Against the Twilight

Against the Twilight

Donald James Parker

Copyright © 2009 Donald James Parker

Smashwords Edition

Sword of the Spirit Publishing

www.donaldjamesparker.com

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Chapter 1

Why you son of a –

Heather! Watch your language! Why are you calling me names?

Mom, I wasn't talking to you! I was yelling at the computer. Look what this jerk said to me.

Thank God you're cursing someone else. However, it can't be bad enough for you to use such language.

Want to bet? Come here and read it.

Honey, you're the literary person. Read it to me.

Whatever. Here you go, but know that I'm going to be even madder after reading it a second time. Dear, Heather. I wish I could extend to you a hearty congratulations for your success in the world of literature. Unfortunately, due to the subject matter you have chosen to feature in your books, I find myself on the opposite side of a battle line. I am sure after gazing upon your attractive picture that you are not promoting evil intentionally. You're probably just a naïve innocent who is unaware of the dangers posed by exposing children to tales of vampires. Like the Harry Potter stories, these plots of yours seem to most people to involve entertaining fairy tales but in reality pose a risk of glamorizing a very insidious evil which opens the doors to the influence of demons. I strongly urge you to investigate this subject in depth before you negatively impact the lives of even more young people. Please do not take this plea lightly. The eternal welfare of many people may rest in your hands. Sincerely. David Justice. She contemptuously spat out the name of the author of the note.

He sounds like a nice man. Did you notice the word 'attractive'?

Mom! He's a loser with a capital 'L'! He makes it sound like I'm condemning people to Hell because they enjoy my writing. No doubt, he's just a paranoid fundamentalist killjoy. He's probably a warped old man who never had any fun himself, so he wants to make sure that no one else does. He's like Mr. Potter from that Christmas movie.

It's a Wonderful Life.

Yeah. That one. Where the angel gets his wings. This Mr. what's his face accuses me of helping demons get their wings. Who does he think he is?

Mr. Justice is his name. Sounds to me like he's just trying to do what he thinks God wants.

Oh, pahlease! Come on, Mom. What does God care about fiction and people having a little fun? He loves us, right?

Of course He does.

Then He wants us to enjoy life. For some people that enjoyment is reading stories that take them away from their boring pathetic lives. There can't be any harm in that.

Mrs. Culebra shrugged. I'm not an expert in religion. I don't see anything to crusade against in your writing, but you have to admit I am a little biased. After all you are my only offspring.

Thanks for that stalwart vote of confidence.

Honey, are you being sarcastic with your mother? Again.

I'm sorry, but stupidity just drives me up a freaking wall. Why can't people who live in the modern world leave all the superstition behind and embrace knowledge?

Like you do with vampires?

I somewhat detect that the parent is trying to throw a little sarcasm my way here. If I actually believed in vampires, you could accuse me of being superstitious. They're just fantasy characters like elves and gremlins and leprechauns.

Oh my.

Exactly. And let's include wizards in that category while I'm at it. Wizards of Oz or Odd or wherever. Why can't people just lighten up and quit looking for evil under every rock and bed?

I don't know, dear. Maybe it's because there are so many evil things happening in our world. I mean, why do you have a bodyguard?

Because there are nuts like our Mr. Justice in the world. Maybe he'll decide to take justice into his own hands. If he does, Hercules will take Justice into his own hands and crush him like an Oreo cookie and squeeze out the white cream.

Heather! That's not nice.

I'm just making a point. There is no evil in the world. Just crazy people. Humans who get high on booze or drugs just don't know what they're doing. And some people get high on their religion and just don't realize how deranged they are. So you see that bad things that happen to people are either the force of human craziness or bad luck, as in accidents and illness.

Maybe you should be making those ghoulish cookies. This Halloween celebration is your idea. I'm too old for that stuff. If you hadn't asked me if you could use my house to hand out cookies to all the little witches and goblins, I would have just turned off the lights and watched TV in the bedroom.

You're never too old for Halloween, Mom. It's like Christmas. It's for kids of all ages. You can't let the little kid in you simply die. You gotta stay young and happy. After all, you don't want to end up like warped David Justice.

I thought his note was kind of considerate. It wasn't a vicious attack on your personhood, after all. If Mr. Justice was truly warped, do you think perhaps he could have hammered his point home with a little more venom?

Whatever. I don't have time to dwell on the name Justice any more. I do need to whip up some orange frosting and get the cookies in the oven. I was browsing the Internet to try to drum up a title for my next book. I couldn't resist checking my emails while I was at it. I don't think I'll ever get tired of reading fan mail. The trouble is that I'm being deluged by it. The smartest thing I ever did was hire Susan Ravenwolf to take care of my correspondence and junk. She filters my emails and just sends me the good ones.

Then how did you get the one from David?

David? You're on a first name basis with the jerk. I don't want to discuss this guy any more, but if you have to, refer to him as Mr. Jerk, please. I don't know why Susan sent me this one. I might have to have a little chat with her. Maybe she thought it would give me my laugh for the day.

Boy was she wrong there if that was her motivation.

Maybe I blew it. Maybe I should have been laughing my head off at the idiocy of Mr. Jerk instead of letting him jerk my chain.

That's not a bad idea, dear. Getting mad at other people gives them control over your life.

Mom, that makes 478 deliveries of pet sermon number seventy-seven. I got it the first time, so the last 477 times were superfluous.

Excuse me, Heather, for not realizing that you got it. I should have been able to see that if the words of Mr. Justice had been the wind, they wouldn't even have tossed one of your beautiful tresses out of place.

Heather closed her laptop with excessive emotion. The snap of the collision worried her. Wouldn't it be a kicker if Mr. Justice caused her to damage her new computer? Mom, I'm twenty-five years old now. If you want me to come over here and visit you, the sermon machine has to be retired. Comprende?

Wait till you have kids, Heather. You'll learn that a mother never stops trying to teach her children how to live better. Now, I think it's time to change the subject. You're getting so upset your makeup will start dripping.

Not a problem. I'll look perfect for Halloween.

Mrs. Culebra shook her head. Did you come up with a title yet?

Not yet. I was perusing Amazon to check to see if any of the titles I wanted to use have been ripped off already.

How can they be stolen if you didn't own them in the first place?

Maybe they didn't steal my title, but they have tried to steal my subject matter. Nobody wrote about vampires until I came along. Now every rookie in the business is trying to make their reputation and jumpstart their careers by writing about vampires. Torques me off.

They say that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.

Who are they? I wish they'd shut up. These people are just copycat artists, and I'm sick of them. I bet you can't throw a rock anywhere in America without hitting a wannabe writer. And all those gold diggers are hopping on the vampire bandwagon right now. Irritates the snot out of me.

You are still the vampire queen.

Heather nodded. Yes, I am. And I intend to keep my title.

Maybe you should break out of your mold and write something fresh.

I've thought about that. I'd probably just create another sensation that all the plagiarist pigeons will flock to. I decided to stick to vampire stories for now. I'll come up with an original title. Don't you worry.

Honey, I wasn't worrying. Believe me.

Hold on. I might have to thank Mr. Jerk. How do you like the title Vampire Justice?

What's it going to be about?

About two hundred pages.

Mrs. Culebra rolled her eyes. That joke's getting old.

Almost as old as you, Mom. It's funny. Usually I get an idea for a story, and then I give it a title. In this case, I think I'll let the title drive the story.

I thought you already had a story in mind.

I did. Mr. Jerk has done me a favor and set the wheels in motion for me to come up with something even more original. I may end up having to thank him. Heather laughed. Wouldn't that frost his buns to provide me with even more ammunition to pervert the youth of the world? I'll write this book now and the other story later. Now, I need to get busy. I have a book signing party tomorrow. I have some books in the car I need to sign before then. But first to the kitchen to create my famous ghoulish sugar cookies while I start plotting my tribute to Mr. Justice. And then I have to decorate the yard. It's time to get into the Halloween spirit. She attempted to laugh like a character from a horror movie.

That was a cool imitation, Heather. Was that Pee Wee Herman?

Heather bit her lip. Eat a rock, Mom.

OK. As soon as you take them out of the oven, let me know.

There are like four million comedians out of work during these economically challenging times and you try to be funny.

Sorry. Consider it a fatal flaw in my character.

Done deal!

* * *

After baking and decorating all day, Heather was dropping off to sleep on the couch when the doorbell rang. She was still a little groggy when she pulled the door open.

Trick or treat!

She blinked. Two little witches stood in front of her. They looked to be about seven years old. An adult waited at the sidewalk watching the interaction between host and guests.

My, aren't you scary looking? Are you flying on your broomsticks tonight?

One of the girls laughed. We're modern witches. We don't use brooms. We use vacuum cleaners.

Heather laughed as she grabbed the bowl of cookies she had placed by the door. How would you guys like a ghoul to go?

One of the girls frowned. My mom won't let us eat that stuff. She said there are weird people in the world that put poison in stuff and like razor blades in apples or fishhooks or something. So she just lets us eat candy with a wrapper on it.

Oh, well I don't know if we have any of that.

Mrs. Culebra tapped Heather on the shoulder. The daughter turned to see a bowl of candy being held out to her.

I figured you'd need this.

Heather rolled her eyes and took two candy bars from the bowl. She dropped them into the plastic pumpkins that the two witches carried.

You know you look just like that lady who writes the vampire books. Heather something.

Heather felt her face grow warm. Really. She must be pretty.

Yeah. For an old person. Thanks for the candy.

You're welcome. Happy Halloween.

You too. The two witches skipped down the walkway.

Old person? Since when is twenty-five old?

Mrs. Culebra laughed. Get used to it, honey. It's going to get worse with each birthday.

Thanks for giving me so much to look forward to. I guess now that the little monsters are arriving, it's time for me to get the dry ice fog circulating through the yard. It's cooler to look at when darkness descends though.

Be careful with that stuff. It's dangerous.

Mom! Those little girls think I'm old. Why can't you at least acknowledge that I'm grown up? I do know a little about the world, you know.

Sorry. Old habits are hard to break.

Maybe you could dispense with that word old for a little while until I recover from the shock of being referred to in that manner. And it just dawned on me that I can't afford to have people know that I'm here. Somebody might actually realize I am Heather Culebra. Since I left my bodyguard at home today, I definitely don't want any unpleasant visitors tonight. We just want werewolves and vampires and witches, oh my. Mr. Jerk might even find out I was here and drop by to personally try to put a stake through my heart. I need a disguise.

Don't look at me. I'm fresh out of disguises.

Wait. I have a vampire mask in my trunk. My publisher sent it to me and suggested I might put it on for grins and giggles at a book signing party. I might as well put it to use tonight. She grabbed her car keys and retrieved the mask from the car. When she got back to the house, she put it on and snuck up on her mother. When the older woman turned around, she let out a shriek.

Heather laughed. What do you think?

I think my heartbeat will get back to normal in about 2012. Why did you scare me like that?

I couldn't resist. Remember, I am the author of scary stories. I have to keep a sharp edge you know. I have a reputation to uphold.

Why don't you win your spurs scaring somebody else? My old ticker ain't what she used to be.

Mom, you're only fifty-two. You talk like you're ready to start imbibing Geritol.

Already have.

Heather rolled her eyes. So do you think the kids will like my costume?

Since when does a mask constitute a costume? How many vampires wear blue jeans and an Old Navy tee-shirt?

All of them as far as I know since I've never seen one. And never will since they don't really exist. So I think my costume is good enough.

Perhaps good enough to scare some of the kids away so we don't have to dole out so much candy.

And cookies. Don't forget my cookies.

I have a feeling that I won't get a chance because you're going to have a lot of them left over. Not many parents today let their kids eat cookies from strangers.

What the Hell is the world coming to? Mr. Justice no doubt would rephrase my question to answer it. He no doubt thinks that the world is going to Hell in a picnic basket.

You mean hand basket.

Writers aren't supposed to use clichés, Mom.

Oh, yeah. I forgot. You have to be original at all times.

It's a tough job, but that's why they give me the big bucks.

Isn't that a cliché?

Great. I've created a monster. You've now joined the literary police force. Now I suppose you'll be telling me how to write.

Oh, no, dear. I'll leave that up to the professional critics. They seem to do a good enough job of exposing your faults.

You could have talked all day without bringing up that painful subject. They're just jealous because I'm popular and they're not. Jealousy is an ugly thing you know.

The doorbell rang again, interrupting their conversation.

Heather opened the door and discovered three teenagers. They didn't say a word but held out pillow cases to receive her goodies. Their costume consisted solely of makeup.

Nice mask, lady.

Thanks. I wish I could say the same about yours. I guess your makeup is a bit of a costume.

Nope. This is the way we always look. They walked away without saying thanks. Heather watched their departure as the plot of a novel where arrogant teenagers got the acne scared out of them by one of her vampires rumbled through her brain. Somebody needs to send the fear of Dracula into those little dorks. Maybe they would have paid me more respect if they knew I was Heather Culebra.

Chapter 2

When Heather arrived at the bookstore, there was already a horde of people lined up outside the door. There's our parking spot over there. The owner reserved it for us.

Hercules maneuvered the car into the spot and turned off the engine.

Heather looked over at her combination chauffeur and bodyguard. Are you ready to earn those hefty wages I pay you and fight off all my adoring fans?

I wish I could fight them off instead of just fend them off. Some of those people need a good knuckle sandwich.

Hercules, must you always be such a barbarian? You have to realize that those people are really the ones who ultimately pay your wages.

Yeah. I know. That makes it easier to deal with.

Most of them are just a little overly exuberant to meet a celebrity like me. They remind me of an overly friendly puppy that keeps jumping on you and scratching your legs or arms accidentally. They are probably very nice people most of the time.

I don't know nothin' about that, but I do know that they won't be scratching you while I'm around.

Just remember that it's not really my fans you're protecting me from. It's the religious nutcases and criminal types that think that kidnapping a big name author and holding her for a large ransom would be a cool idea.

Punks.

That word will work.

Several of the people who had been standing in line wandered over by the car. They pulled back slightly when Hercules got out of the car and approached the passenger side door. His six foot six inch frame coupled with 300 pounds of mostly muscle got people's attention in a hurry. When he opened the door for Heather and she ventured out, the little group began to clap and call out greetings. That triggered a response from the people in the line. The noise grew louder as Hercules escorted her to the door.

Someone inside the shop unlocked the door and let them in. She quickly shut the door and locked it again. Hi, Heather. I'm Virginia Morris, the owner of the store. She held out her hand.

Heather shook it half heartedly. She had lived out this scene a hundred times. At first she had found it thrilling to meet the managers and owners of the bookstores because they were big-shots and she was not. Now the adjective she most likely would apply to the scenario was boring since now she was the big-shot. Her attitude toward her fans had changed as well as she moved up the ladder of success. She loved to soak in the glory of the moment, but sometimes the fawning fans got on her nerves. They gushed their praises like Old Faithful. Even that was getting old. She couldn't remember the last time she heard an original phrase of praise.

Ironically, she sometimes wished she could actually connect with these people and make friends. It had become obvious to her early in her career that the only people she had time to cultivate friendships with were the ones who could advance her career. Her agent and publisher led the list. She had to question the motives of anyone who wanted to get close to her now. Many were just sharks who had smelled the blood of money and were circling, hoping to cash in on her fame and fortune. She wasn't about to let that happen.

Follow me and I'll show you where you can set up. You'll have a few minutes to get freshened up before I unlock the doors and unleash the adoring masses on you, Virginia said.

Heather and Hercules trailed behind her to the back of the store where a table was set up. A life size poster of Heather adorned the front of the table. She couldn't help gazing into her own eyes as she walked past. The first time she had seen one of these had been a major kick. Now she almost felt like giving the cardboard replica a kick as she laid her purse on the table and turned to Hercules. Can you bring the books in, Herc? They're in the trunk of the car.

Do you need some help? Ms Morris asked.

I'm a big boy.

I noticed.

You open the door, and I'll do the rest.

She nodded. Is your real name, Hercules?

Nope. My parents had no clue I'd be this big when I was born. Hercules was my wrestling moniker. I got attached to it and decided to have everyone call me that.

She surveyed his muscular stature. I bet they have no problem with calling you that.

Hercules grinned. They better not, if they know what's good for them.

* * *

For the next three hours people streamed by. Heather was grateful she had signed so many books the day before. She just printed a short inscription above each signature and dismissed the buyer with a plastic smile and a canned phrase of dismissal. If anyone dallied hoping to engage the author in conversation, Hercules effectively informed them that Ms Culebra had many more fans waiting in line and did