"It was a dark and stormy night," Maeve Pelletier muttered in frustration. She slumped in the uncomfortable plastic library chair and fixed her gaze on the computer screen. Her mind was devoid of inspiration. "I can't do this, Addison. Why did I sign up for this club?"

"You love to write, Maeve," Addy reminded her, leaning in to read over her girlfriend's shoulder.

"Romance," Maeve returned, folding her arms tightly. "Mr. Matthews assigned a horror story. What do I know about horror stories?"

"It was a dark and stormy night," Addison repeated the story's first line. "Isn't that a bit cliché? Don't they all start with that line?"

Maeve snapped off the library computer and sulked. All her life, she wanted to write stories. When she was young, she read all the books she could. She studied the words and punctuation until she knew them by heart. In sixth grade, she began keeping a journal. In it, she wrote romance stories. All her friends read them and thought they were good.

That semester, Mr. Matthews, her English teacher, started a writer's club. Maeve was one of the first to join. She thought it would help her sharpen her skills. So far, the assignments were easy. Then, they began discussing different genres. Mr. Matthews wanted the group to widen their experience. It took Maeve aback when he suggested they write a horror story.

"Couldn't you write a romance with a horror twist?" Addison suggested, hopefully.

"I supposed. I can do the romance part easily, but what about the horror?" Maeve moaned. "I don't know. I might as well quit. I'm not getting anywhere anyway."

Maeve slumped her shoulders and gathered her books. The school library was about to close for the day. It remained open for two hours after school ended. Mrs. Thibedeau began walking amongst the tables, warning students of the imminent closing time. Maeve headed toward the door before the librarian reached her.

Hugging her books, Maeve marched along the sidewalk toward her father's pharmacy. Addison remained close on her heels. The girls turned into an alley and stood beneath the outside stairs. Maeve kissed her friend beneath the wooden structure. She hadn't revealed her secret to her parents yet. She didn't know how they would react to her news.

"See you tomorrow," Addison said, squeezing her companion's hand. "And don't worry. You'll think of something. You always do."

"Sure," Maeve answered, not at all sure. She hurried up the stairs and into the second-floor apartment. Her mother called a greeting from the kitchen, but she ignored her. Instead, she rushed into her room and flung herself onto the bed.

"I saw you kissing Addy," River Pelletier stated from the doorway. "I might tell Mommy if you don't give me one of your Ring Dings."

"Get outta here, River," Maeve yelled at her little brother.

"Give me a Ring Ding," he ordered confidently.

"No."

"I'll get it myself." The ten-year-old walked toward the dresser and opened the second drawer. He withdrew a Drake's Cakes box and helped himself to two packages. "One for getting out and one for not telling about Addison."

"I told you to get out." Slipping out of her shoes, she threw one at River's head. It hit the door when he slammed it behind him.

"UGH!" Maeve complained, burying her head in the pillow.

When her mother called them to dinner, Maeve joined her family. She played with her food but barely ate anything. Her horror story weighed heavily on her mind, and several scenarios had already hit her mental reject pile. She had never experienced such a vast blank for ideas. Finally, she excused herself and returned to her room.

Sighing, the young writer stood at her desk. She picked up a paperback and riffled the pages. The cover showed a young woman in white standing on the beach. A large yellow moon beamed a path across the ocean. Her dress rippled in a slight breeze, lifting and showing her ankles. The title, Suddenly Summer, sprawled across the top in bright red. In the bottom corner, the author's name appeared: Luna Glimpse.

Maeve Pelletier was Luna Glimpse. She'd self-published three novels in her 'Suddenly' series during the last two years. Suddenly Spring and Suddenly Autumn were the titles of the other two. She planned on completing Suddenly Winter within the following year. The three books sold modestly well on Amazon.

"Are you all right, dear?" Ava Pelletier asked, entering her daughter's room. She stood behind the girl and placed her hands gently on her shoulders.

"Yeah, I'm okay," Maeve answered, sighing. "Mr. Matthews wants us to write a horror story. I don't know where to begin."

"Well, begin at the beginning," her mother, always the cock-eyed optimist, suggested.

"But I don't know the beginning," the girl wailed. She took off her thick-lensed glasses and wiped her tearing eyes.

"You'll figure it out," her parent assured her. "I have to help your father in the pharmacy tonight. Rosie went home sick. Watch River while I'm gone."

"Can't Marlin watch him for a change?" Maeve moaned. "I want to work on my story."

"Marlin has a date with George." Her mother untied her apron and peered at her hairdo in Maeve's bureau mirror. "She came in late from the bank and is getting ready now. River isn't that much trouble."

Why did she have to have a brother and sister? Maeve wondered morosely. She disliked her middle-child status. Marlin came and went as she pleased, while River made a career out of pestering her. She was left to do most of the chores and babysitting duties.

"You better behave and keep your big fat mouth shut," she ordered, stomping into the living room. River looked up at her momentarily, then refocused on Scooby Doo. He popped a Ring Ding in his mouth and chewed greedily. "You're so gross."

Maeve plunked onto the couch and began complaining about all the stupid happenings in her brother's favorite show. Once upon a time, she loved Scooby and Shaggy. She even had a secret crush on Daphne, but she outgrew cartoons. At the mature age of sixteen, she realized the lameness of the Mystery Machine and Scooby gang.

"Am not," her brother protested through a mouthful of chocolate cake and cream filling. "You're fat."

Swinging her arm back, Maeve clobbered her brother on the back of his head. He landed in her lap and pummeled her with his tiny fists.

"Fatso, fatso," River yelled, beating her in the stomach.

Between the ages of thirteen and sixteen, Maeve had gained weight. She wanted to slim down but ate Ring Dings, Twinkies, and Gummy Bears to relieve her awkward feelings. River discovered her stash and helped himself frequently.

"Are you two fighting again?" Marlin asked, stepping out of her bedroom. Maeve glowered at her shiny blonde hair and ankle-length gauzy dress. Her sister's hair and clothes were always perfect.

"Why don't you stay home with him, and I'll go out," the middle sister suggested.

"Are you kidding?" Marlin returned, laughing. "Why do you think Mom had you?"

"Not funny!" Maeve ran to her room and slammed the door. She spent an hour thinking about her horror story before falling asleep.

When she awoke the following morning, Maeve's mind was still blank. She thought she might have dreamed up a storyline overnight. After showering and dressing, she grabbed a Drake's cake and rushed down the apartment stairs. Addison awaited her on the corner. Together, the girls walked toward the beach.

The first signs of spring began to appear along the ragged Maine coast. Boats bobbed at the docks while fishermen loaded them with supplies. Maeve and Addy called hellos to several of them. It was an early Saturday morning with a crisp breeze blowing. The girls wrapped their arms around their middles and continued their walk.

"Any luck?" Addison finally asked.

"No," Maeve replied shortly.

They bought lobster rolls for lunch and ate at a picnic bench. The breeze lifted her hair, and Maeve tucked it behind her ears. The sandwich didn't make her feel any better. Her lack of imagination frustrated her.

The girls walked on, their footsteps leading them in no particular direction. When they reached the edge of town, they stopped. Maeve looked along the coast, and the old Victorian on the cliff caught her eye. Addison turned to walk back into town, but her friend halted her.

"What is it?" Addy asked, following Maeve's gaze. "An inspiration? That old wreck is haunted, they say."

"Yes, an inspiration." Maeve didn't elaborate.

"A ghost story?"

"No." The young writer savored her inspiration. Then she walked purposely toward the old house on the cliff.

"What is it?" Addy demanded, rushing after her friend.

"I'm going to see the Scary Man," Maeve stated.

"You can't do that," Addison barked, coming to a complete halt. "He'll chase you away...with a broom. I've seen him do it."

"I have to talk to him. He can tell me what to write." Maeve bent her head and walked toward the cliff house.

"He's a recluse, Mae." Her girlfriend remained rooted on the path. "He doesn't talk to anyone."

Nevertheless, Maeve continued toward the Victorian mansion. She knew all about Kensington Stoddard. The most famous writer in the US, he published at least two horror novels a year. Most of his books were made into movies. Horror was his primary genre. If anyone could help her with a storyline, he could.

Kensington Stoddard lived alone in the old Vic on the cliff's edge. The local children called him the Scary Man not only because he wrote horror novels. Old and grizzled with a straggly gray beard and matching mop of hair, he lunged at anyone who came near his property. At Halloween, the boys dared each other to ring his bell. No one succeeded in the attempt. Kensington appeared with a broom and, yelling madly, chased them away.

Maeve walked along the windblown path with her head down. Sheer determination drove her onward. Behind her, Addy watched from a safe distance. She glanced over her shoulder once, then pushed the squeaky wrought iron gate open. Her heart beat rapidly.

Before she reached the front door, it swung open. The Scary Man lurched onto the veranda, broom in hand. Maeve froze. Her prepared introduction flew from her mind, and her mouth gaped open. Kensington Stoddard was much larger than she thought. He towered above her. She began to back away.

"What do you want?" the Scary Man bellowed, menacing her. "Go away."

Maeve couldn't move. She peered through her thick glasses, and her tongue felt thick in her mouth. Addy waited for her at the end of the path. She should go back to her, then go home. She'd tell Mr. Matthews she couldn't write a horror story and resign from the club.

"Well?" Kensington Stoddard prompted when the girl wouldn't leave.

Maeve returned his threatening glare with one of her own. He hesitated, softening slightly. The girl seemed different than the boys who snuck up to ring his bell. She was more determined, more forthright.

"What do you want?" he asked, retaining his grip on the broom.

"I have to write a horror story from my writer's club," Maeve began, her words falling over each other. "I don't know what to write. I self-published three romances, and one is coming out next year. They're doing okay on Amazon: Suddenly Spring, Suddenly Summer, Suddenly Autumn." She kept talking, hardly knowing what she was saying. "I can't write horror. I thought you could give me some tips."

"What scares you?" Kensington asked gruffly.

"Scares me?" Maeve hesitated.

"Yes, scares you."

"Well..." Maeve thought hard. What scared her? "Snakes."

"Write about snakes."

Without further ado, Kensington Stoddard disappeared into the Old Vic. The door slammed behind him, finalizing their short discussion. Maeve stood in the dooryard. She felt at a loss. Maybe she expected him to invite her in, give her tea, and discuss writing horror stories. Their conversation lasted only a few moments, and he was gone.

"What happened?" Addison asked, rushing up to her girlfriend.

"I don't know." Maeve remained perplexed. Then she brightened. "He told me to write about snakes."

"Snakes?"

"Yes, snakes. They scare me."

Maeve and Addison walked back to town. They didn't talk. At school, Maeve went into the library. It was open for a few hours on Saturday afternoons. She told her friend she was ready to write her story and would see her later.

Powering up the computer, Maeve hunched over and began to type. "Snake Hill," she wrote, "by Luna Glimpse." She wrote a story about a Victorian house built atop an old Indian burial ground. The land was cursed, but the owner scoffed at the old superstition. He built his house despite the warnings and moved his family in. True to the legend, venomous cobras invaded the dwelling, killing the occupants. The property was sold several times with the same result. Finally, the Old Vic was burnt to the ground.

Pleased with the story, Mr. Matthews read it aloud to the writers club. He suggested that Maeve submit it to Horror Monthly, a popular magazine. When the issue containing her story came out, she took it up to Kensington Stoddard's Old Vic. When he didn't answer the bell, she tucked it under the knocker and walked away. At the wrought iron gate, she heard the door squeak open. Turning, Maeve noticed The Scary Man standing on his veranda, the magazine issue in his hand. She waved, and he held up the periodical, grinning.

Luna Glimpse stopped writing romances. Every other year, she published a horror novel. Most of her books were made into movies. She collaborated twice on a major bestseller with Kensington Stoddard. Her fans started calling her Scary Girl. She loved it! None of her books started with the line: It was a dark and stormy night.

!!!COMING SOON!!!

MISSOURI