Holiday Ransom

Yep,  it’s that time again. We’re all bustling to make that last dime that’ll pay off the massive list that grew on us. We just have to get “the” gift that’ll make our friends and family smile. Why?  Because we’re all crazy in our own way.

So, knowing just how crazy busy we all are I’ll keep this year’s challenge reasonable. Hahaha! Did I say reasonable?  I meant less overwhelming.  

The holidays are being demanding again. They didn’t bother with kidnapping this time on account of me driving them crazy last year. This year, they threaten to steal my bonus.  We can’t let that happen. 

Here’s your challenge. It’s a fun one.  No demanded word count. They just want to know about your most hated relative. We all have one of those relatives we could go the rest of our lives from seeing without feeling bad. That’s the one you should write about. 

Tell the holidays why you dislike them. Then,  if it’s possible, tell them of one good memory of them. 

Please feel free to share in the comments. I too have such a relative.  That one relative that always has a negative comment about everything.  And I do mean everything! You could look at the rain and say “It is raining” and he’d say “You’re full of ****. I don’t see a drop.” (No sarcasm present.) Yeah, that argumentative. I even suggested that as a Christmas game we tie him up and everyone gets a good slap in. My grandmother liked  that idea. That’s how bad. She’s such a sweet woman. I was surprised to hear her agree. I wish I had a good memory of him.  But I don’t. 

But that’s the relative the holidays want to know about. Maybe they’ll feed them to Krampus. 

Good luck. 

Why are you still here? 

Seriously! Go write!  And don’t forget to share. 


Back from the dead.

Well, you failed. The Holidays didn’t recieve enough words ransom.  They ordered Krampus to tear me piece by piece and devour me.

His acidic saliva melted my flesh in unimaginable agony.  His serrated teeth tore the muscles from my bones as if I were cooked chicken. For hours my pain blinded me while screams ripped from my disentigrating throat. The vile taste of poisoned blood coated my tongue and life ceased to exist.

Thankfully! I know a rakshasa. More specifically, an Ak’chazar.


She was able to pull me from the grips of a grim reaper and heal what left remained of my body. They are some very powerful creatures. Don’t ever piss them off.

So here I am,  back from the dead.  The nightmares will haunt me forever.  The cold weather causes aches in the flesh she regenerated me from and I’m still here creating worlds of fantastical creatures for you to dive into when the day is just to long.  Don’t count me out. It’ll take more than a Krampus to get rid of me. 

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Your Beloved Author,
Sandra Easter

Characters in the Dark

I always wondered what happened to the characters in the books when I returned them so neatly to their shelves. I always dreamed about them long after reading their words. Soon it became too much. It invaded my every thought.  Kept me from writing, sleeping,  reading.  I just had to know.  I set a book open on my desk one night and placed a night camera before it.
This is what I saw:
At first there was only silence. A stillness that only comes in the night.  That was until midnight came and the words began to shift.  Just a few at first.  Then as if an they were ants,  they all began to move on the pages. It was an awakening if I ever did see one.  I was so in awe my jaw wouldn’t close.
As if that weren’t enough,  voices began lifting into the air in a caphony of sounds and words. Voices I could only imagine until now. 
The most amazing thing happened next. Words began to form my beloved characters.  They conversed,  fought and loved before my very eyes.
The magic tragically only lasted an hour. They melted back into the words I loved and settled on the page awaiting my eager eyes again.

Your Beloved Author,
Sandra Easter

Write with me


The ruins of the sanctuary have long been past down through the generations.  Some speak of a place people would worship God.  An entity that created all. Others speak of a magnificent home that housed a single lonely family.  The legends were myths, so some would claim. While others would swear to have seen it with their own eyes.  I didn’t know what to think. I’d never seen anything of what was described but it sounded so fantastical that I wanted to hope for its existence.

The stories became just that, stories. At least that was until a long distance travel had me coming upon the very ruins I’d remember described as a child.  Two pillars standing solitary in a pile of stone rubble. I halted in my tracks n my heart beating hard in my chest at the excitement building in me. I hurry up to the pillars, call not to slip on the rubble.  As the pillars towered over me, a shimmer formed between the pillars.  It cleared to show greenery the likes if only knew of in stories of the past. Walking around I saw no such thing.  I returned to the front and placed my hand before this impossible view. Moving forward in a trance my head found a barrier that was wet, but not wet.  The greenery blurred before me and I panicked that it would disappear. Pushing through the barrier sensation dissipated but a cool breeze caressed my skin instead. Taking a steading breath, I lunged through. When finally I found the nerve to open my eyes and breathe, greenery filled my vision and I assume the air filling my lungs.

Finish the story.  Where did the character go?  What will happen to them?

Your Beloved Author,
Sandra Easter

The Night the Moon Fell


The night the moon fell, I was taking a late night stroll in a large field with my beloved.  The air was soft, the temperature was perfect. The lighting was just right.
After a long day,  it was just what we needed. Conversation was absent but the silence welcome. With our hands entwined, we strolled across the plain trying to release the day.
As we settled in on a patch of cushiony clovers to watch the night sky the moon began to grow. The surface appeared to change. No longer rock, but skies of clouds covering masses of gray.  To our shock, the growth increased exponentially. The speed alarming.
It wasn’t until the Earth trembled and quaked that it became clear; the moon had  fallen to Earth as a child would into its mother’s arms. Dust and debris filed the air framing the living moon with the deduction of its mother.
My beloved and I looked to another, but words couldn’t find their way as the rumbling continued. So we just stood there,  watching with concern and wonder at this impossible event unfolding before us.

Your Beloved Author,
Sandra Easter

Review of the Incarnate Series

This is a text I recieved from a young girl (12 years old) about the Incarnate series.  It makes me smile to know that something I’ve written can have this effect on someone.


This one was while she was reading the last book in the series. Denouement. (Not yet released)


Your Beloved Author,
Sandra Easter

Asylum III

For years I heard voices in my head. I ignored them as best I could when I figured out no one else could hear them. At first,  that was okay. But then they began to get louder. Demanding. Bordering on homicidal. I tried prescription drugs I bought off junkies. Mind altering drugs. They only made things worse.  The voices stared to take control.  Making me say things I’d never say.
I couldn’t take it anymore.  I didn’t care about my pride any longer. I checked into the nearest asylum. I told them about the voices.  The nurses put me up for the night and told me the doctor would be in in the morning. While screams echoed the hall and my cott smelled of duty people and I didn’t want to know what,  I lay in wait for the first rays of light. 
The night was long. The voices got louder than the screams down the hall.  My head bounced hard against the concrete wall of the room until I’m sure it started to bleed.
The sun was a welcome sight as the voices faded with the night. I was escorted to breakfast by a burley nurse in black scrubs. The cafeteria tables brought my memory back to high school. I found one abandoned. The top apparently used as a carving post. Words and images covered nearly the entire surface.  I sat and looked around the now silent room. 
Weariness settled in me.  Everyone peered at me with they’re own crazy eyes.  Whispers echoed softly but no one moved their eyes from me or turned their head to speak to anyone else. 
Choosing to ignore them despite my screaming instincts and voices I nibbled on a piece of bread as I concentrated rather hard on my tray. ‘Show no weakness’ the voices urged.
A heavy thump and the violent vibration of the table alerted me to a rather large presence to my right. I could feel eyes burning through my right temple,  but I refused to acknowledge it.  I shut down a shutter that wanted to rip through me, causing me to bite down on my lip. Salty iron bloomed in my mouth where the roll I was still chewing absorbed. I forced down the disgusting food while avoiding the gag reflex needing a release.
Wet, foul breath met my cheek before a large inhaling breath sounded in my ear.  They were smelling me? The voices went quiet.  Almost as if this thing could hear them too and they feared it.
A wood chopping preceeded another vibrating of the table.  Our of the corner of my eye a beefy hand used a carving tool to scar the wood more.  Curious, I shifted my head to watch. His head snapped back to me,  his cold eyes freezing my thoughts. The voices ran.  I could hear their frightened screams fade.
His large, dirty hand slammed onto my tray making me flinch.  With his eyes still holding mine I didn’t see the roll he took until he pressed it to my bloody lip briefly then,  with my blood visible to me, he shoved it into his mouth. He chewed briefly and swallowed.
No amount of will power could keep the nausea at bay. My hand instantly covered my mouth in attempt to avoid projectile vomit. I rushed to the nearest trash can and let loose everything I had.
A nurse gave me a napkin and proceeded to escort me out of the room. Looking back briefly, the man was now seated in front of my tray. Food in one hand and carving tool in the other.
The walk was a blur as my mind tried to make sense of the crazy man. “Have a seat.  The doctor will only be a moment.”
Dazed, I looked around the room. I wasn’t sure I was seeing things right. I rubbed my eyes, hoping the shock from breakfast was making me delusional. While the furniture n albeit a bit dirty, looked normal; the decor wasn’t. Where one would typically see models of body parts for teaching purposes, there were real body parts. Skulls, rib cage, hearts in glass jars that I could swear beat on occasion. Stuffed crows were placed on the end of a shelf as if to balance the death out. I reached out my hand to touch one without realising I had gotten out of the seat. It snapped at my hands and squawked at me. That’s when the voices came back. But not only voices, faces too. All around me I could see who the voices belonged to. Their cries a caphony of ear splitting noise. In a failed attempt to down them out I pressed my hands tightly to my ears. The only thing I silenced was the sound of the doctor walking in. His hand on my shoulder made me jump in fear that the voices could now touch me. I swung my hands out, hitting the doctor in the shoulder. He grasped my hands in his own until my senses returned and the voices stopped. The faces remained, expressions of fear so clear on their murky faces.
“Please, have a seat.” He said kindly, letting go of my hands. I did as told and took him in for the first time. His hair hung in dark soft waves just below his eye brows and his eyes shone a light, almost white blue. His full lips curved into a polite smile, undoubtedly perfected over the years to make others feel at ease. He was tall, but not too tall. Fit. Athletic build. Perfect. Too perfect. Even his voice lured you in. I was the fish, and he the unbaited hook. I didn’t want to see that hook baited. I’d lose all my self control.
Wary of this far too pristine doctor I sat in silence waiting for him to speak. What he said frightened me.

“I hear them too.”

More to come! Follow me so you don’t miss it.
Your Beloved Author,
Sandra Easter