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    Leery Lane
    Leery Lane
    Leery Lane
    Ebook120 pages1 hour

    Leery Lane

    By Lori R. Lopez

    ()

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    About this ebook

    A young woman is confronted by the ghosts of her demons when she must return to Leery Lane, the dead-end where she lost an important piece in the puzzle of her past. She and her sibling haven’t spoken in two decades, since that terrible Halloween when Frieda borrowed something that belonged to Francine without permission. She feels that she needs to remember what it was and find the object of contention, somewhere in a row of decrepit Victorians, to repair the rift between sisters. But some secrets are better left buried. A witty blend of Gothic Horror, Humor, Supernatural and Mystery, Leery Lane is a ghost story to curl up with and savor. Take a walk you won’t be able to forget on the creepy side of town . . .

    Look for an Illustrated Print Edition with macabre artwork by the author!

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherLori R. Lopez
    Release dateFeb 22, 2018
    ISBN9781370278114
    Leery Lane
    Author

    Lori R. Lopez

    Lori R. Lopez wears many hats as an Author and Speculative Poet of Horror, Fantasy, Suspense, Humor and more. She illustrates her books and has written songs, while being an Activist for animals and children. Growing up, Lori roamed graveyards and conducted funerals for dead birds, squirrels, insects and spiders. Her offbeat books include The Dark Mister Snark, Leery Lane, An Ill Wind Blows, Darkverse: The Shadow Hours, Odds & Ends, and The Fairy Fly. In 2023 Lori won Third Place in the Long Category for the SFPA Poetry Contest for "Wake Unto Death". Her Poetry Collection Darkverse was nominated for an Elgin Award and a Finalist in the Kindle Book Awards. Her poems "Crop Circles" and "Nocturnal Embers" were nominated for the Rhysling Award in 2020, "Social Graces" and "The Whistle Stop" in 2021, "Biting Sarcasm" in 2022, "The Whippoorwill" and "If Houses Could Talk" in 2023. Poems "The Maw" and "creatures of the macabre" received Editor's Choice Awards among other honors. Stories and verse have appeared in The Sirens Call, The Horror Zine, Space & Time, Spectral Realms, JOURN-E, Weirdbook, Bewildering Stories, Dreams & Nightmares, Impspired, Altered Reality, Aphelion, and anthologies such as California Screamin' (the Foreword Poem), HWA Poetry Showcases II, III, V, VI, and IX, Journals Of Horror, Grey Matter Monsters, Dead Harvest, Fearful Fathoms I, Terror Train I and II, Trickster's Treats #3, Speculations III (Weird Poets Society), and In Darkness We Play. A member of the Horror Writers Association, Science Fiction & Fantasy Poetry Association, and Lewis Carroll Society Of North America. Visit the Fairy Fly Entertainment Website Lori shares with her two talented sons, and their YouTube Channel @FairyFly. They have a Folk Band called The Fairyflies.

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      Book preview

      Leery Lane - Lori R. Lopez

      Leery Lane

      by Lori R. Lopez

      Fairy Fly Entertainment

      All rights reserved

      No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any

      media without written permission from the author, except

      brief excerpts in critical reviews and articles.

      This is a work of fiction. Any and all references to real persons, events, and places are used fictitiously. Other characters, names, places, events and details are fabrications of the author’s imagination; any such resemblance to actual places, events or persons, whether living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

      Copyright © 2016, 2020 by Lori R. Lopez

      Untitled Front Matter Tribute Poem, Copyright © 2019 by Becky Narron, added with permission in 2020.

      More dedications added: 2020.

      Artwork by Lori R. Lopez

      Cover Design by Fairy Fly Entertainment

      Author Photos by Fairy Fly Entertainment

      E-Book Edition (EPUB)

      Table Of Contents

      Leery Lane

      Table Of Contents

      Leery Lane

      Sample Illustration

      About the author and artist

      More works by Lori R. Lopez

      Have you ever kept a secret from even yourself? On one rainless electric night, Frieda Noff will learn the truth about her past, her relationship with her sister, and her hometown’s darkest secrets. It is All Hallows again, twenty years after she went down that fateful gauntlet of haunted houses as a Trick-Or-Treater. She’s finally back, perhaps to stay this time.

      A young woman is confronted by the ghosts of her demons when she must return to Leery Lane, the dead-end where she lost an important piece in the puzzle of her past. She and her sibling haven’t spoken in two decades, since that terrible Halloween when Frieda borrowed something that belonged to Francine without permission. She feels that she needs to remember what it was and find the object of contention, somewhere in a row of decrepit Victorians, to repair the rift between sisters. But some secrets are better left buried. A witty blend of Gothic Horror, Humor, Supernatural and Mystery, Leery Lane is a ghost story to curl up with and savor. Take a walk you won’t be able to forget on the creepy side of town . . .

      Praise for Leery Lane:

      "There are ghost stories and then there is Leery Lane.

      Never again will you look at haunted houses the same. I highly recommend you not read this in the dark or before bed!

      My favorite Halloween story ever! ~ Becky Narron, Roadie Notes; Terror Tract Owner & Founder

      For my friend

      Paul D. Marks —

      fellow hat-wearer,

      man of noir and mystery,

      Los Angeles La La Land historian,

      accomplished author of

      the Shamus Award-winning novel

      WHITE HEAT and more.

      Also for the courageous inspiring women

      and sisters I have known,

      including

      my mother Lorene Lindberg Fink,

      my grandmother Elenor Schubring Lindberg,

      my aunt Laurel Lindberg Kowalski,

      my grandmother Esther Stanke Fink,

      my aunt Nancy Fink Erdman,

      my cousin-by-marriage Noreen Krewald Erdman,

      my aunt-by-marriage Radene (Lindberg) Abel,

      childhood friends Barb, Kathy and June,

      my cousin Julie and daughter Maddy,

      Fran and daughter Suzanne,

      Eve and daughter Michelle,

      Paula and daughter Saramaria,

      Kam and daughter Katie,

      Lupita Lopez,

      Maria Lopez Islas,

      Sister Ruth Marie Barreda,

      Geri Small-Graham,

      Angela Shelton,

      Lynn C. Tolson,

      Megan Fitzwater,

      Kate Jonez,

      Aline S. Iniestra-Reider,

      Phibby Venable,

      Linda Lovecraft,

      Tiffiny Burge Sarradet,

      Jennifer Thomas,

      Vix (Kirkpatrick) Salter,

      Jaime Johnesee,

      Mary Ann Peden-Coviello,

      Lisa Lane,

      Malina (Mina) Roos,

      Billie Sue Mosiman,

      Jaye Tomas,

      Pat Burns,

      Sheri Fink Kent,

      Lisa Morton,

      Mary G. Fortier-Schütz II,

      Nina D’Arcangela,

      Patricia Hayward,

      Becky Narron,

      Christina Sng,

      Marge Simon,

      Lee Murray,

      Jordan Gallader,

      Melanie Langston-Bazzell,

      Lucinda Claymore,

      Clare Imholtz,

      Stephanie Jane Lovett,

      and

      Lynda Sajovic (Granny Goodwitch).

      There are more I could mention,

      and the list goes on . . .

      (This poem was written in tribute to Leery Lane.)

      It’s Halloween Night

      On old Leery Lane

      The streets are quiet

      No kids playing games

      The air is crisp

      Leaves blowing around

      Moans from the wind

      Howls a strange sound

      Looking for treasure

      Don’t go near

      The ghosts will get ya

      I promise my dear

      With fire they will burn you

      With cold they will chill

      Locked in the attic

      Alone and in fear

      Desperate to leave

      They won’t let you go

      Part of their story

      You will soon know

      Crying and wailing

      Rattling chains

      You swear you can hear

      Someone calling your name

      If you are scared

      Of that bump in the night

      Better stay home

      Under the blankets held tight

      ~ Becky Narron, 2019

      Leery Lane

      "You will discern down its length that on this street,

      the dregs of humanity still roam, reaping past dues,

      taking their tolls, for the wicked cannot sleep."

      ~ Hiram Morpheus

      IT WAS THE PLACE kids were warned about from birth. A dun avenue, situated apart, treacherous as a blind alley. One of those streets you knew you shouldn’t go down at night. Or even in the daylight hours. Always there, on the fringe of consciousness. Beyond the range of sidewalks where pools of blackness didn’t outnumber the splashes of light; where your voice could probably still be heard if you cried out. It lurked in a duskier state than the rest of Sunnyside, whether High Noon or the Witching Hour. There was no yellow tape looping the perimeter. No red cautionary beacon adorning its threshold. And no KEEP OUT sign pounded in the earth upon a stake. But there should have been.

      She knew all this as she drew a breath on its verge, toeing a narrow line between safe and sorry. The road was bordered by Weeping Willows and other spooky trees that cast grim shadows under moon or sun. Relic houses the town was too craven, too chicken to demolish loomed in a Halloween gauntlet.

      Waiting. Whispering her name. Frieda . . . . .

      Wind gusted; a shudder swept up an icy spine. Instinct rattled her bones, and fright strummed nerves like a ukulele.

      The houses inveigled.

      They aren’t. Whispering. My name. A defiant stutter while Fear throttled her neck, grinning with relish, hovering in funereal robes. She brushed it away, as if cobwebs.

      Don’t just stand here. Walk. Hands bunched at her sides. I can do this. The woman’s chest clamored akin to a machine in a barn that maintained a comforting substitute glow when the real power was lost: producing weak surges of energy, strength, valor to ward off twilight’s jeopardy. It couldn’t last; it sputtered and jounced, yet it had to suffice.

      Air pummeled her from behind. A leg encroached, passing the line. A sole and heel firmly met forbidden territory. She posed, scared to exhale. When she did, a tense string of thoughts escaped.

      I must be out of my mind. This is nuts. This is a gazillion Dentist Appointments rolled into one. It’s never a good time to visit. But Halloween? Why does it have to be Halloween?

      Lightning brought a strobe of clarity: a plain expanse of cement, grass and tarmac. Weathered structures in the background, partially glimpsed through foliage, harbored secrets sheltered by the droop of limbs and vines.

      Desiring familiar ground, her brain groped at mundane facts. Once named Founder’s Row. The town’s forefathers lived there originally. Their opulent estates were bequeathed, auctioned, rented to a succession of relatives and residents, each generation a notch humbler, farther down the social scale. Eventually the block was rechristened by word-of-mouth and for years bore an unofficial title. A sign showed up, confirming it — erected as an omen. Like the wood crosses planted on shoulders of roads where somebody loved was killed. Look out, they proclaimed, this could be you.

      She scrubbed the analogy. Her fists uncurled. I came here to find it. Whatever it is. Then it’ll be over.

      Intervals of moonlight beamed. The air was dry and electric. A mistral picking up fury, sizzling on the limits of her sanity: peripheral static. An ear ached from cold. The temperature had dipped sharply — as soon as she set foot on Leery Lane, she realized. Frieda tugged the zipper of a sweatshirt jacket to her throat and donned the hood. Much better.

      A prolonged boom. The woman shrugged. What would Halloween be without some thunder? Anxiety rumbled deep within.

      Her right boot stepped purposefully. "I can do

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