Every novel I’ve written has started as a NaNoWriMo (National November Writing Month) project, but this November I decided to do something a little different. Instead of writing a novel I’m writing a collection of short stories, one of which will bridge the gap between Small Things and Threads.

Here’s an excerpt from the Small Things novella:

Summer, 1976

In a town the size of Carthage, you notice when someone new moves in — especially when they’re driving a 1937 black Ford Coupe. But it wasn’t the car that worried sixteen-year-old Shawn Spencer, it was the pair of men who owned it: Mr. Kingfisher and Mr. Quarry, who had taken up temporary residence at the Hotel Carthage overlooking the town squarecoupe

Kingfisher was nearly as tall as famed professional wrestler Andre the Giant, while Quarry was maybe 5’2″ on a good day. They wore identical matching black suits, and were supposedly housing developers looking to perhaps build in Carthage.

What made Shawn nervous wasn’t the thought of rising real estate prices or cottages being built around the lake, but that the pair had shown a particular interest in the old Spencer house on Randolph Street, the very same house where he and his girlfriend Jenny McGee had almost been murdered last summer.

 

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From Joe's writing

He pushed tentatively against the rocks and dirt surrounding him, marveling as he felt the debris that had been his prison for so long fall way. He pushed again, harder, and felt his crypt give, and the spirit was soaring up through the dead branches and rocks and sediment that had surrounded him in his grave. And there it was; the sun, the glorious sun, beating down upon his fleshless body, filling his void with a raging furnace of heat.

— Memories of a Ghost, chapter 4