The Dead-Line

The Dead-Line

Jennifer crept around to the back of the three story office building, the iPhone flashlight app illuminating her path. “There must be another way in,” she thought, “There has to be.” She stood in the darkened parking lot and scanned the beam of the phone up the uninterrupted brick surface of the buildings back wall. Three quarters of the way up the wall, she froze. The phone slipped from her hand and clattered to the ground, cracking the screen. Paralyzed with fear, she wondered if she had really seen what she thought she had.

Hack work – you don’t need to tell me. We’re on the weather deck, the sun sets. We’re leaving Santa Barbara north through an area haunted by tales of lost ships and lost love. Coincidently superstitious seamen call this area "Graveyard of the Pacific". Nearly 50 ships and hundreds of lives perished here. Local Indian lore cry this place a western gate, where the souls of the dead pass between this world and the next. The process of Humqaq, “The Raven Comes”. In this story a raven pecks the eyes of the dead giving them 'celestial eyes' for traveling on the Dead Path. By taking the 'earthly eyes' of their previous life, can the souls find the place where they are re-incarnated. Seems fitting for what we’re up to. Gotta’ wrap this up and press send.

Where were we? I’m on vacation. This writing assignment comes with certain, con-tests I guess. Who’m I kidding? Taking time off in October? Who does that? Honestly, not a fan of Halloween. Not sold on spirits and all that. But it’s worth a try. That’s really why we’re on this cruise ship. Getting out of town for a spell. Get the head straight. Finish the story, the dead-line’s approaching. Where were we? Ah yes, back to Jennifer; what did she see on that wall? Her dog hanging. No. Animal cruelty doesn't sit well with readers. Her boyfriend strung up? No. That would totally be expected. Should I flashback to Jennifer’s past? How she ended up alone in a dark parking lot? Or flashback to time when the antagonist first laid eyes on her. She was at the farmer’s market shopping for avocados, probably to make guacamole for the “boyfriend”. What’s there to tell? The antagonist saw her and there’s no going back. Now my Halloween tale is a stalker story, once again. Where was I?

Paralyzed with fear . . . The phone . . . broken on the ground. No longer needed. Jennifer’s moves closer. Her eyes adjusting to the dark night. Her approach made clearer the writing on the wall. Written in white letters:  B E H I N D   Y O U

That usually gets them. The readers love shock. Did I mention I’m on a boat while I am typing this? My editor calls me as we are board the USS Star Dancer in Long Beach. I take the call while getting help with my very heavy over-sized luggage. I hate tipping by the way. “Off to Alaska!" I say. He demands a Halloween tale with a 667 word count limit for this week’s publication: “Publish or perish!” - gives me a deadline. If he only knew. 

Where was I? Oh. I couldn’t have the dog dead, because I let him go. What can I say? I love dogs. The boyfriend can’t be strung up because the boyfriend was actually just her brother. And Jennifer – that’s not really her name by the way. Remember that luggage I needed help with? Let’s just say it was heavy for good reason. And leave it at that. We both will be free, real soon. There! It’s out! My stalker story is a confessional now. A farewell. A finale. See it’s possible to publish and perish. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.

In this story, I am the Raven. Time for my bird bath.

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