The Little Girl No One Cried For - C.C. Hunter

Last year's All Hallows Read guest posts were so popular, I decided to make it an annual event. So I asked some of my favorite people, who happen to write some of my favorite books, to tell their own personal scary stories.

As an added bonus, the always frightening Neil Gaiman is giving away a free story at Audible, but hurry! The offer only good until October 31st!

Back here at WW&W, first up is Creepy C.C. Hunter (aka my buddy Christie Craig)!

I was thirteen and I woke up that morning with sunshine spilling through my window. I stretched my hands over my head and it hit me—the memory of a dream I’d just had came rushing back. There had been no sunshine in the dream.

It was spooky, but more strange and sad. Like an old movie, I could still see it playing in my mind. But unlike a movie, my memory came with all five senses. The smell of wet earth and the scent of a storm brewing somewhere close by. I could feel the wind hit my face, blowing my blonde hair across my eyes. Tombstones, aged and cracked, littered the ground around me. All was silent—deadly silent.

A small group of people stood quietly by a gravesite. All wearing black. Even the sky held a dismal shade of sadness. There seemed to be no color in the image—no joy, all drab and gray. I stared at the faces of those grieving people. Did I know them? Yes, but . . . vaguely. And from where?

Immediately, my gaze shifted to the casket. The tiny polished box carried the only color in the scene. A bright pink ribbon rested on top. My gaze shot back to the people again. They weren’t crying. For some reason that seemed odd. They needed to cry. Cry for the child who obviously lay tucked inside that casket. The child who would never run and play and who would never know life.

I studied the faces of the people again, trying to remember where I’d seen them. How could I know them when they looked so out of place? Like people from old pictures. People from another time, another life.

And then came the realization. The woman dressed in a thick black wool coat, hugging herself against the cold and staring at the casket with empty emotion, was my grandmother, but younger. A lot younger. The woman today was old, in her late sixties. But yes, I remembered seeing her younger face in family photo albums.

Then, I recognized the other people. My mom and dad when they were young. My grandfather and one of my uncles. My gaze shifted from one person to the next.

Then it went to the casket.

Who had died? Part of the answer came with the next cold whisk of wind: A baby. A baby girl.

I wanted to tell someone how sorry I was. Emotion built in my chest. A crazy thought hit. Someone needed to cry for the child. I stood back from the crowd, not really present, but somehow still there. I felt the odd sadness. But why weren’t they crying?

Then my grandmother, my mom, dad and uncle were gone. As if they’d vanished into the air. I saw the casket being lowered into the gaping chasm. Abruptly the dream changed and I saw the gravestone. It simply read, Our baby girl: Christie.

Christie? CHRISTIE? That was my name. How could the baby have my name? That’s when I’d woken up. My heart still thumped against my breastbone at the memory, and I had tears in my eyes. Not wanting to be alone, I went and found my mom cooking breakfast.

I told her about the dream, about the casket with the pink ribbon and seeing my name on the gravestone.

I saw shock hit my mom’s face. “What is it?” I asked, but was almost scared for her to answer.

“This is weird.”

“What?”

“Your grandmother got pregnant a few months after your dad and I were married. It was a girl. She only lived a few weeks. You were named after her.”

The spookiness tiptoed up my spine as chills skittered up my neck. I looked at my mom and asked, “Why didn’t anyone cry?” Suddenly, I burst into tears.

My mom’s faced paled even more. “Your grandma told everyone no tears. She said she couldn’t handle the tears. We weren’t allowed to cry.”

I dropped down into a kitchen chair and asked the question burning inside me. “How could I have dreamed this?”

“I’m sure you heard the story,” Mom said.

“When? When could I have heard the story? I swear I never knew about her before now.”

“I don’t know, but you had to have heard it. How else would you have known this?”

How else?

To this day I think about that dream. I think about the little girl, my namesake. Did I really hear someone tell that story and my mind simply played it back as a dream? Or did the spirit of Christie somehow visit me? Did she need me to know about her? Did she need someone to cry for her?

I guess you see why my Shadow Falls series involves ghosts. There’s a part of me that believes in them. What about you? Do you believe in ghosts?

C.C.'s latest book, Whispers at Moonrise, is available at Amazon, Barnes & Noble and other fine retailers.

Laughter, Friendship & Purple Penis Envy

The winner of the CC Hunter swag is Kelli! Kelli, please contact Christie at cc@cchunterbooks.com!

Please welcome guest blogger Christie Craig!

I know, I know, I used the “P” word. I can see my grandma in Heaven looking down at me, doing her famous finger wave and saying, “Young lady, you take that back right now.”

First, I’d tell grandma, “I can’t take it back, because I don’t have the purple penis, I was one of the envious ones and not the receiver of this great gift.” Second, I’d tell her, and ya’ll too, “Bear with me, give me just a little lead way here.”

Why?

Because this blog is truly a wonderful and heart-felt story. But I couldn’t tell the story without using the “P” word, because well, it’s just part of the story.

Let me start at the beginning. (I know, some of you are probably wanting me to jump right to the purple penis, but nope, you gotta hear the whole story.)

I have these friends—there are four of us. We’re all writers, varying ages, all young at heart, but all of us have racked up enough years to remember Elvis. And one of us is old enough to have actually dated him.

We come together once a month for a revival of life. While we do some critiquing, we are mainly a support group. To protect the guilty, I won’t mention names, but Suzan, Jody and Nancy know who they are.

Anyway, we meet at Paneras, a happening restaurant with Wi-fi, good food, and staff and clientele who tolerate us when we get loud. And yeah, that happens more times than not.

We don’t have a lot of rules. Well except one, “What happens in Paneras stays in Paneras.” I apologize profusely for breaking that one rule, but the purple penis story is just too good not to share. Besides, this is just with you guys, right?

So, we came together a while back. And as it is in life, we all bring with us our celebrations, i.e.: a new contract, a new outfit, a husband who finally found the spot (I’m talking about the spot on the floor) anyway, we all love to celebrate the good stuff. And in case you are wondering, there’s no alcohol beverages served. But only because it’s too early.

With four of us, that means we have eight shoulders, and if anyone needs one to cry on, or whine on, there’s always one available. Of course, we won’t let anyone wallow too long, life’s too short.

Some weeks we spend our whining time commiserating about how a two-pound cheesecake can pack on five pounds. We whimper a bit about teenagers being teenagers and how we wish we were like other mammals and just ate our young when we had the chance. We may momentarily mutter bad things about deadlines biting us in the butt, and spend a few short seconds moaning about doggy diarrhea. (Hey, there’s nothing we can’t talk about.)

But sometimes life throws us the crappier problems, (yeah, crappier than doggy diarrhea) and this last month, there must have been some clearance sale on crap because there seems to have been a lot to go around.

Things such as a recent loss of a parent, family issues, dying pets, job transfers out of state, health problems, and health problems of a spouse. The kind of problems that if one isn’t careful, can rob you of your joy.

Thank goodness we’re careful. Thank goodness we have each other. And for that particular day, thank goodness for the purple penis.

So imagine us, arriving at the restaurant--hearts a little heavier than usual. Suzan starts pulling out these really nice Hallmark gift boxes—keepsake type of boxes—from a bag.

“These are for you guys. Just because I appreciate all you do.”

Now, we all love gifts, but surprise gifts are the best. She hands us each our specific box. And we start opening them. Inside my box is lots of tissue, beneath I find a Willow Tree statue of an angel that I collect, and a leather bookmark. I love it! I watch Nancy open hers; she has journal books, a nice pen, as well as a bookmark. Then Jody opens her box, unfolds the tissue, and she pulls out a purple object. She holds it up in the middle of the table as we all try to wrap our minds around what it is. I mean, I had an angel and she had . . .

My mouth drops open.

Nancy just gapes.

Jody continues to stare.

Suzan . . . Suzan waits. Yeah, she knows what will happen . . . eventually.

I see in Jody’s eyes the exact second when she realizes that she’s holding a purple vibrator up in the middle of a booth in a crowded restaurant.

Her eyes grow round as quarters; her mouth goes a little slack. She throws the penis back in her box. And slams the lid down.

And Nancy and I do what I’m sure all of you would have done.

We immediately start digging around in our boxes, removing tissue, searching to see if we’d missed our own penises.

Yup, Nancy and I have a serious case of purple penis envy. Jody continues to hold her hand on the top of the box, it almost looks as if she’s afraid the thing might try to escape. But in reality, we all know what’s going on. She’s afraid we’ll take it from her.

Hey, we couldn’t help it. It was a really nice penis. I personally think a couple of men sitting at the next table had penis envy. Yeah, we were getting quite a few looks.

Then Suzan, managing to hold a straight face, says to Jody, “Remember the time we were looking at the erotica basket at conference and you whined that you’d never had a purple penis? Well, I’m sorry, but I couldn’t afford to buy you the 12-inch, but it has adjustable speeds.”

That’s when it happened.

We all lose it and start to laugh, not the snickering, or proper lady-like kind of laughs, but those deep laughs that come straight from your toes.

We laugh until several of us have tears in our eyes.

We laugh until all the heavy burdens in our lives seem less like insurmountable burdens and more like things we can and will overcome.

And we stayed at that restaurant for almost four hours reveling in each other’s company.

You know, in this life we’ll all stumble across tough times, but those times can be a lot easier to deal with if you have friendships, laughter, and sometimes even a purple penis.

So what about you guys? Do you have good friends that you share your burdens and laughter with? And because I just had a release, I’m giving away . . . No, it’s not a purple penis. It’s a Shadow Falls T-shirt and an e-copy of Born at Midnight, my first book in the series. Just leave a comment by midnight CDT on October 15th!

This incident happened three years ago. So much has happened to all of us since then, including Christie hitting the NYT Bestseller List in her alter-ego, YA author C.C. Hunter.

Here's the blurb for her latest Shadow Falls book,  Whispers at Moonrise!

Shadow Falls Camp is back in session with the most explosive installment yet. A shocking new threat will rock Shadow Falls—changing it forever and altering Kylie’s journey in ways she never imagined.

Even at a camp for supernatural teens, Kylie Galen has never been normal. Not only can she see ghosts, but she doesn’t seem to belong to any one species—she exhibits traits from them all. As Kylie struggles to unlock the secrets of her identity, she begins to worry that Lucas will never be able to accept her for what she is, and what she isn’t…a werewolf. With his pack standing in their way, Kylie finds herself turning more and more to Derek, the only person in her life who’s willing to accept the impossible.

As if life isn’t hard enough, she starts getting visits from the ghost of Holiday, her closest confidante. Trouble is, Holiday isn’t dead…not yet anyway. Now Kylie must race to save one of her own from an unseen danger before it’s too late—all while trying to stop her relationship with Lucas from slipping away forever. In a world of constant confusion, there’s only one thing Kylie knows for sure. Change is inevitable and all things must come to an end…maybe even her time at Shadow Falls.