Dance Hall: Chapter 7, Brownstones to Death

Hey, sticking with this odd terrible novel thing I'm doing here. Is the chapter clickbaiting? Yes. In terms of other stuff. I went to see Wrinkle in Time with much of famale film students. We agree it could have been better. Too close cameras and bad editing choices. What was the point of Calvin, other than to fuck shit up? To be the love interest. I want us to move past this as society. Some ideas were good.We ended up bitching about our bad teacher experinces due to it so we went something.

So here's the my novel where I've decided to skip school.

Start & Last Chapter

Chapter 7, Brownstones to Death

I’m in luck and have gotten out of an education till after summer, despite they still being three weeks left of school. Exam results will decide my classes anyway. Though, that just meant by the time summer came I would already be a bored phrase in a town where I knew no one.

Well, I half knew people. But someone who moved the summer before high school is not really a friend. I had been at the same Primary school three times once. I had probably been to every Primary that was in the high school catchment area. I had bumped into people, but I didn’t even remember names, so it would be more awkward than anything if they remember me.

My mother had been changed the locks and was now organising the workmen necessary to fix her hotel dreams. She was hiring a project manager to get it done as fast as possible to a liveable state and to get away from the freaky neighbours. The woman who had “greeted” us, likes to stand at her window looking at us. I haven’t seen her son again.

I was alone in the house, so I was having a staring contest. I had no books, WIFI or TV. I was already at the bored phrase. I was going to find the library which could provide me with all three as I owned a DVD player. I took my crappy phone with me; haunted smart phones were not something you found, and I could not convince mum to get me a new one. It was slow, but worked I guess.

The library was in the centre of town and was an hour walk away. Well, I had nothing to do anyway. We live in a housing scheme that boarded onto fields at one side and the town on the other. The houses were all the same till they were a completely different decade and did not blend at all together, which was better than councils choosing to build houses with attic roofs. Attic roofs were stupid and should not be a thing in new buildings.

I wasn’t wearing the best shoes or clothes for this. Skinny jeans with no bend and tennis shoes that had no padding. I could lie in bed for a week starting tomorrow anyway. An IPod that I had to keep deleting stuff to get the latest hits on to it. It ended up taking me an album and half to get to the library. The town was still the town.

Not much had changed since I was last there. The fences were more run down but that was it. The library was an old brownstone like so many other libraries. I currently had access to eight online library services. Most libraries don’t bother to make sure you’re still a member.

In this case, I wasn’t sure if my library card was still good as it didn’t have an online system when I was a member and I hadn’t thought to check before losing access to reliable internet. My phone was junk. I walked up it woven down steps into the grand hall and now had automatically opening door. In front of me was a closed off stairs that held a sign that sign staff only. The non-fiction to the left and the fiction to the right. I held for the fiction. I didn’t feel like using my brain.

The teen section was now titled YA to be cool like those Americans and was on the other side of the massive room. I scanned the shelves for something new. The books were different. Weeding had taken place. Some were still the exact same copies. I pick up the ex-popular supernatural romance to see it hadn’t been checked out from before I moved. I put it back on the shelve to never be read again.

I picked up few other books that promised the undead. There was even one with necromancer as the villain. I took it out because as reading terrible depictions of Death Contractors. was my guilty pleasure. I watched the shows and read the cheesy books. My mother did not approve of this. Especially the paranormal romances. Falling in love with a dead person was something my mother did not approve of.

Some were actually written pretty well as works of fiction and some of got stuff eerily accurate. Perhaps another death contractor writing from her own experience or they just got luckily. The ones I picked up, I did not expect to be good. I wander to the adult side of the library which I found harder to navigate. Despite, the handy genre sorting of Fiction, Crime, Romance and Western. Western was section I had never read from despite multiple libraries having this as a section. Maybe if they had ghost cowboys.

I grabbed randoms with interesting titles. I kind of wish they sorted by title instead of author. Perhaps by buzzwords like “Amazing” and “Best Book of the Year”. I go the desk.

“I would like these out,” I say handing the 8-year-old library card to her. She scans it and hands it back without much ado. Well, that was anti-climactic. No, this card is too old, or you have 6 years of library fines that now total a ridiculous price to ask of someone not entitled to minimal wage.

I shove the books in my backpack and leave. I’m not that interested in the internet and it would probably best to be out of town before the schools got out. I did not want to wait for the lollypop lady.

I wandered away from the library in the opposite direction. What is a two hour walk really?  I fancied a look at my favourite building in this old town. The Dance hall was a street back from the library. Both had been built during this big expansion of the town. I had gone through a phase of researching the building, to not learning much at all. No recorded deaths to the building.

A ghost didn’t need to die in a building to haunt it. Sometimes an emotional link is enough to drag someone back there. I’ve never had that with a building. More of the windows had been boarded up on the ground level since the last time I stood next to it. The For Sale sign is still there, now discoloured. I wonder if still up for Sale.  I glance in the direction of the antiques and junk shops that my mother like to peruse. No signs of her ridiculous car.

I had only gain a slight obsession with this building due to my mother habit of taking hours to actually buy what she came for in any shop she goes in. I had noticed a ghost once and follow them up into the building. I had never seen it again. My mother doesn’t like this building, due to my mild obsession.

The door is slightly open once again. I guess it’s never locked. I pushed it open it more. It’s dark, with sunbeams lighting the wood panelling. Going into a derelict building at any age is stupid. I slowly edge into the building. The wooden floor looks study, though probably isn’t with unheated winters and water seeping in through broken windows.

I hear a creek. It was from above me. It could be ghosts, homeless or the ferial cats. Ferial cats can be deadly. You can lose limbs and I watch too much daytime TV.

“What are you doing?” I jump and turn around to see Junior Creep in the High School uniform.

“Why ain’t you in school?” I ask right back.

“Free Period,” she enters the building. Scanning around. Probably wondering if the roof will fall on her.

 “So not stalking me?”

“Only on the weekends,” she settles her eyes on me. “I wouldn’t hang around here. People go missing.”

There was literally not a single record of that happening. Even when it was still a functioning Dance Hall.

“That’s never been in the papers.”

“A lot of things have never been in the papers.” True that. Mortals by accident or chance, magic on purpose. Even dark magic must be hidden because it could bring us all down.  I probably would have been safe now, but we brunt with everyone else.

“Well, I guess I should be going now.” I say and shove past her back into the street. I start in the direction of my house. I still might be able to avoid the kids.

I hear Aytia walking behind me. I turn around to go away, when I catch a figure in the upper window. I stare at the ghost I saw when I was eight years old and never age in all these years.

“What are you looking at?” I look at Aytia for a second and jump back to the window. Gone. Typical ghost. I want to know the story, but probably best not to. That place is a death trap, probably.

“Nothing,” I start walking again. I don’t want to get into it with Aytia. She continues to walk with me.

“I thought you weren’t stalking me.”

“I’m not, my house is this way.”

We walk in silence before bumping into her first lollypop man. Damn it. I quicken my pace after crossing the road.

“What’s your hurry?”

“I’m being followed.”

I slow down once we’re on the outskirts of the main of town, houses instead of business. Aytia is still there.

“Where is your house anyway?”

“We’re almost there. Where’s yours?”

Going off last time, I still have an hour to go. My feet were starting to hurt.

Aytia’s house was obvious on the approach. It was obviously a witch’s house if you knew the signs. The front Gardens was full of plants that could be used in potions and some doubled as protection. There was also a Barbie doll, with a badly protection symbol craved into naked stomach, lying on one of the bushes. The garden was well cared for, but the paint was chipped.  Also, their minivan was in the drive.

“Wanna come in?” Aytia doesn’t wait for and is already though the door. Witches are interesting creatures and my feet really hurt so I follow her up the stairs. Maybe I can steal some herbs.

Chapter 8, Witches and Witches

Book Review: Clean by Juno Dawson

"Gossip Girl, Interrupted" is a phases used in the book.

A razor-sharp, adrenaline rush of a novel from award-winning author Juno Dawson, Clean is Gossip Girl meets Girl, Interrupted.

'I can feel it swimming through my veins like glitter ... it's liquid gold.'

When socialite Lexi Volkov almost overdoses, she thinks she's hit rock bottom.

She's wrong. Rock bottom is when she's forced into an exclusive rehab facility.

From there, the only way is up for Lexi and her fellow inmates, including the mysterious Brady.

As she faces her demons, Lexi realises love is the most powerful drug of all ...

It's a dirty business getting clean ...

I've had some hits and misses with Juno Dawson. I usually like what she trying to do: her plots sound interesting and she tries to diversify the stories she tells, though that had lead to specific problem for me in the past, forms of Ableism and weird Queer Burying. Going into this story I have read very good short stories by her but her longer works have just not worked at all for me. I know she capable and she is trying so I've let some of her problematic stuff side because I know it not malice and I am a critical little shit. Basically, everyone is problematic, its the trying that counts and pointing out the bad is something you should do for growth reasons. If you're interested in my specific thoughts then I've have reviewed everything by Dawson that I have read.

Clean is about addiction, and the word clean is said several times in the novel. It actually probably the normal amount but it more noticeable because title. I think it done well from my experience watching others self-destruction but I've never been addicted to a substance. The process of Rehab is talked about a lot and I'm glad it not portrayed as a quick fix.

The setting is a high class recovery centre for under 24s. There's people there with different addictions and vice. Lot of mental health rep so all the characters we're introduce to, have issues.There's also some survivor guilt action which was my favourite.

The protagonist and narrator Lexi is unlikable at first, but addicts in denial are kinda unlikable so
realistic. Books takes addiction from the bored kid with money angle which is fine but everyone is capable of becoming addicted and anyone can be effected by mental illness as neither care about money. It just what this novel does, which includes the party attitude towards certain drugs, that reaches most class levels anyway. I did think it was interesting to address whether its problem if have money and no one seems to notice.

Toxic relationships play a part in this novel. I think it done well for the most part, especially as partners and friend groups have been proven as to why many struggle to stay clean. I don't love the rebound relationship stuff but I can also see why its in the book. I just carry a lot of baggage from Disney's Frozen.

Pointing out fun things: Dawson likes to do A, B, C, D and E. All of the Above. That would make a cool title.

Overall, I give this book 4/5 stars for Bastard Demons or Puppet Demons if that offends you. It still Dawson's voice, but this one worked better for me. I would read her again, but probably sticking don't buy anymore of her book though because I own most of them and most books on my bookcase are still not read. I didn't feel that attached to the characters and for me it was surface level and this probably light read for me because my heart is blacken. It deals with a complex issue well enough. Don't take Heroine, it always a problem.

I got this book for review off NetGalley and is being published on Quercus Children's Books on 5th April 2018.

Dance Hall: Chapter 6, Tinfoil Cake

Yes, I wrote this chapter immediately after the last chapter so it here. I also remember where I was going to with temporary homes. Something similar that happened in this chapter and would structurally be better as one chapter. I'm trying to get the plot of the story.  It could be better but this is a first draft of a novel that is not properly outlined. I know what I'm doing. (LOL, no I don't).

Start & Last Chapter

Chapter 6, Tinfoil Cake.

Parking up didn’t take long. We had only been there for three months. The house was decorated for the 80s to the extreme, but it had been cared for, it only had a ghost that like to pick up glasses and throw against the wall. Scary when you can’t see the ghost doing it, but when it’s a woman in ballgown shouting “I hate you and the world” every time it’s hilarious and then old when the old when the unbreakable glass takes a chunk out of the wall you had just wallpapered.

She was sad that no one seem to notice when she gone. Gave her prep talk and got her to move on before she could change her mind. I hope that the “After” is better than just hanging around in house, scaring the shit out of people at 4 am.

I think my mum had only picked this place for the location between different antique shops, that seem have an endless supple of ghosts. She did have few private customers that called on her to sort the problem. I don’t know if they knew mum’s “Talent” or just that she can get rid of their problem. It’s amazing that we never run out of work. A lot of the objects and houses turned out not to be haunted at all. Stories have a major effect.

This house was in the certain of the town, with university and college making it perfect to rent out to students. Or sell on probably. I’m not sure how many of the houses my mum still owns. She rents the ones that have bad stories or might be slow to sell for boring reasons. I’ve lost count of how many houses I’ve lived in. Maybe there’s more that I haven’t even been in.

I lay down on the bed that will be going on a moving truck tomorrow. I’ve had it for four years, since we abandoned all the furniture that wouldn’t fit in the minivan with the seats taken out, and that included my princess bump bed that I had got after America. I wonder if it still in that house, with the little girl ghost that I was too old to play with.

That why I know my mum keeping something from me. Because we didn’t get rid of that ghost. That little girl waved goodbye to me as we drove away in my mum’s minivan with the missing seats. We had to leave that house, we’ve had to leave other houses.

I’ve been all over with Europe with this bed. If my mum had been any good at home-schooling, we would have kept at it I think. But that stopped really working after I was ten so that was a fun ten months before mum gave up and decided that I need to be educated in the school where I understood the language other than just being able to swear at the ghosts in a language they would understand. Yeah, international ghost business was a bit of a fail.

I think we’re running from something. I have no clue from what. I know nothing about my mum’s biological family. She ran away from something. I know she meet my father when she was at the circus because I have heard several stories about mum and been shown the photos by my circus “aunts”. We meet up with them when we in the same place. We got into America with them and went our separate away. Maybe we can go to Asia or maybe I’ll run away to the circus and make my own little mistake.

                                                                                    

Okay, being in charge of a child next year sounds overwhelming. I’ve never even used public transport by myself. I know my mother loves me, she has also drilled safe sex into my head since puberty became a thing. She says it not about babies, but I think seeing the witches lazed attitude about teen pregnancy freaks her out. High death rate means that they end up raising each other kids anyway.

I was going to be around witches again and other magic knowers. Death Contracters don’t do much with spells and potions, but they can come in handy. Protection wards if violent which yes, can be done though sageing Wearing protecting amulets is generally useful. My mum has made me wear one since I can remember. Summoning and banishing usually involves a spell. Unless you’re me, who accidentally summoned a football team of ghosts once.

That was when I was thirteen and alone. Mum freaked when she came back to a house full of random sprits and swore never to leave me by myself again. She leaves me be a little now, all technically an adult and can be legally left to wander the sheets, but I think she still worried I’ll up graded to American Football team of ghost, which is 40. American football is dumb with how many people are on the teams. I guess because they constantly injured.

“Nova,” my mother shouts from across the house. She says something else, but it mumbled from this distanced. I drag myself from off the bed and get up to find her stuffing boxes. She sometimes likes to keep objects she finds. She generally likes antiques and knows how much they worth. I don’t know if I liked them, but I could make better profit that some of the TV experts. Surprisingly, my mum will not appear on TV despite being seen as inspiration as she was a teen mum who quit school. Seriously though, I think she hates that stuff anyway. She scoffs when she catches me watching it and by catching, I mean coming into see who I’m shouting idiot at.

“What is it?”

“Have you finished packing?” my mother asks as if it will take anytime. Packing was literally throwing my clothes back in the rucksack.

“Everything but the bed.”

“Good.” She goes back to stuffing boxes. She doesn’t ask me to help ever. She has a system and she doesn’t trust anyone else to follow it.

I got back to my room and throw myself on the bed. It shakes and then crashes to the floor. My mother doesn’t come into see me now half on the floor. I should have known this day would come.

***

We get to the house after the movers. I’m able glad that we have the money now to hire someone to do this. My mum and I do not make a good moving team. They also a woman waiting with a cake shaped thing. What flesh hell is this?

“Hello,” She enthusiastically greets us as we approach our own home. She thrusts the cake into my arms. No idea, why she picked me for this homemade thing. It’s covered in tinfoil. “I just wanted to pop in and to say hello to our new neighbours. I live just across from you.”

She points her mirror of house, that’s had the garage converted into another room. My mother tightly smiles.

“I was just so excited to hear someone was finally moving into the house. It’s sat empty for months.”

Oh, she is going into the ghost.

“I hope you and your parents have better luck than the last family.”

I snort. How off base.

My mum looks young I guess, and Sometimes I forgot how young my really is to some other mum’s. She only 33, this is the age a lot of woman have their first kids now. I do wonder if she wishes she had more than just me. I wanted siblings, because it wouldn’t just me. A baby now would probably just something I would be made to babysit.

“Actually, this is my daughter,” is my mother tight reply. She doesn’t give my name, so I know she somewhat annoyed, probably because we’re literally moving in at this exact moment. The movers have started taking in the main furniture. My bed is going to the skip, stupid thing.

“Oh, gosh,” is she American? “you look great for your age.”

“Do I look bad?” I ask. The woman looks confused.

“I had her when I was fifteen,” I give my mum a look. Weird lie.

“Oh, well, you must be so well for yourself now,” what hell does that mean? Her face pales. “Sorry, I just wanted to say hello and if you every need anything just yolla.” Her accent was definitely local. “Sugar or an ear to moan about that lousy landlord.”

OMG, this is the best. My mum might explode.

“What do mean?” my mother askes simply. If my hands were not full, I would film this.

“I just meant the Landlord was very patronising to the last tenant, ignoring their “issues” with the house.” She fingers quotes to indicate that she does not know what that means.

“Well, I don’t know if I should be the one to tell you this.” Oh, she wants to be. I drop the cake thing that never gonna be ate anyway. No one notices me and get my phone out.

“The thing is that house is haunted and the landlord would not let them have the house blessed or anything. In the end, He kicked them out with nowhere to go.”

“That’s funny, cause they got kicked out for craving up the walls and…”

“Those were the ghosts,” She interrupts. “They are very violent”.

“They weren’t when we lived here before,” I add.

“Before?”

“Yes, we use to live here before I started renting it out.” The woman’s face pales again.

“You’re the landlord.”

“Yes,” my mother replies simply and starts to walk away. The woman grabs her arm.

“I just wanted to say hello and say that I’m a friendly, I didn’t mean to be rude.” My mother shakes her off and goes into the house. Leaving me with the fake lady and tinfoil smashed on the grass.

“I just wanted to say that you are really rude.” I say and putting my phone back in my pocket. Okay, that was dumb, but who was to be friendly with a person lurking on your front garden. She looks dumbfound. I look back up her house to see that kid broke into our house of course. I go into the somewhat safety of the house.

Chapter 7, Brownstones to Death

Book Review: Bad Girls with Perfect Faces by Lynn Weingarten

I didn't buy any nail polish off this book.

No one is good enough for Xavier. Not according to Sasha, his best friend. There's nothing Sasha wouldn't do to protect Xavier from getting hurt, especially by his cheating ex Ivy, who's suddenly slithered back into the picture. Worried that Xavier is ready to forgive and forget, Sasha decides to do a little catfishing. She poses as a hot guy online, to prove cheaters never change.

But Sasha's plan goes wrong fast, and soon the lies lead down a path from which there's no return . . .

This is my second encounter with Weingarten. I really liked Suicide Notes from Beautiful Girls and was excited to immurge myself into her writing. This does have similar to that book, but I didn't like this one as much. I mean I did really like Suicide Notes.

The plot is okay, there were some twists attempts, but I wasn't the right type of invested to care. Half way point kinda lost me. It works well in theory, but also seem like quite a standard affair. The plot is bit reliant on the characters being idiots.

This is another friendship bordering on romance. It works well and funly tragic. The characters do a lot of dancing around each other. This is more relationship based than plot, as everything that happens due the character's relationships have with each other.

Overall, I give this book 3/5 stars for locked accounts. I had high hopes for this book and sadly it didn't meet them. It was still a decent read, and if you're looking for a YA thriller, give it ago.

I recieved this book for review off NetGalley and Electric Monkey, it came out on the 11th January 2018.

Dance Hall: Chapter 5, Temporary Home

Remember this. The novel I was meant to be writing as thing for this. I decided to do another chapter after 17 months. Well, here it is and nothing of interest happened to me this week.

I've read the last four chapters and know there's weird mistakes. I'm going to need to fix them. There's some contradictory stuff about a gate, but that what happens when you writing on the cuff of the online form. I don't know if I should post this story somewhere else to get feedback more likely.

I also regret coming up with this title as I have no idea where I was going with it. I didn't want to just be filler, but it probably just filler but long filler.

Start & Last Chapter

Chapter 5, Temporary Homes

I jump into the car.

“Go.”

My mother sighs.

“Nova, I wish you would stop being so dramatic.”

She starts the car anyway and we leave the Most Haunted Hotel in this town. We sit in silence till I realise something is off.

“Isn’t the motorway the other way?”

“Yes,” my mother says simply, as if that was the actual question I was asking.

“Where are we going?”

“House inspection.”

I stare at her. That was what the agency was for. My mother almost never deals with her any of her property directly anymore. Not with us moving around so much. We’ve even left the country months for at the time, which lead to having to share a room with a ghost that was screaming in French.

The last time we had did a house inspection ourselves was when a tenant was trying to say the house was still Haunted. It wasn’t, they were either lying (they most certainly were) or had let the stories get to them.  She was up to something. Hell, my mother was always up to something.

I was too tired to deal with my mother’s schemes. I don’t know why she still hides shit from me. I slipped down my seat and shut my eyes. Maybe I can sleep through whatever this is. It not long before the car has come to stop. I opened my eyes to one of our former homes and the one where the rumours never went away from.

It was the third house we had fixed up and had only stay occupied enough to make the low-cost worth it and have its own “investigation” which had happened twice before the first one was aired. It hadn’t even been that haunted to start with, we just had to have the tenant that wanted to have a profitable haunting. They had been asked to leave once they contract had been up, which had not been a profile decision on my mother’s part, but it had been annoying when my former home suddenly had Christian demonic entities in it.

They had several problematic tenants in it. Something that been noisy complaints about it from my mother who got had been annoyed when she knew that house to having nothing in it. It had only taken a month to de-ghost the house. An old lady had stuck around and liked to leave tea everywhere. Sometimes not in cups. She hadn’t known she was dead. She had been killed in the 80s during a burglary gone really wrong. The ‘investigations’ had uncovered dark age witch burnings. It was stupid, those witch burnings had happened in the centre of town and had been faked by the witches wanted to avoid an actual witch hunt in the town where so many were going in the rest country.

“We’re moving here, ain’t we?”

“You’re physic.” My mother says and gets out the car. I followed her out and into the house. I bet she went and got the keys from the agency this morning. It white and bland like most rental places. It opened into the Livingroom and stairs up to the upper floor. It was three bedrooms, a living room with hole into the kitchen, and dining room/office that had boiler in it so couldn’t legally be a bedroom. It had two toilets so that was a plus.

“Are we not going home?” My mother has got and left everything before. Photos and prized toys don’t mean much to my mother. Now it would be comfortable jeans with holes in the wrong places and farewell gifts covered in dust.

“Don’t be silly,” She can be so disregarding to me, like I’m three and I’m just blankly asking why? I stomp up the stairs to remind her I’m a teenage. Hell, I’m almost the same age she was when she had me.

The upstairs was just as bland. The walls were all white, no pangrams that “suddenly” appear on the walls. The wall had to be painted four times to get rid of the red underneath. Bright colours are bitch to get ridden of. Strangely, Yellow was actually the worst. I walk to the back of the house to see the decent size garden, which was one of the other selling points of this house. If you just ignored the ghost stories, it was a perfect family home. Too big for just two people. Last time we live here, my mum was still seeing Ian. He had been living with us, before mum decided to leave town and then we never seen him again. I don’t know exactly what went down, one of the successfully things mum hides from me. Though, I had gotten use to not getting attached. God, I’m a cliché sometimes.

The garden was over running with weeds in the flower beds, but the glass had been cut. It was probably going to stay that way while we stayed here. We’re heading into winter, so we might not need to cut the glass at all. I turn around, to see if we could actually go home now.

I turn around to see a laden in the hallway. Fuck, not a damn attic ghosts. I hate attic ghosts. They always the worst. But we couldn’t have missed that. We scanned the whole house. Hell, I even spent the night in that attic once. Nothing ghost love is a pre-pubescent girl. Actually, they don’t care.

“Mum” I shout up into the attic, re-acting one of the few ghost films I was forced to watch at sleepover. I hear nothing. I’m not going up there by myself, even I can control ghosts.

I got backdown the stairs to find my mother raiding the cupboards.

“The attic opened by itself,” I say factly.

She jumps, banging her head on the cupboard door.

“God Damn it,” she rubs the sore spot. I doubt that was her reaction to the attic.

“Knowing our luck, those idiots attracted something.” My mother stormed up the stairs, I follow her. The attic was still opened but now the light was on. It was possible to trap wandering ghosts or come upon an attached ghost.

It could just be left junk in the attic. That’s would actually be lucky. My mother runs up the ladder.

“Wait, don’t you think we should scan it?”

“I know who this is.” What? I don’t know to follow her. Then I noticed that door in front of me. I slowly approach the door. I pushed open to dark figure…trying to climb out of a second story window. Not dead but about to be.

“What the hell are you doing?”  I grabbed the back of the hoodie and pulled them into the room. They fall into their back, to reveal a masculine face. He was pretty scrawny and might be short than me. It was hard to tell with him laying on the floor.

My mother appears holding a tape recorder.

“Ar, another ghost hunter.”

“I’m not a ghost hunter,” he wines. “I’m an investigator looking for proof.”  Like that’s a different thing.

“By breaking into people’s house.” This house had never been that haunted. She was a little odd lady and made cups of tea. If you’re liked tea she was the perfect house guest. All the stories were bullshit, that ignored facts.

“No one lived in here for months.”

“That doesn’t make it abandoned,” I say to the idiot.

“I’m feeling nice, so I won’t call the police, but if I ever find you in my house again I won’t be so nice.” He scamps up and runs into the ladder before half falling down the stairs. I go to follow him, but my mum grabs my shoulder.

“Turn that light off,” she says and goes down the stairs. I huff.

I swing myself up the first few steps. Ladder is cold and the pattern cuts into my handles. I rush up and scanned the empty attic. The same random toy cars were still scatter over the insulation that the previous owner hadn’t bother to take with them. This might be their grave until this house came down or got new insulation.

I turn the light off. The switch was just right at the opening, saving from pulling myself up and down. The ladder was stiff going back up and the door was slightly opened. How the hell did that kid open this door?

There was a pole somewhere. I scan the empty rooms, and shut the open window, before making my way down the stairs which is also empty. I wonder how that idiot got in here. Alarm system might be needed.

My mum storms in, still holding the recorder.

“I’ll be having words with that agency. That little shit had their spare key.” I don’t know she knew it was their exact keys.

“Going to be quitting them anyway.”

“All the houses are with them” I just nod, I have no clue about this side of the business.

“Can we leave now?”

“Fine, I’ll sort this later.”

We finally leave in awkward. I was wary about moving back here but the locals have proved themselves to be bananas. Perhaps this place is too “haunted”.

Next Chapter: Tinfoil Cake

Book Review: The Truth About Alice by Jennifer Mathieu

The truth is that she eats nothing but raspberries.

Everyone knows Alice slept with two guys at one party.
But did you know Alice was sexting Brandon when he crashed his car?
It's true. Ask ANYBODY.

Rumour has it that Alice Franklin is a slut. It's written all over the 'slut stall' in the girls' bathroom at Healy High for everyone to see. And after star quarterback Brandon Fitzsimmons dies in a car accident, the rumours start to spiral out of control.
In this remarkable novel, four Healy High students - the party girl, the car accident survivor, the ex best friend and the boy next door - tell all they know.
But exactly what is the truth about Alice? In the end there's only one person to ask: Alice herself.

Jennifer Mathieu is the author of Moxie which has been talked about a lot. I thought this was the follow up but it's actually Mathieu's debut which makes sense because this does feel more like a debut, potential with room to grow. I think just never been published officially in the UK before, or maybe they have a re-go at it. It was originally published four years ago anyway.

This book is told in multiple points of view in first talking, each talking about what they know of Alice Franklin and their perspectives on the rumours about her. I think this works well and show the show spread of rumours. The characters are given motivates for doing what they do that makes them some what sympathetic sometimes but still pretty dislikeable. Some where rather samey.

I appreciate what this novel was going for. There's this big secret at one point, however, it in a way it supports slut shaming. I think it was meant to be question what you hear, except I don't think it does a good enough of job of saying that. I think would have been better as an obvious lie, or rumour that spread out of control.

Overall, I give this book 4/5 stars for grilled cheeses. I do like this book and it pretty short (I apparently read it in three hours). I get what it was going for with the slut-shaming, it missed the mark somewhat. It does add and support narrative against slut shame, with the emphasis on small town rumours I get what it was meant to be. This was Mathieu debut and know her eventual follow-up Moxie is meant to be geniusly feminist (or something). I did enjoy the process of reading this book (I never know what to say about books with important messages) and if you like a book that tries then go for it.  

I got this book for review off NetGalley and is being published by Hodder Children's Books on 8th March 2018.

SickAThon

I've been ill all week, with weird arches in my legs. Joint pain is not fun. So I've really not done the things I should of and not been able to give this StrangeAThon my full effect as my full effect is in a bed.

The snow arrived here on Wednesday, which is my excuse for not seeing all the oscars nominated films. Though, I should have went last week, but was busy. I wanted to see Ladybird. I hope Get Out wins, or The Shape of Water and not Three Billboards Outsides Ebbing, Missouri. I enjoyed watching but I just don't think it worth it especially with its BAFTA wins.

I think it might age badly, I don't think it handles it subject matter as well. Maybe that's just my true crime fanatic (I'm not proud of that but it's fact) and disappointed by it. It uses violence as joke, which is cringy even now. Especially, when your plot surrounds a violent murder of I'm guessing a teenager. It not the worst, but definitely not the best of film.

I've been working on writing again. Nothing to share. I'm going to keep trying. Been applying for things for my future. I should be doing a better job of.

I'm off to do the things that I should have done early. Panic scream. Where is my life going.