And, what did the Kougar accomplish today? Besides, endless promo on the Yahoo loops, and learning more about the paranormal world from author, Esther Mitchell, who is an investigator and expert, on The Haunt ~ http://groups.yahoo.com/group/The_Haunt_at_PNR ~ why, the Kougar just finished her interview questions for author, Nina Pierce’s blog, Around the Writer’s Block. November 10 is the magic date. Not only is Nina a fantabulous erotic romance author, but her blog often displays the most wonderful male eye candy...yum, sexy-hot.
Now, just for the Big Curious Cats ~ the explanation of the pic above ~ http://coasttocoastam.com/gen/page2793.html?theme=light ~
I took these pics 12 seconds apart on 10/17/08 around 3:30 am in Danville, Indiana. After downloading I noticed the very small triangular object in the lower right in only one of the photos. The shuttle was not up. Any idea what it may be? Satellite? Included is a cropped version as a close up. --MEH email@example.com
Moon flight cool, meow! The Kougaress was immediately reminded of what Fox Mulder says ~ the truth is out there ~ yowl, in front of the moon, out there in space-landia.
Just for the Big Cool Cats ~ the beginning of the Kougar’s WIP ~
Death by Halloween and Cigarettes ~
For the last time I studied my face in the rearview mirror of my sister’s old minivan, on loan since my car was being fixed. Not that it mattered now. It was near midnight, but the parking lot was fairly well lit. I saw nothing unusual in the narrow mirror. I was still aging and ugly, my eyes dull and lifeless. I had nothing left inside me. Not a drop of spirit.
Motorcycles, most of them chromed-out Harleys, glistened magically. The wand of technology waved for bad boys, I thought. They were lined up, modern steeds waiting to be mounted, ridden away. Maybe raced away for the mad-freedom sport of it. Or raced away to escape. There were a few muscle cars, rebuilt sixties classics. And a few pickups, pumped-up shiny and showy as Arnold, the Governor of California.
"A high-end hangout," I muttered, raised my slumping shoulders. Lifting my arm to the door handle, I struggled to open the van door. I was so fatigued, so ill every move was a ridiculous struggle. Slowly, painfully, I stepped out and down. Shutting the door with just enough force, I pocketed the keys. At least, they could figure out who I was when...
Folding my arms, a pitiful attempt to hold myself, comfort myself, I rested against the door to gather what strength I could. Gazing across the highway I’d driven down on, the full moon hung over the hay field. She was glorious, breathtaking, and dressed in mandarin orange. "I love the moon," I murmur. "Perfect," I whisper up to her.
Official Hallow’s Eve was a few days away. Halloween, I’d had a few good ones. Fun ones. I’d treasured the freedom of running the neighborhood at night with my guy buddies. Later, the freedom to wear the elaborate costumes I created, to become for one night, what I truly wished to be. Instead of conforming to the demands of society. Instead of always blending in just enough – so no one would get too freaked out. Too uncomfortable.
Sighing, I forced myself to move away from the minivan door. The slight crispness of autumn helped me move across the parking lot toward the Pit Stop. It was surrounded by cow pastures, but was only thirty, forty minutes out from a major midwestern city and a small university city. Plus there were all the little agricultural towns dotting the area.
Transfixed I halted. Easy to do at a snail’s pace. The 67 Barracuda had been hidden by an apple-red shiny pickup. It wasn’t silver like mine had been – way back when. I’d had that baby up to around 120 mph a few times. This one was a marine blue from what I could tell, maybe navy. Probably not the original paint...looked too good. With no one around, I tentatively stroke the hood. If there was some sort of alarm system I was in trouble. But it remained silent, even looked appreciative. "My parting gift," I whisper. "Thanks."
Breathing heavily, my body sluggish and stiff, I continue toward the Pit Stop’s entrance. Raucous music blasted louder and louder, a honky tonk band of some type. I’d never been inside before, just seen it as I whizzed by on the highway. One of the old steel doors, somewhat grimy with nicotine, had been propped open. An oblong beam of light cut into the darkness. Smoke curled inside the light, mystical, as if created by a fantasy sorcerer. Yep, last chance for my imagination to run wild. My lips curl up into a minimal smile, all I can manage.
This should do it. This place was a death trap, especially for me. I regretted what I was about to do to the people inside. There might even be someone who truly cared. But I figured it wouldn’t phase most of the experience-hardened, hard ass regulars. The odor drifting outside now was a warning. Normally I would have hastily escaped. Or snail-escaped as fast as I could, while holding my breath, and hoping against hope, I wouldn’t collapse, unable to breathe, choking on my asthmatic phlegm.
Nope, I forge ahead, trying not to hold my breath, and step inside. I feel like a doddering old woman.
The stench is gawd awful. So hideous, I gag immediately, then cough loudly, repeatedly. The toxic buildup of cigarette smoke is so heavy it lands on me like a smothering blanket. I have no chance at all. Coughing and gagging furiously, I fight to breathe. My lungs ache, and feel like they’re being ripped out of me. My breaths are frantic, erratic and soon became a desperate high-pitched wheezing. My throat closed. No air came in. No air went out. I clutch my throat, collapsing. Landing on the floor heavily, I jerk, twitching as if I’m having a severe seizure. Instead of dying by asphyxiation.
I wait to die. I’d hoped it would be quick – being severely allergic to cigarette smoke. A face appeared over mine. A man’s face. He almost looked angelic. Except his eyes glowed as he bent closer, demonically glowed. A scream burst up to my constricted throat. Not heard, of course. I felt him start to lift me. Then my mind blanked to nothing. I felt nothing. Knew nothing.
I didn’t even know I wasn’t leaving my body – my soul not rising toward the light. I didn’t know I wasn’t on the other side. Free of my afflicted, worn out body. Free from a life time filled with excruciating depression, failure and misery. Free...
Suddenly, my hands touch cold nasty asphalt. Nasty with God knew what kind of garbage. I heard myself breathing before I felt it. Next, I heard my heart drum loudly. "What the hell!" I shoot upwards to a sitting position. In the back of my mind, I realize I sat up without struggle. I no longer feel horribly depleted and exhausted.
"You’re going to be fine." Whoever he was, his voice sought to soothe me. I open my eyes. He squats beside me, his features not that visible. We were in a non-lit part of the parking lot.
"Why the fuckin’ hell am I behind a dumpster?" I blinked furiously, my eyes watering. "Why am I not dead?" My voice was tornadic anger because that’s what whirled viciously inside me. "And who the hell are you? You’ve got demon eyes."
"It is close to Halloween." His voice was mild, amused, yet it was a purr-pleasing timbre to my feminine ear. "What’s wrong with your eyes?" His gentle tone suggested pure concern.
"What else?" I snapped. "Cigarette smoke." Trying to make out his features I turn my head toward him. But he had stood up. Good gawd! He was sexy! What I could see, his torso revealed by a long-sleeved knit tee-shirt – his hips, his legs outlined by what light was available. Encased in tight, just-right worn jeans – but not obscenely tight. I convulsively swallowed. My mouth watered. Not making me happy at all!
I was supposed to be dead. Dead! Dead! Dead! Dead and gone. Dead and happy, very happy on the Other Side. On the Other Side with family and friends and all my pets. "What are you a Halloween demon? Checking out the sights before the big night? Boo! Kill at midnight," I mock, not holding back. I’d held back for most of my life. Damn, the fuck! I wasn’t supposed to be alive. A blue light, soft, suddenly penetrated my eyes. The burning ceased.
"Serial killer demon? Looking for a Samhain sacrifice. Torture, then kill me? Is that your ghoulish pleasure?" I angrily stormed, wondering about the blue light. "Drink my blood in some sort of ritual sacrifice? – At least, I’ll be dead then." I glare up at him. "I could do without the torture part!" I shout.
When he said nothing, I twisted onto my right hip. "This is gawd awful cold...down here," I complain sharply. Immediately, his hand was before me, offering assistance. What the bloody hell? I took hold of his hand. All he could do was kill me – torture me and kill me. What was new in my life, about this situation? Except the methodology, of course.
His strength, the easy way he pulled me up, surprised me. Not that he didn’t look lithe muscley and strong in than Adonis god sort of way. He did. Goddess in heaven, he did.
"I already drank your blood," he mesmerizing purred, virile purred. My terrible urge to flee battled against my molten-warming loins. He didn’t let go of my hand.
I sucked in a breath. So...it was true. They did exist. "Vampire, are we?" I raise my brows. Maybe he could see my expression in the semi-darkness. Then I felt the gradual trickle – like I was inside a dream. My hand shot up to the side of my neck. Touched blood – what felt like blood. I looked down at my hand. Down at the small smears. "Am I one of the undead?" I inanely asked, thinking of every vampire campy romance book title I’d ever seen, and chuckled over. The offbeat cleverness of the titles appealed to me and tickled what funny bone I had left.
"Undead because you didn’t die." His soft masculine purr was unnerving, not to mention the man himself.
"And," I drawl. Fear raced through me along with fury. I wanted to challenge him, "why am I not dead? – Exactly," I demand, and glare again. His hand felt attached to mine. In a good two-people attracted way. But also as if he possessed supernatural hypnotic powers.
He didn’t answer. He gazed back at me, compelling, thinking, analyzing. Analyzing me? The situation? Or both?
"At least," I slice with my tone – because I didn’t care. "You could tell me why I’m not dead."
"I want you," he stated in that unnerving purr. He seemed to draw me a bit closer. I went, the ole’ moth to the flame can’t help it thing. Well, it would hardly matter if I flame-sizzled to my death. – Would it?
"What the hell for?" I slashed, my redhead temper ruling. "A blood bank?"
"You do taste exquisite ." He pulled me closer, as if my hottest desire was to be closer to him. Maybe it was, I wasn’t exactly sure. I knew one thing I wasn’t fighting him. "I will require your blood. And I will require sexual copulation from you."