting an enemy more or less with primitive techniques with modern light arms and we still can't kill that son-of-a- bitch! With all our sophisticated technology and weaponry, one may think this sucker would of been dead years ago. Well, if I got anything to say about it, this son-of-a-bitch has just outlived his last cat life!

---------------

Click to purchase Target Washing: The Search For Osama Bin Laden

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Note: This scene takes place just after Tom has moved to Salt Lake City and read about the fledgling religious group called the Metropolitan Community Church, led by an acknowledged homosexual. Tom decides to attend, and at his second meeting encounters a man who will profoundly affect his life.                  

At the next week’s meeting, one congregationist stood out in Tom’s mind. Named Rob Johnston, he was a gentle, sandy-haired, corpulent man in his late thirties, a disaffected Mormon, whose wittiness and infectious laugh attracted Tom’s attention. Upon conclusion of the morning services, they stood outside and chatted for more than an hour, and exchanged phone numbers and addresses before heading their separate ways. Tom’s affinity for Rob exceeded mere religious affiliation or general compatibility, for he found his new acquaintance physically alluring. He did not, even in the indulgent mise-en-scène where they had met, dare hint his interest was more than a desire to pursue ordinary, friendly contact. Such are the masks behind which we hide, commonly worn, all too successful in deluding our associates and isolating us from them.

Having gained a sense of Rob’s liberal, receptive attitudes, Tom resolved that very night to confide his secret, consequences be damned. Just after seven, he steeled himself and sat down at the small desk in his apartment, spread out the slip of paper on which Rob had jotted his number, and dialed. After four rings, he heard a cheery, “Hello.”

“Rob, this is Tom Wahrheit. Am I calling at a bad time?”

“No, I was just watching a stupid sitcom on the idiot box. I should be reading a good book or something, but I’m just too lazy right now. What’s up?”

“Oh, I just felt like talking to someone. I really enjoyed our conversation after church today, and—I hope I’m not being too personal—I detected the yearning in you, as there is in me, to speak about things in the forefront of your thoughts, things maybe you don’t feel you can discuss with most people. I’m trying to say you’re an unconventional guy, not what I call a ‘Joe Average,’ and so am I.”

“Yeah, I could tell that after we had talked for a few minutes. I also got the impression something is troubling you. Do you want to tell me about it?”

Tom remained mute. He could feel his heart speeding up, and a flush of warmth all over his body. His armpits and forehead were damp, and palms clammy. Hunched over the desk, eyes fixed on the little 1973 calendar propped in one corner of its surface, Tom didn’t know if he should bare his soul to this man. Fear and indecision paralyzed him.

“Tom, are you there?” Rob asked when almost half a minute of silence had passed.

“Listen, Rob. I do want to tell you something and it’s taking all my will power to get up the nerve. I know you’re a broad-minded individual, so I’m going to say it. I’m a homosexual. I hate keeping it hidden, and pretending to be something I’m not. I’ve been in mental institutions, too. So, there you have it; I’ve spilled the beans. I wouldn’t blame you for just hanging up here and now.”

“I appreciate your candor,” Rob said. “And I’ve no intention of hanging up on you. Quite the contrary; since you have been so forthright and trusting, I’ll state what you may have suspected anyway: I’m gay, too. Though it hasn’t made my life easy by any means, I think I’ve worked through the worst adjustments and come to terms with it. It has been a tough task, but I’ve accepted what I am and stopped figuratively flogging myself long ago. What you’re going through now is not unusual. Listen, if you want to, come on over for a while. I’ll make us coffee, and we can discuss this further. But,” he added, “you can’t stay too long. I’m a practical nurse at a convalescent hospital, and my shift starts at six-thirty in the morning.”

“I’d like to come over, if you’re sure you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. I’m only about ten minutes away from your place, so I’ll get water boiling and see you in a little while.”

“Okay. And thanks. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Tom heard a click, then thrumming of the disconnected line. He softly hung up, touched by Rob’s unhesitant offer to talk about what troubled him so deeply and persistently. For once, he could speak freely to another gay person, unburdening his mind of this oppressive load he had carried unaided for so long. Grabbing a warm coat, he switched off the overhead light, ran out, locked his door, and sprinted to his car parked in front. Once inside, he turned the key, and his engine caught but idled roughly; not being mechanically adept himself, he tended to ignore such matters, but mentally noted to take it in for a tune up. He lurched off into the night with thoughts aflutter, almost forgetting to turn on his headlights.

     He located Rob’s first-floor apartment without difficulty, left his car in a parking space down the street, and, with some trepidation, walked to the front door and rapped lightly. Less than half a minute passed before Rob opened it wide. Dressed in a white turtleneck, jeans, and sandals, he invited his guest inside, led him into the living room, and pointed to the beautiful cat curled up on a chair. “That’s Molly, my most devoted friend. She asks little and gives much.” Tom couldn’t resist crouching down by this reposing feline, her luxuriant coat of white fur complemented by striking blue eyes, to stroke her head. “Coffee’s made. Take off your coat, have a seat on the couch, and I’ll pour you a mug. Cream and sugar?” his host asked.

“Yeah, both—and could you put in two spoons of sugar please? I have a sweet tooth.”

“Will do. Make yourself at home,” Rob said, scurrying out to get their beverages.

Seated on the davenport, its tan, cloth surface showing signs of wear, Tom took note of his modest but immaculately clean surroundings. One item of special interest was the terra-cotta statuette of two naked, muscular men seated on a bench, their arms wrapped around one another, that Rob kept on an end table.

Returning with their steaming mugs, Rob set them atop coasters on the coffee table and sat down next to his visitor. He encouraged Tom to speak frankly. His manner seemed so genuinely kind and sincere that Tom’s inhibitions dropped, and, as they sipped their coffee, he let out all his pent-up emotions, recounting manic episodes, and periods of profound melancholia and despair that repeatedly brought him to the brink of suicide. Rob listened patiently, waiting until Tom had finished his story and released this torrent of long-suppressed insecurities and dissatisfactions.

“Would you mind a very blunt question?” Rob asked.

“No.”

“Have you ever been with a man sexually?”

Tom swallowed and stared down at the floor. “I came close once but didn’t go through with it. I’m twenty-eight and still a virgin, you could say. It’s filled my fantasies for years, but I’ve never really tried it. Simply put, it scares the hell out of me and I haven’t been courageous enough to crawl out of my shell, meet people, experiment, and maybe establish a worthwhile relationship. The one-night-stand idea turns me off. Somehow, it cheapens what I’ve always thought of as a very personal and special connection between two human beings, as opposed to a merely transitory gratification of two bodies.”

Rob reached over and took Tom’s hand in his own. The latter looked up and met his steady gaze, thrilling to this caring touch, yet terrified of what those eyes were saying.

“I was attracted to you right from the start,” Rob said, “but didn’t want to seem pushy. You’re bright, warm, and very handsome, Tom, and you have a lot to give. If you’ll trust me, I can initiate you into gay life and help you be what you’ve always known you really are.”

“Jesus, Rob, I don’t know. I’m so bewildered by all this, but . . . I desperately want to be the real Tom Wahrheit. I guess I’m avoiding the basic problem of growing up, and I’m scared—scared by all I don’t know, scared to let people see me as I am.”

Rob stood, drawing Tom up with him. Without another word, their hands still entwined, Rob led the way to his bedroom. Soon they had disrobed and embraced, and several hours of unbridled passion ensued for Tom, who abandoned himself to this floodtide of euphoric emotion and carnal pleasure. He had never before imagined, much less known, anything like it. In time, the exhausted pair fell into heavy slumber in each other’s arms, heedless of sleep deprivation that would encumber them the next day. At five-thirty in the morning, Rob’s alarm clock abruptly ended their peaceful but short rest. Dragging, they washed up, dressed, and lovingly bade each other farewell, promising to get in touch the following day—after a good night’s sleep!

Click here to purchase Broken Saint! 

Life has to have a balance; this balance has to have the exercise plus the healthy eating and a time for the mind (relaxation). If you get this wrong, then the body is out of sync and you could start feeling lethargic, or indeed have other problems like high blood pressure, high cholesterol, even IBS (Irritable Bowel Syndrome). It’s not rocket science to correct the balance, and as you read through this book, you will see for yourselves.

My book is all about you, and therefore, I only make suggestions, and give you options, making it easy for you, as an individual, to cater to your own needs by working around what I have written. But please remember, before embarking on any exercise program for the first time, check with your doctor about any health issues you have before you proceed.

Now is the time to turn the page, and take yourself on a journey of discovery. You are going to have to be honest with yourself—no more pretending that everything is alright when you know, in your heart of hearts that you are not happy with how you look or how you feel.

You are about to change the way you look on the inside. You see, if everything balances from the inside then it follows that it will show on the outside. I know that you will be impressed with the results. Get ready for compliments coming from your friends asking what you are doing to look so good and let’s get started.

Click here to purchase your copy of Looking Good Feeling Great Ladies 50 and Over by Nina Bagnall today!

Chapter 26

The next night seemed long in coming. With their daily chores done, Benjamin Gavins and Carmen passed time in their separate rooms. They had agreed that when it was late enough, when they were sure everyone else was fast asleep, Ben would come to Carmen’s room. From there, they would make their way to the doctor’s cottage, to the lab where Toby’s lifeless body must be resting, waiting for Ben to carry it one last time to its final resting place in the secret room within the family mausoleum.

Carmen had insisted on coming. She wanted to see Toby one last time. There could be no words of parting, no fair speeches. Time for talk among friends was over. Only memories after this night would ever keep Toby O’Grady alive in their minds. That night, of all nights, Monique and Vanessa sat at the piano, as Monique found herself in the mood for music. She played one of her favorite pieces, one they had heard not too long ago. It was another piece from Beethoven, one dedicated to a lost love, followed by another he had written in memory of another woman he had not married. The musical pieces were Fur Elise and Pathetique Sonata. The family sat around the drawing room, taking in the music, but it was only sad for two friends who had surely lost their best friend the night previous.

When the old clock in his room struck three the next morning, Ben was sure it was late enough. Surely, none of the family or other servants would be up or about. He opened his door ever so quietly, crept along the passage, around the corner, and looked in the drawing room. He knew that sometimes Henry Hamlin would sit in the chair nearest the fireplace, reading and sipping peach brandy. Sometimes, he fell asleep there, but not tonight.

Ben Gavins hurried back down the hallway and tapped ever so lightly on Carmen’s bedroom door. He only needed to knock once as she was awake and ready to see Toby laid to rest. They made their way down the corridor past the drawing room, through the dining room and into the kitchen.

Once they were outside, they walked briskly to the cottage past the mausoleum and the cemetery on the edge of the estate. They did not talk but occasionally glanced back toward the great house to make sure no one had arisen for some reason and might be watching them from a window. If that should happen, there would be no easy answers or explanations as to why the two of them were out together at such an hour of the night. Even they did not customarily arise so early in the morning.

It would not be long until their work day began and they would need to be back at the house. The servants would have to be fed first, then the family. That was how Daniel Hamlin had always wanted it. That way, the servants could begin their day while the others finished breakfast.

There was no light coming from the doctor’s cottage or lab. Apparently, Marlin was still asleep. Had he forgotten that they would come for the body? Toby’s request, if Ben could do it all, had to be honored. A vampire’s body could not be left lying around, and Ben and Carmen would make sure it made it back to its final resting place, the casket in the secret room at the family mausoleum.

Ben tapped lightly once, then a bit louder the second time. He peered toward the great house nervously. Finally, a light appeared inside, and Doctor Marlin came to the door holding a glowing candle in its holder. Its light illuminated his face strangely. He bade them enter and the three of them made their way to the laboratory. Toby lay in state on the table they had seen him on the night previous, only covered now with a sheet.

Apparently, the blood withdrawal had worked. For all practical purposes, Tobias O’Grady lay dead on the wooden table in the semi-dark lab, his body seemingly waiting there for Benjamin Gavins. It looked as though Doctor Marlin had succeeded in killing a vampire beyond the ordinary means.

Carmen and Ben approached the body on the table and stared at it momentarily. It was always hard seeing someone you like, no, someone you loved, lying there that way. It were as if it was all a bad dream, similar to the nightmares Daniel and others had once had at Hamlin Manor.

There he lay, Toby O’Grady, a man who had once loved life and ended up dying as a vampire, a creature of the night. No one would have ever guessed such a thing possible. The family would never even know it had happened at all. Benjamin Gavins, who once feared the thought of witches and vampires and ghosts, had come to realize that such beings did exist. He had seen and talked with them. What a strange world it had become, he thought.

Ben leaned over and picked up Toby’s body like that of a child. He carried it that way to the mausoleum. Carmen walked behind him. It did not seem respectful or proper to walk beside them now at a time like this. She would say her good-byes at the grave, the only one Toby had ever known, the wooden box hidden in a secret room.

Doctor Marlin did not want to see the vampire’s coffin set ablaze, and so stayed behind, watching the two from outside his front door until they disappeared around the mausoleum. In a sense, they were witnessing history, the death of the undead, and who could he tell about it? Only his private journal would have such details: the first human blood transfusion; the complete blood withdrawal from a vampire as a patient; and the apparent successful means of killing such a creature who did in fact exist.

If Marlin could not reveal these things to a skeptical public now, his journal would have to be safeguarded at all costs for future generations. He would have to keep it in a secret place for the time being, and eventually pass it on to someone he could trust. The only others who knew of these strange events at the Hamlin estate were a gypsy and a reformed convict, a former pirate at that. Should he ever need their testimony, who would believe them? They would likely all three be locked away somewhere, perhaps in the sanitarium with Doctor Marlin’s other patients.

The stocky servant used his foot to push the main door to the mausoleum open. It was quiet except for the grinding of brick upon brick as the doorway opened for them. Ben led the way through the dark passage alongside the other tombs and stopped at the place of the hidden door. Again, he used his foot and they entered the dark and secret chamber.

Carmen lit some candles with flint and stone, giving the eerie abode an even eerier appearance. It was cold and semi-dark. The candles flickered from a slight breeze that found its way inside. The smell of sulfur filled the room. The only sound now was their footsteps upon the brick floor as they approached the dark, wooden box.

Carmen hesitated, and then lifted the coffin lid. Benjamin stepped closer and placed his friend’s body inside its red velvety interior. He took Toby’s cold hands and folded them together, one hand atop the other. The candlelight flickered, throwing their shadows upon the wall.

The long, rectangular shadow of a casket appeared with theirs. They stood there silently for a moment, taking in the sad and gloomy scene.

“Toby,” Carmen began, “Toby O’Grady, I will always remember you.” She wiped a tear from her eye, then the other eye. Carmen put a hand to his cold face.

“Aye, Mr. Toby. I won’t forget you either. We won’t ever forget you!” Ben Gavins patted a shoulder, withdrew his hand, and slowly closed the lid. They both watched the face of Toby O’Grady until the wooden lid prevented it.

Ben walked to a corner of the room and drug a heavy chain over to the dark coffin that set there as if it were a real thing, waiting for them to leave. He lifted the chain and began to wrap it around the casket. It was the only sound as its links clanked together. The second time around, Gavins took a rusty lock, the only one he had been able to find, and fastened it into the chain.

All was said and done now. There was nothing else that could be done. Toby O’Grady lay silently in his wooden tomb within a secret chamber. The good doctor Marlin had done all he could do for the weary vampire, a victim of the night as much as those who had been his victims.

Toby had considered the possibility that maybe Angelica Leary’s prophecy was wrong, that maybe sunlight or a wooden stake driven through his heart by means of a crossbow or a silver bullet could kill him. Since his brief exposure to sunlight one early morning had no effect upon him, he had reasoned it was useless. The doctor’s method of full blood withdrawal sounded like the best possible means to end it all. In the event that failed, then Benjamin Gavins was to enclose the coffin with a chain, lock it, and burn the box with the vampire inside. It was hoped that would end Toby’s endless night.

Carmen looked at Ben. He knew what she was thinking. Toby expected him to set the coffin ablaze with his body inside. It was a safeguard in the event the chain failed. Both knew that Benjamin could not do it. He had told Toby so the last night they had seen him. Ben had done all he could for Mr. Toby. It was over now.

Benjamin Gavins motioned Carmen to wait outside for him. He wanted a last moment with his best friend. He could not tell Carmen that is how he felt, that she was not actually his favorite. They were good friends and would ever be, but he was sure that Carmen felt the same as he.

Carmen read his thoughts and walked out into the darkness while Ben stood by the coffin to perhaps say a few last fitting words, or just to meditate on better days, days now gone forever. A full moon had come out from behind clouds of the night, its light shining down upon her.

She heard grinding stone as Ben closed the main door and stepped outside the mausoleum. He took the gypsy’s arm, she laid her head upon his shoulder, and they walked slowly homeward.

There were no comforting words for them now. Their friend was dead  and gone, again. How many times in life should a person have to see a friend die?

Was once not enough? Melancholy set in, but with it the knowledge that now Toby O’Grady could rest in peace.

Author Bio:

The author began writing in the spring of 1971 but with college, the military, and work, never got back to his original work. His inner passion finally got the best of him. With the basic synopsis in mind, he began writing Forever Endless Night and a sequel (the initial title for my first work, unfinished, was Pagan’s Point, about a warlock condemned to hang. He is the main character in Forever Endless Night, but not as a warlock).

Wood has a bachelor’s degree in history with a political science minor, and enough hours in literature for another minor. Mr. Wood worked on a master’s degree and has graduate hours in education.  Prior to finishing college, he graduated from a two-year Bible school and is a trained minister in the Lord’s church.

Currently, the author resides in Texas, with his wife, Maureen, and two sons at home, James and Joseph. The older son, Jonathan, has finished high school and also lives in Texas. Both James and Jonathan are aspiring authors.

Author's Website and Blog:

 The Author’s Webpage For Forever Endless Night

http://www.eloquentbooks.com/ForeverEndlessNight.html

Blog link

http://www.oldtimehorrors.blogspot.com/