My journal of big words and pretty pictures
Goodwood Duxford tales... The moon had reached its zenith, and the roaring bonfire was throwing sparks and shadows, animating the surrounding darkness. “Your turn, Roger,” Goodwood Duxford was acting emcee for the inaugural Gramberly Cemetery get together. As the resident caretaker and ghost wrangler, and because he knew every spirit in Gramberly, he seemed the … Continue reading Make mine decaf
Goodwood Duxford tales... His full arsenal of charms and amulets hung from his tool belt, ready to amplify any incantation. He filled each pocket of his carpenter's apron to bulging with herbs and specialty salts for binding, and a second band of crystals circled his wrist. Any layman would surmise that Goodwood Duxford, ghost wrangler … Continue reading Taming the brat
Goodwood Duxford tales... The hole measured two and a half feet wide by eight feet long and six feet deep. St. Simon’s verger had been at the site since daybreak digging. He finished as the funeral home staff arrived to set up chairs in four neat rows of five, and erect a white canopy over … Continue reading Freshman orientation
Goodwood Duxford tales… The front window at The Grumpy Magpie featured a slightly used casket, opened and propped against the headboard of a sleigh bed. The remainder of the display was filled with poorly crafted decoupage nightstands and jewelry boxes made by the store owner’s niece. Enjoying a rare day off, Goodwood Duxford, Pepperidge Township’s … Continue reading Prodigal son
Goodwood Duxford tales... The boy sat in a pool of quiet light, high on a hill surrounded by small, white granite headstones. His back against the rough bark of an old-growth pine, he closed his eyes and listened to the wind rustling through the trees. As the last rays of the sun spread out … Continue reading Quiet light
Goodwood Duxford tales... He found her sitting under a spreading magnolia tree at the center of Gramberly Cemetery. The moon was waning but there was still enough light that her cornsilk-yellow hair seemed to glow. She had her back turned when he walked up. Sitting on a wrought-iron bench, her hands were clasped and laid daintily … Continue reading The death of me
Thin spiral notebook 