Assorted & Writing Contest Winners

If you’ve noticed that I’ve been more behind than usual on announcing contest winners this year … well, I blame planning a wedding! (Plus, there are THREE other weddings in our family happening within just a few months of each other. So yes, my personal life has been hectic).

Needless to say, I am remiss in taking this long to announce all of these winners — but now that I am less than five months from saying “I do,” I’m attempting to get caught up as quickly as I can. So without further ado, here are the winners from various assorted contests from the last several months (with more winners to come soon):

The Madman’s Daughter Writing Contest

For this writing contest, we asked you to write a story inspired by a classic Gothic horror novel. The winning entry comes from Stephanie Parke, and here is her piece inspired by Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde:

She knew she shouldn’t do it, but she couldn’t resist. Her hand twitched and jerked as she held it against her body, her fingers clenching as she tried not to grab her grandfathers potion. Her whole body hummed with the desire to feel the smooth glass in her hand as she imbibed its magic, but she knew it was wrong.

Her breath jerked as she breathed in and out. Julia Jekyll met her own frightened blue eyes in the mirror above the dresser and felt her breath catch again at the wraith like creature staring back at her. Her black hair was in a wild tangle and her eyes were tight and pinched in pain, haunted with a darkness that scared her more than anything. Julia raked her hand through her snarled hair and gripped it, worried that she would tear it out. Julia tried to scream as pain lanced her and she bent double gripping the edge of the vanity, nails digging in.

She felt her nails gouge the surface but couldn’t run. Her throat closed over as the darkness overtook her and she lost the battle. She found her voice gone but she screamed inside as her hand released the vanity, gouging out a chunk of the wood. Her grasp tightened on the bottle, which seemed to vibrate with a chilly life of its own. She pulled the stopper out and breathed in the sweet, seductive scent which wafted out and caressed her nose as she brought it to her lips.

The potion tripped down her throat and she chocked on it, trying to resist even as she knew she no longer had a choice. The final drops hit her stomach and she grabbed her throat as the change took over. She arched as the fire ripped through her and she ripped at the buttons of her dress at her throat, trying to breathe. She slammed to the floor and shook as her world spun out of control.

She drifted back and breathed deeply, stretching like a cat before she got to her feet. She leaned against the mirror as she embraced the fire, embraced the change. She stood tall, no longer afraid to meet her own eyes in the mirror. She pushed her hair back out of her face, unbuttoned another button on her dress and smiled. Jules Hyde gave herself a knowing look as she made herself presentable. She squashed down that last bit of Julia which pounded at the inside of her brain, a prisoner now that Jules was awake. She grinned as she pushed her down further trying to vanish her. She shook her head to try and clear it as the pleas continued, cursing Julia for being so tenascious.

She grabbed her purse and stepped toward the door, hoping that tonight she could finally do what she’d been trying to do for years, find out how to get rid of Julia for good. She needed to find out how to kill Julia Jekyll.

Fingerprints of You Contest

For this contest, we asked you to tell us in 50 words or less where you would go on your own journey of self-discovery and why. The first-place winner will receive a signed copy of Fingerprints of You, along with a prize pack containing a bookmark, a temporary tattoo, a sticker, and a luggage tag. That winner and her response is:

Vivien Propst

I would grab a backpack filled with minimal supplies and head to Central America. No tour guides with trapping itineraries. Trek the lesser traveled paths so my journey would spontaneous. Experience the Mayan Temples that are surrounded by mystery. Find myself among nature and history.

One second-place winner will receive a bookmark, a temporary tattoo, and a luggage tag. That winner and her response  is:

Ruth Stiles

I would go to Alaska. It is so peaceful and tranquil. I am sure I would have time to self reflect while I was there.

The Blessed Religious Writing Contest

For this contest, we asked you to use religion or something from a religion to inspire your short story. Here are the three winners …

Grand Prize: Rachel McGillivary, who will receive a finished copy of The Blessed, a full-size The Blessed candle, a The Blessed St. Lucy bracelet, frankincense, and an incense burner.

Christmas. I don’t celebrate Christmas. I don’t celebrate any holiday. Peering through the frosted window, I can see Julie, my neighbor, hanging lights on her house with her dad. The lights are beautiful and twinkle when they’re unwound and handed to her father. He staples them along the titles, humming a song I’ve heard many times before. A Christmas song.

“Get away from the window and get your shoes on.”

I turn and look at my dad, dressed in his suit, briefcase in hand. He’s upset. He always is when I look at the lights. Slipping on my shoes, I grab my coat and head out to the car. Pulling the cuff of my jacket up, I look at my scars. Thin, silver lines glisten from the sparkling, taboo lights. Perfect etches across the bend of my wrist. A way to come back to reality and remember who I am.

We drive the two blocks down the road and get out. Dad looks at his watch and huffs. He’s always mad when we’re late. Voices carry out through the closed doors, melodious and joyous. I glance at the sign I see twice a week. The Kingdom Hall of Jehovah’s Witnesses.

My fingers reach and find the scars on my other arm. I run them over the ridges, so familiar and welcome. I wince as my nail hits a fresh scab, the surrounding area tender and red. This is who I am. A no body, living in this system of things.

My birthday is tomorrow. But I don’t have birthdays. I once ate a piece of birthday cake when I was nine. My grandma snuck it to me while she was watching me that day. Dad was furious when he found out, and told her she was lucky to even see me. I haven’t seen Grandma in four years. Dad says we’re not allowed to associate ourselves with the people of this world. They will bring us down and corrupt us.

The meeting goes smoothly, just as always. A reading from the Watchtower, a lecture, questions, and prayer and song to end it. Driving back home, dad speaks about tonight’s lesson. I nod my head, feeling numb and lost. I say the one thing in my head, I could never tell him: I don’t believe in any of this and I don’t want this.

Alone in my room, I pull out the handkerchief from my night stand and unroll it. The soft, white gauze falls out onto the comforter, along with the razor blade. The dull metal shines at me with all it can muster, like a wink. It holds my one secret and will never tell a soul. Picking up my companion, I unbutton my mesh bracelet and hold the cool blade to my wrist.

“Jehovah has no pity for me.” Slice. The blade bites my skin, warm blood dribbles and spills into the gauze.

“My father has no pity for me.” Slice.

“I have no pity for me.” Slice.

Second Prize: Abby Israel, who will receive a finished copy of The Blessed and a half-size The Blessed candle

Mara loved the synagogue. She adored its clean hallways, the chapel, the smooth curve of the ark that held the torah. She had ever since she was young. That day, she was there for the usual Shabbat service, a comforting routine of opening prayers, song, more prayers, a retelling of God’s creation of the earth, and yet more prayers. The rabbi would then say the prayers dedicated to the torah, and open the ark, and bring it out, parading it around the chapel. On any other day, this wouldn’t have been a remarkable event.

Today it was.

Mara touched the torah with the tip of the cloth in her hand, and kissed it, as she often did after a week when she needed solace. Most weeks, it only comforted her a little, and reminded her of the thousands of Jews before her who dealt with pharaohs and kings for bullies, rather than mere upperclassmen.

This time, she heard a voice. Or rather, a chorus of many voices, sweet children’s sopranos, rumbling basses of grown men, and every pitch in between.

“Hark, girl, and be warned. Your journey has begun. Come the end of the Sabbath, you will be summoned, and your life lain before you.”

Mara looked briefly to her cloth in confusion. Might they have been voices from heaven? Maybe. Voices from her head? More likely.

For the rest of the service, Mara was distracted and nervous, and when it finally ended, she shuffled out quickly, unlike the rest of the attendees who tended to stand in the lobby and catch up. She merely walked out the door to her car and drove home.

Following evening routine, Mara ate dinner with her parents, washed the dishes, and finished her homework. It didn’t matter that it was the weekend. She needed something to keep her mind occupied. When at last she ran out of tasks to complete, Mara went upstairs, climbed in bed, and fell asleep.

Her dreams were fraught with the stories she routinely heard in services. Adam and Eve, David and Goliath, wise King Solomon, and Esther and Hayman all visited her conscience. When the original temples went up in flames, before the Macabees could save them, she awoke to a scorching heat around her.

Her house, her room, even the blankets at the foot of her bed were all in flames. Nothing was left untouched by the fire, except the space nearest her. In a blind panic, Mara leaped from the bed, grabbed her robe, left miraculously untouched by flames, and used it to smother the starting flames on the floor to her window. Thanking her lucky stars that the window had been recently fixed, and slid open easily, she climbed out, landed in the grass, and dashed to the front of the house.

She watched her only home burn before her eyes. The last thing she noticed before a surge of neighbors blocked her view was a message on the door: “It has begun.”

Third Prize: Natalie Richards, who will receive an ARC of The Blessed

I blinked, squinting at the bright light until my eyes adjusted. What the heck? Where am I? I was lying flat on my back in a grassy lawn. The most perfect grassy lawn I had ever seen, with not a single dandelion poking its unwelcome yellow head out to. I pushed myself up on my elbows…Wait a second, shouldn’t that have hurt? My memories of the last ten minutes flooded my mind. The red truck running the red light, the crystalline sound of breaking glass…

“Ahem.”

I turned slowly, coming to my feet in a single swift, effortless movement. There was a boy sitting on the ground, his knees pulled up to his chest and a piece of hay dangling from his lips. He was leaning against a tall picket fence that I hadn’t noticed before, next to plain wooden garden gate. His dark hair fell in messy curls around an olive-toned face and sparkling brown eyes. He grinned at me, and I caught a flash of white teeth.

“Do you want to come into the garden?” His voice was friendly, maybe just a little mischievous, and just as exotic as his face. Suddenly I felt this overwhelming longing to go into that garden. I wanted it more than I had ever wanted anything in my life.

“Yes,” I breathed.

The boy cocked his head to the side, “And what is your name?”

“Mary.”

He laughed, a bright sound of pure, infectious joy, “Mary the Magdalene or the Virgin?”

Despite his carefree manner, I considered the question carefully. “The Magdalene, I’m afraid. I’ve made a lot of mistakes.”

The boy quieted, but his smile remained, “Even the Virgin wasn’t perfect. To make mistakes is to be human.” He fixed me with eyes that saw too much, “Why should I let you into the garden?”

I opened my mouth to answer, then stopped. “The garden’s perfect, isn’t it?”

His eyebrows rose, “Oh, yes. More perfect than anyone can imagine.”

I realized then that this was it. The defining moment for the rest if my eternity. “But I’m not perfect.”

The boy jumped to his feet and smiled, “That’s the beauty of it; you don’t have to be.” He dug an ornate key out of his pocket and inserted it into a lock that I hadn’t seen before. The gate swung open. My chest tightened at the beauty of the Garden. Words couldn’t describe what I saw, yet still I hesitated.

“What if there’s been a mistake? What if I don’t belong?”

He took my hand, “There is no mistake. Welcome home.” With gentle hands, he pushed me toward the gate, which now shimmered like mother of pearl.

“Wait!” I paused, spinning around to look at him. “What’s your name?”

He flashed his teeth in another smile, “Peter.”

I smiled back, then took a deep breath and stepped into Paradise.

Reached Artifacts Writing Contest

For this contest, we asked you to choose an “artifact” from the Matched Pinterest board & write about it. The winner will receive a Matched trilogy poster and a set of Matched buttons. The winner is Natalie Richards and you can view her entry here.

Haunted Reads Writing Contest

For this contest, we gave you free reign to be creative and write something spooky or scary in 150-300 words! Here are the assorted winners, who will each receive one book from our “Haunted Reads” collection:

John Dallal:

WELCOME TO MY NIGHTMARE

Welcome to my nightmare.
Won’t you step right in…
And walk beside me
Through a raucous din
That is all around here!
Take a look and see
All the flashing colors
Dancing merrily-
Causing much dissention
To the eye and ear-
Driving noise and colors-
Escalating fear
From a great confusion
Here within a maze.
Welcome to my nightmare,
Where a demon plays.
But,I think,together
We can find a path
Out of this inferno,
To an aftermath-
One that spells Salvation…
And a sweet Rebirth.
Let us strive to claim
A piece of Heaven’s worth.

Rachel McGillivary:

The stench was over-powering, and Malice slumped over, evacuating her stomach. Wiping her mouth, she continued on, wrapping her scarf over her nose. There was no way anyone could have survived this.

A retched screech stopped Malice in her tracks. She scanned the smoldering ruins of the town with her eyes, finding the source.

The abomination came barreling at her, saliva stringing from its mouth in thick brown globs. The thing gnashed its teeth as it leaped into the air at her. Malice instinctively went on her back and pushed her legs into the air, just as the creature pounced on her. Malice sent it flying behind her, a grunt emitting from its distorted face.

The thing got up, and stared at Malice, swaying, and taking her in with its yellowed eyes. He was missing a large chunk from his neck, and maggots had infested the area. She raised her sword, ready to behead the creature. She took a step towards him, and felt a sharp pain in her side.

Malice looked down and saw a child, bloated and missing an eye, its teeth sunk into her flesh. More shrieks sounded near her. Malice steeled her stomach and bought the sword down into the infected child’s skull. They came at her, and Malice swung wildly. There were too many. The creatures’ grabbed her and brought her down, their rotted teeth sinking deep into her flesh. The last thing she felt, was claws digging into her neck, ripping her throat out.

Rebecca Crain:

Friday, October 13
11:50, driving home from my friend’s Halloween party. Counting down the minutes to midnight. 11:51. We’re crossing a bridge. 11:52 by my watch. Mom’s driving fast, we’ve reached the middle, but the car in front of us brakes and Mom swerves and we’re in the water! We’re sinking and I can only think, 11:53. Seven minutes to midnight. 11:54 and the water’s up to my ankles and I’m panicking, I’m hitting the windows, Mom’s telling me to calm down, but I can’t and I’m screaming when I think, 11:55. I calm down and inhale, exhale, inhale, and stare at my watch, watching the seconds ticking by, and it’s 11:56 and I can’t bear it anymore, I just can’t, and I hear screaming and the water’s up to my waist, it’s up to my waist, and how could I have not noticed it’s up to my waist, and I’m hyperventilating, and why did it have to be me stuck in this stupid car in this stupid lake, and it’s 11:57 and I’m running out of air and it’s up to my chest and I’m screaming, I’m screaming, and the water, it’s up to my neck, and it’s climbing, and it’s up to my chin, my lips, and it’s 11:58 and ticking… and it’s 11:59 and there’s no air, no air, it’s over my head there’s no air, and my vision is blurred, and I look at my watch, and the last thing I see is, 12:00.
Midnight.

Nicole Markel:

Eulogy

I had taken a stand against evil only to be tied and gagged, waiting to die like those that came before me.
‘Trisha was a good student, popular, quick with a smile and devoted to her family.’
The smell of disinfectant was overwhelming. Ghostly fingers of cold traced my skin as he methodically cleaned every inch.
Tears streamed, distorting his looming face. “Shhh. It’ll be over soon,” he crooned.
‘While friends hung out at the local pizza place, Trisha helped set up embalming chemicals and painted lipstick on corpses.’
There had been a lull and then like someone had turned on the faucet, the dead began pouring in. Bodies were stacked like pancakes in the freezer.
Investigating a strange noise, Trisha discovered her father strapping a girl to the embalming table. “Shhh now, it won’t take long,” he crooned as he deftly cut an incision on her naked stomach. She bucked and clawed, her pleas muffled by a dirty rag.
‘It was expected that one day she would run the Hendricks Funeral Home.’
Trisha felt a cramp as the long metal trocar tube slipped inside the opening and blood oozed in rivulets onto the steel and down a long channel on the perimeter of the table.
“I never expected you’d discover my secret,” Father whispered. “With the Sheriff’s help, we’ll continue to intervene at accidents with a death-mask chemical, expedite those close to death. Painless, unless they wake during embalming. A good death is good for business.”

Emily Adams:

They look like corpses, these off-earth creatures:
An alien replica of flayed, human decomposition.
Open to viruses, fungi, and bacteria; they fester.
For them, to be alive, is to be ill:
Fighting and failing, but still fighting.

Imagine their joy
At finding, in us, an almost duplicate of themselves:
Bipedal, opposable-thumbed,
Two-eyed, and spinal-corded.
But covered with perfect,
Beautiful skin.

How could they help but rejoice?
How could they help but come and
Take the fleshy casing they so desperately need
Without a thought for us?
Desperation has a pull greater than guilt or gravity.

They pose as corpses
Near some site of extreme death:
Car wrecks, earthquakes, and the like.
Their flayed appearance a tempting lure
To those who wish to rescue.

Good Samaritans rush to the aid of our own dead and dying.
Good Samaritans race unwittingly
To the salvation of the forever rotting aliens.
Human saviors give life to putrid strangers at a great
And unexpected price.

Stay aloof. Keep apart.
Give no aid to injured strangers.
Stay safe in your own skin.

The charitable of our kind die skinless.

Thanks to all who entered! Publishers who will be sending out prizes will be contacted this week. Some prizes will be coming from me, and I will take a bit longer to get them in the mail. (I still have a bunch of prizes from earlier this year to send out). Sorry for the delays & thanks for your patience … wedding planning has been a HUGE time suck and distraction from blogging; and saving for the honeymoon has taken priority over costs of mailing prizes. I hope to get these out to you guys as soon as possible!