Everything Is Scary All The Time - Issue #4 - Spooky Season Is Finally Here!
No Trick, All Treat
October is everyone's favourite month, and that's not an opinion, that's a fact. (And if you're about to say, "Caitlin, October isn't my favourite month, it's actually..." then please remember that no, you weren't.) It's the one month of the year where everyone gets excited to watch spooky movies, wear costumes, and eat more candy than they know what to do with. So in celebration of Halloween—and because I still haven't figured out how to send candy directly to your inboxes—I'm giving you all a few little treats that I hope you enjoy.
Enjoy Laughlin Hills For Free This October...
If you're a fan of horror-comedy then you'll (hopefully) be excited to learn that the ebook for Laughlin Hills Community Magazine: Issue 1 - Fall 2022, is free to buy on Amazon this month! The magazine, which comes out seasonally, gives readers a peek at the small town of Laughlin Hills, where monsters are real, pizza parlours don't guarantee safe passage through their parking lots, and mummies make good on their promises.
If you haven't already grabbed a copy, be sure to download it before time runs out! And if you enjoy the first issue, be sure to keep your eyes peeled for the second instalment later this year!
... And The First Chapter Of My New Novella
If you haven't heard the news, my debut novella, This Is Where We Talk Things Out, is finally here! It's available everywhere books are sold in digital and paperback, and it will soon be available in audio too! The story follows the journey of a mother and a daughter who go to a cabin up north to try and repair their relationship, only for things to go horribly wrong. Enjoy!
Thursday, January 13, 7:18 p.m.
“Why are you giving that bitch your time?”
“That bitch is my mother, so watch your mouth.”
“Sorry, why are you giving that bitch, your mother, your time? Better?”
Miller turns to look at Florence, crossing her arms in front of her chest and waiting for the other woman to apologize. When her fiancée makes no move to retract the comment, she rolls her eyes and goes back to looking through her side of the bedroom closet. She can feel Florence staring at her, the strength of her gaze practically boring holes through her sensitive skin, and the hair on the back of Miller’s neck bristles in response.
“I just can’t understand how you’re letting her weasel her way back into your life,” Florence finally says to the back of Miller’s head. “After all the shit she put you through, put us through—”
“I’m not letting her back, I’m—”
“—and after all the work you’ve done—”
“—just trying to find some middle ground—”
“—to put up those boundaries—”
“—with her.”
“—I can’t believe you’re just letting her win.”
Miller shakes her head in frustration. She grabs one of the thick sweaters from the back of the closet, tries not to stretch the neck wider as she pulls it off its metal hanger, and begins to fold it as she turns back to face her partner.
“She’s not winning, Flor. We’re just talking things out.”
“It feels like she is. By agreeing to this weekend, you’ve basically told her that if she doesn’t get her way at first, then she can harass you as much as she wants until she finally does.”
Miller rolls her eyes in protest, but knows there’s a hint of truth to what Florence tells her.
It had started innocently enough: a call from a number she didn’t recognize. Not wanting to deal with spam calls or telemarketers, she had let it go to voicemail. When she'd eventually played the message back, it was from Sylvie, her mother, who she’d cut off all contact from a few years earlier. She'd been tempted to block the number, but thoughts of what had happened last March—only a few months shy of a year ago—had stopped her cold and, instead, she'd deleted the voicemail.
Then Sylvie had started texting her. At first, it was just once to let her know that she’d changed phone numbers. Then it was once a day to tell her she missed her. Then it was practically every hour to tell her how much she loved her “little girl,” words that would have meant something to her long ago, but were now too little too late. When the texting and constant phone calls had become overwhelming, Miller had finally blocked the number and hoped to put the situation behind her. She'd felt silly for not having done it sooner, and had hoped that Florence wouldn’t find out about her moment of weakness when it came to keeping Sylvie at bay.
Unfortunately, things had gone from bad to worse when Sylvie eventually found her on social media. Miller had been flooded with notifications as her mother left her comments, sent her private messages, and even tagged her in old photos. Even when she blocked her mother, a new account would get created and the harassment would resume within a day. Miller had figured out that the quickest way to avoid Sylvie on social media was to stop using it, so she'd deleted her accounts and made new ones with fake names.
That didn’t dissuade Sylvie, though.
Miller's mother had taken the liberty of reaching out to a few of her acquaintances, who were more than happy to give Sylvie her daughter’s work address so she could surprise her with a visit when she came to town. She’d even called Miller’s boss, who gave her an extended lunch so she could spend time with her beloved mom, unaware that Miller had done everything in her power to avoid seeing her face-to-face.
It was only when Sylvie followed Miller home after work one evening that the two of them had finally talked things out in the parking lot.
“She’s just trying to mend fences now that my dad’s gone,” Miller says.
“Is she? Or is she trying to guilt you into taking her bullshit now that he's not around to listen to it?”
Miller throws her arms in the air, the sweater that she’d meticulously folded coming undone, and looks at Florence.
“So what do you want me to do?”
“To not go! Tell her to fuck off and that you’re staying home.”
“So that she can keep calling me? So that she can keep showing up unannounced at my work? So that she can figure out which unit we live in and show up at our door? Or, God help us, show up at our wedding without an invitation? Is that what you want?”
“Who says she’s not going to do all of this anyway?”
Miller sighs and takes a seat at the end of the mattress, her toes skimming the floor as she sits on the massive California king-size bed that fills their too-small bedroom to bursting.
“You’re right, but I don’t know what else to do.”
“Just don’t go.”
“But I want to go, Flor,” Miller confesses. “We’re getting married in, like, two months, and I don’t have anyone coming.”
“That’s not true, babe. We have our friends coming and—”
“We have our friends coming. And you have pretty much your entire family showing up too. And I have… who, exactly? I don’t have any grandparents left, Sylvie’s an only child, my dad’s family lives in France and didn’t give a fuck about us even when he was alive, and it’s not like I’m rolling in siblings. I don’t have anyone, Flor.”
“You have me.”
“That’s great. Are you going to fill my half of the venue in addition to marrying me? Should we call the caterer and ask them to double the entrees?”
“You know what I mean.”
“And you know what I mean. Sylvie’s the only relative I have left and it seems like she really wants to fix things. And I want to fix them too. I’ve already told her that if we can’t come to some kind of an understanding, that if she can’t respect the choices I’ve made and the life I have, then we’re done. She’s out. That’s it, that's all.”
“Do you think she’d really be able to respect that decision?”
“Fuck no. But if she can’t, then I can always get a restraining order or something. I don’t know, we’ll figure it out if the time comes.”
Florence inhales through her nose and lets out a heavy sigh through her mouth before taking a seat on the bed next to Miller. She wraps her arms around her fiancée’s narrow shoulders and kisses her temple gently.
“Okay.”
“That’s it?” Miller asks, surprised.
“Look, I can’t pretend to understand why you want to salvage whatever it is you have with Sylvie. But I love you and I respect you enough to trust you on this. If you think this is what’s best, if this is something you really want, then I think you should go for it. I also think you need to prepare for what happens if she disappoints you again. This isn’t the first time she’s tried to work things out with you, but I think, for your sake, that it needs to be the last.”
Miller nods her head before leaning it against Florence’s shoulder. The two of them sit together on the bed in comfortable silence before Florence grabs the sweater from Miller’s lap and starts folding it.
“So where exactly is she taking you?”
“I have no idea,” Miller admits, pushing herself up from the edge of the mattress and making her way back to the closet. “Somewhere up north.”
“That’s specific.”
Miller laughs as she pulls another sweater off its hanger. “All I know is that she’s taking me up north this weekend for some mother-daughter bonding time.”
Florence leans over and slides her phone out from her pocket before sitting up again. She unlocks the device and opens the weather app with a frown.
“And you’re sure she said this weekend, right?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“It’s supposed to storm,” she says, swiping through the map to see the expected snowfall across the province.
“It’s Québec, what else is new?”
“It’s supposed to be really bad, babe. Like, they’re anticipating a full white-out. Maybe ask her to push it to next weekend?”
Miller laughs. It’s a single “ha” that seems to catch her by surprise. “If I do that, she’ll think I’m trying to weasel out of seeing her. It’s just not worth the headache.”
Miller grabs a few more sweaters, some fleece-lined jeans, warm leggings, and some loungewear, piling it onto the bed. Florence, not wanting to be unhelpful, gets the small black duffel bag out from the closet in the entranceway of their condo and helps her partner pack her clothing away in the worn bag. Together, they pack up Miller’s extra toiletries and her outerwear and set aside her extra warm boots before curling up on the couch with a movie.
As the two slowly drift asleep in the soft glow of the television and the warmth of their sherpa blanket, snow begins to fall outside.
One Last Thing Before You Go...
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