Theresa Anne Braun

The April Selected Writer is Theresa Ann Braun

Please feel free to email Theresa at: theresa.ann.braun@gmail.com


by Theresa Anne Braun

Andrew kept lifting his cellular from his shorts’ pocket.

“I’m gonna drown that thing one of these days,” Jorge said, casting a line into the murky lake.

Andrew sneered. After hooking a frozen shrimp and sending it into the water, he belched obnoxiously.

“Dude, you’re scaring the fish away.”

They laughed.

Jorge burped even louder. “That’s what I think of your damn phone.” 

Andrew glanced down at the screen and jumped, smiling. “I almost missed this,” he said, displaying the kissy face emoticon. A gust of wind blew his brown hair into his eyes. He shook his head so he could see again.

Puckering up, Jorge played like he was trying to plant one on his friend.

Andrew pushed him away. “Let’s go. I’m gonna be late.”

They packed up the fishing gear.

Taking off his sunglasses and looking at himself in the rear view mirror, Andrew noticed stark white skin around his eyes. The rest of his face was warm. 

“Man, you’re gonna get there looking like a freakin’ raccoon on your big night,” Jorge said.

For a moment,Andrew worried that his sunburn might kill the mood. He flipped Jorge off. “It’ll be dark, smartass.”

The car rumbled off the crab grass and away from the lake.

Andrew’s phone chimed with a notification, so he reached for it.

“Come on, man. You’re driving,” Jorge said.

“I still have to shower.” Andrew went to his messages. “Gotta let her know.”

Jorge grappled for the device. “Let me do it.”

Andrew tried to get it back, cringing at the thought of his friend reading through the mushy message exchange with Adriana.

The cell went airborne. As Andrew’s attention followed the landing phone, he didn’t notice the traffic light turning red.

Jorge screamed.

Andrew looked up. Unable to stop, he gunned it through the light. Another car in the intersection rammed into their vehicle, sending them spiraling across the road. The tires squealed. A whir of trees and buildings beyond the car windows seemed to pass at lightning speed and slow motion at the same time. Andrew tugged at the steering wheel, vying for control until they smashed into a light pole. The front end crumpled like tissue paper, a stench of motor oil filling the air. 

Pieces of the windshield went flying. Andrew’s head smacked against the car’s interior. Sparkling stars flooded his vision. The side of his skull felt like it had been hit with a bat.

Blood spattered the dashboard. Andrew was afraid to look beside him, but made himself do it. Jorge’s head rested against the passenger window, his face sliced up and unrecognizable, a huge glass shard poking out from his cheek.

Andrew fumbled frantically for his cellphone in his pockets, between the seat, on the floorboards, until he found it wedged between his legs.

With shaky fingers, he dialed 911.

“State your emergency.”

Before he could get any words out, the phone slipped from his hands and he lost consciousness.  


Blips of blood red, flashes of green and silver, and a screeching sound surfaced in Andrew’s mind as he woke. His eyes adjusted to the dark room. There were no basketball trophies and his poster of Kobe Bryant wasn’t on the wall. Unease shot through him. He tried to turn his head, but the tubes in his nose and the neck brace arrested him. Looking down, he spotted the IV in his hand. There was a steady beep of his heart beat being monitored. It smelled like someone had spilled a vat of hand sanitizer.

Shit, what happened?

Andrew’s clouded mind yielded no memories. His back and head were sore.

The chair by the window was empty.  

Where’s Mom?

A phone on the side table was just out of reach. Andrew didn’t know any numbers from memory anyway. He scanned the room’s surfaces as much as he could for his cellphone. Nothing.

There had to be a nurse around—somebody. Maybe in the hall? He tried moving his legs in an effort to get up. It felt like a million needles pricked him. Lifting his arms, they smarted with sharp pain.

Sighing, he let his body go limp. The hospital bedding clung to his clammy skin.

The television mounted above the bed flickered on in a flurry of electronic snow. Shhhhhhh… An image of him and Jorge fishing by the neighborhood lake appeared on the television. They were sipping the Budweisers they snuck from Jorge’s fridge. Andrew blinked, not sure of what he saw. And then the monitor returned its show of fuzzy nothingness.

I must be on some serious drugs. 

He was frustrated that recalling being at the lake didn’t explain anything. Jorge had to know what happened—or maybe Adriana. That’s right. We were supposed to go to the movies. That night he was going to tell her he loved. Where is she?

Andrew felt abandoned. He anxiously wiggled his fingers and toes. Someone in the hospital had to be able to help him understand what he was doing here.

“Hello? Anybody?”

Only stillness.

What time is it?

He yelled again. “Hello?”

A muffled, “Shut up!” came through the wall.

One of the nurses leapt into the room. “It’s okay,” she whispered. Then she increased the dose of something plugged into his arm.

Everything went black.


There was a shadow reclined by the window.The chair suddenly turned and slid across the floor. It scooted closer and closer. Andrew’s gut tightened. His heart galloped a mile a minute. The figure came into better view. Whoever it was wore jeans, black Nikes, and a black hoodie shrouding the face. 

“Jorge?” Andrew asked.

The person slowly rose up to stand, then pushed back the hood. There was no face, only a slab of flesh. Andrew’s stomach lurched up into his throat. He swallowed hard, tearing the tubes and the IV from his body, throwing the bedding back as the thing’s hand reached for him. Andrew thought he might have a heart attack. He couldn’t breathe. The rail on the side of the bed imprisoned him. Just as he got ready to hurdle himself over the metal bars, the mattress violently shook. The entire frame rattled and squeaked as it jumped and crashed against the linoleum. 

Andrew opened his eyes, gasping for air. The bed settled to the floor.

“Honey, you alright?” his mother asked, springing up from the chair. Mrs. Walker rushed to her son’s side. After she surveyed the tangled mass of dangling tubes, she pressed the button on the wall.

A middle-aged nurse bounded onto the scene, swiftly reattaching Andrew to the medical apparatuses. “We might have to restrain you while you sleep. You can’t keep doing this.” Her voice was smooth and calm, instead of chiding. She turned to Mrs. Walker. “Let me know if you need anything. The doctor will be in shortly.”

His mom smiled. Once the nurse left, Mrs. Walker took her son’s hand.

“Mom, what happened? What am I doing here?” he asked.

“There, there. Just rest. We can talk about that later.”  She pulled an envelope from the pocket of her khaki pants. Her eyes watered. “I’ve been waiting for you to wake so I could give you this.”

The letter had already been open, his mother breaking a minor law to satisfy her undying curiosity. Andrew unfolded the paper. “I got in?” He pinched his arm to make sure he was awake.

“Yes, honey! Your dad would be so proud.” She squeezed his hand.

Andrew remembered being ten-years-old, playing basketball in the driveway, dribbling around his dad in circles. “You keep this up, son, and you’ll be playing for the Blue Devils in no time!” That had become Andrew’s dream—to be a starter for that winning team. Each time he watched a game, it was a tribute to his father and all the basketball they’d cheered on together. Now, he’d have to get in the mindset of going off to North Carolina.

“Where’s my phone? I’ve gotta tell Jorge and Adriana.” Why aren’t they here? He wasn’t sure where they’d be attending school next year or if they’d all still keep in touch. Until now, he hadn’t thought much about that. Hopefully, it would work itself out.

His mother’s expression was grim. She gazed at the shiny floor. “You need to rest.”

“Mom, what’s wrong?”

The nurse came in with breakfast. She pushed the mini-table on wheels into place, and put the food tray down. “Enjoy.”

Andrew could smell the toast and the rubbery-looking scrambled eggs, even though they were probably already cold. Almost as if she had never been there, the nurse was gone.  

“I’m going to get something to eat. You want anything else?” Mrs. Walker asked.

“No, Mom. Just some answers.” Andrew removed the foil from the orange juice and drank.

She tried to smile as she walked away, but it was more of a wince. 

Adriana greeted Mrs. Walker in the doorway. Standing next to the hospital bed, Adriana’s eyes were wide. “Oh, baby.” She leaned over and grabbed Andrew’s cheeks, kissing him.

The taste of her mouth made him feel so alive. He had a flash of her on the day they went to the beach. After loosening the towel around her, his fingers fumbled to undo her top. Seeing the wounded look in her eyes, he realized he wanted more from her than just getting into her bikini bottoms. His lips had gone to her forehead. He was almost embarrassed that this is where his thoughts went.

His breath hissed through the breathing tubes, so Adriana drew back. “Am I hurting you?”

“No, babes.” He wanted to wrap his arms around her, pulling her to him, but thought of all the medical equipment. “I’m so glad you’re here.” Should I say it now? He decided against it, fearing that an ‘I love you’ would seem random.

“I’m so happy you’re okay.” She took his hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Been better.” 

“Me, too.” She put her hand on his leg. “I was so worried when you didn’t make it to the movie. For a minute, I thought you hated me.”

“That’s silly.” I could say it now. The words weren’t ready to come out. “How’s Jorge? That lucky bastard is probably doing better than me.”

Tears welled in Adriana’s eyes. Her lip quivered. She tightened her hand on Andrew’s leg. “Your mom didn’t tell you?”

“No…that can’t be.” Andrew’s heart seemed to stop beating. A sudden void consumed him. His throat moistened with repressed tears. 

She nodded, covering her mouth. 

He wouldn’t let himself believe it. Once he got out of this bed, he’d march up to Jorge’s front door. His best friend would be there like always. Saturday they’d go fishing. The bait shop would finally have live shrimp. They’d catch a whole school of fish.


The nightmares kept coming. Then there was the real nightmare of the scads of inquiries about what really went down in the car the night of the accident. Everyone wanted to know—Jorge’s parents, Andrew’s mom, Adriana, the cops. He knew he was the one at the wheel, but there had to be an oncoming car out of nowhere, a stray animal scampering onto the road, a pedestrian he swerved to avoid. It had to be his fault, yet it couldn’t be his fault. How could he face the fact that no matter how he looked at it, he killed his closest friend?

He couldn’t.

And why was he still alive—how was that fair?

As Andrew washed his face, he wiped his thoughts clean with a towel. After taking a pain killer, he flung the medicine cabinet open, unscrewed a pill bottle, and popped one of his mother’s Xanax. Self-medicating seemed to keep the details at bay for most of the day. Since it would be his first Monday back to school, he needed all the help he could get.

He was still sore. The doctor instructed him to wear the neck brace for a few more weeks, but Andrew left it on the bathroom counter.

It was so odd driving a rental to school. The seat didn’t feel right, the wheel was at a crazy angle, and there wasn’t any window tinting. As he sat there, he couldn’t bring himself to turn the key in the ignition. The dizzying spinning, the jarring impact, the blood, the pain. Witnessing Jorge’s lifeless body sitting in the passenger seat. He feared that by driving that it would all happen again.

He had to go to school, so he started the engine. At one of the traffic lights, he tried to get his playlist connected to Bluetooth. Nothing but silence. He sighed before checking his phone for messages. The body shop was supposed to let him know the fate of his car. No word yet. No ‘good morning’ text from Adriana.

Green light. He drummed his fingers on his thigh. Probably everyone knew about the fatal collision by now. Grief counselors would be on campus—maybe even all week.

In his peripheral vision, Andrew spied something. When he turned to the neighboring seat, someone was sitting there.

Holy hell!   

He swerved on the asphalt, before driving steadily in his lane once again.

Even with his attention back to the road, he could feel the figure still beside him.

I’m losing it. 

He tried to focus on getting to school, on ignoring whatever it was in the vehicle with him. His hands shook as he maneuvered the steering wheel. He tapped his foot on the floor mat. There was the urge to turn up the volume of the radio, but that would mean his hand would get closer to his uninvited passenger. What if it grabbed him? What if he crashed again? He wondered if he would he ever be able to forget the accident.

Whoever it was snatched Andrew’s cellphone from his leg. His instinct was to fight for it right in the middle of driving, but he had the sense to pull over. That device was his life—all his contacts, private text messages, saved passwords, secret notes to himself, and pics (including a few bathroom mirror shots he hadn’t had the nerve to send yet to Adriana).

Whether this apparition was the result of drug side-effects or supernatural shit, he was going to confront whatever it was. Upon examining the figure, Andrew regarded the jeans and black hoodie. The open space around the face was pitch dark.

This person logged into his phone and started touching the screen.

“What the hell are you doing?” Andrew asked. “Jorge?”

The black hood rotated to face Andrew. “We need to talk.” The voice was deep and raspy. 

Andrew’s stomach did flips. “About what?”

“About this.” He held the cellular in the air. The phantom faded and the phone plummeted to the passenger seat.

Andrew rubbed his eyes and checked his saved information. No notes, no messages, no contacts, and no photos. 


When Andrew entered the hall of the English wing, he ignored the stares and whispers. He had tunnel vision for finding Adriana, hoping she could take his mind off of the creepy visits from what he thought had to be Jorge. He half expected to see his best buddy in the halls as if nothing had happened.

There Adriana was, a light dusting of glitter shimmering her cheeks, looking as angelic.

“Hey, Baby. How was the family thing?” Andrew’s hand clutched the strap of his backpack. The Xanax had kicked in even more. If only he could pretend his life had gone back to normal.

Adriana leaned against the wall, her braids bouncing as her head fell back. She sighed. “I would’ve rather been with you. So sorry I couldn’t.”

“It’s okay…” He winked half-heartedly, staring at her glossy lips. The taste of her kiss entered his mind. God, I love her.

Her cheeks reddened. “Were you able to finish the presentation? It must’ve been hard to concentrate.”

“What presentation?” he asked, trying to keep a straight face.

She bit her lip while pressing her binder to her chest.

“Aw, come on. I said I’d finish it.” Andrew picked up one of her braids and played with it. “It helped take my mind off things.” He felt strangely like the ghost of himself. His perception of reality was like a dream.

Adriana’s eyes beamed with understanding. The bell rang, sending students scattering in all directions. She kissed him before running to class. Mid-hall, she looked back. “See you at lunch!”


Andrew strolled into first period. A group of kids were clustered in the back of the room while the teacher scrawled the word of the day on the front board.

“Bro, I had no idea you could sing that high,” one boy said to Andrew. “And to be in such a great mood today? Shit’s messed up.”

Several of the students groaned in disapproval. Andrew’s stomach felt like it had been kicked.  

“And ‘Let It Go’?” another boy said. “You can’t just let what you did go—asshole.”

One of the girls shook her head. “Who’d you get to film you, anyway? Totally creepy.”

Andrew’s cheeks heated up. “What’re you talking about?” He thought back to before the accident when he’d belted out the Disney song in the shower. The morning after his first date with Adriana he had downloaded it. It was the happiest time he could remember—before the tragedy hovered over him like an ever present dark cloud.

“This stuff’s going viral as we speak.” The student shook his phone in the air and pressed the volume button. The track, Andrew’s voice, and the sound of running water blasted from the speaker.

“You’re already getting a million scathing comments, you douche.”

“Give me that!” Andrew seized the cell and witnessed his blurry form through the shower curtain. Somehow the shaving mirror on the counter was at just the right angle to capture his image in the reflection over the sink. The pitch of his voice was embarrassingly high and off key. Moments were garbled as he sang with water in his mouth. He scanned the post. Andrew’s eyes widened as he noticed it had come from his account this morning. How the hell? “That’s not me!”

“It’s totally you. And that Finding Nemo shower curtain—thank God it’s covering up your junk.”

That was a small victory. “Dude, gimme it!” he yelled, clawing to get his phone back.

The final bell for class to start seemed to shake the room. “All right, break it up. Phones away,” the teacher said. “It’s a hard time for everyone. I need you to settle down.”

Andrew sat and slid down in his chair, his black T-shirt growing damp. His heart skipped as he wondered how this could have happened. It’s not like he’d pressed record while showering. Where had this file come from? And why was it posted now—and from his own account? But maybe that meant he could take it down!

His mind teemed with worry as to how he might dodge further humiliation. When I find the son of a… He clenched his jaw and waited for the end of English class.

I need another Xanax.


The minute the bell sounded, Andrew hurried into the hall where he heard someone chanting,
“Let it go, let it go! That perfect girl is gone…Let it go!”

Andrew yanked up the hood on his sweatshirt and ducked into the restroom. The handicapped stall was free, so he locked himself in and took a few deep breaths. He pulled up the social media site and searched for the delete button. 

His phone buzzed and a notification popped up. “Why’d u send a video of us MAKING OUT 2 my mom?” Adriana texted. “& y now? I don’t understand.”

What the hell? “I don’t even have her #!”

“I no ur going thru a lot, but jeez!”

“I didn’t do it.”

Andrew’s blood boiled. His temples throbbed. I’m stuck in a damn nightmare. Two crazy incidents in less than two hours. He massaged his forehead.

“OMG! & I thought u were 1 of the nice guys. I just saw THIS:” Adriana punctuated the message with an unhappy face and attached a screenshot of one of their text conversations. “& THIS is on snapchat right now!” she texted.

“I deleted that.” He knew he had gotten rid of it ages ago so he could pretend it had never happened. And now his phone was empty of data. It didn’t make any sense.

“We r over…”

Andrew read the text several times, dumbfounded. What could he say? He slid the phone back into his pocket. 10:30 and he had lost his dignity and his girl. His gut twisted. The agony of missing Jorge intensified. He broke down sobbing, tears streaming down his cheeks. Backing himself to the tile wall at the rear of the stall, he slid to the floor.

He wondered if he could get his mom to sign him out early. Surely, she’d understand; but she’d want to talk to him about his feelings. He wasn’t sure he was strong enough for that.

Hugging his backpack, Andrew rested his head on it and waited for second period to finish. The thought of getting caught skipping or being suspended from school didn’t even cross his mind.


The bell for lunch chimed at last. He needed to hunt down Adriana and talk some sense into her. If she saw him face to face, she would know he was telling the truth, no matter how absurd it seemed. He had never lied to her. Peering into her eyes, she’d have to believe him.  

He dashed from the language arts building and under the cover of the breezeway. Dark clouds flooded the sky and the wind picked up. A flicker of light was followed by the grumbling of thunder. The smell of rain was already thick in the air.

“Andrew Walker to the office. Andrew Walker to the office. Immediately,” the principal’s voice boomed on the PA.

Aw, come on!

He changed course and headed for what he felt was his doom. The front office assistant recognized Andrew and thumbed for him to go right in to the see Mr. Fuerst, who was buttoning his suit jacket. He motioned for Andrew to shut the door behind him and sit in front of the imposing desk.

“So,” he said, glaring fiercely. After picking up his cellphone, he pushed it toward the defendant. “Can you explain to me why you sent me such a foul message?” He stowed the device in his jacket pocket. Once seated in his leather swivel chair, he tapped his fingers together. His lips were tight.

“Sir?” Andrew sighed.  

“I won’t ask how you got my personal number. I do keep wondering what would possess a young man such as yourself to send me something so vile. Maybe you can enlighten me, Mr. Walker.”

“What, sir? I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Andrew swallowed hard.

“The police have traced it to you. So, you know exactly what I’m talking about.” Mr. Fuerst glowered at him and turned his desk phone around, picking up the receiver. He handed it to Andrew and pointed at the keypad. “Here, call your mother. Tell her why you’re here.”

Great. That’s just what I need right now. “Sir, it wasn’t me.” Andrew slumped in the chair, crossing his arms.

“You’re actually going to deny this? And to act like this after recent events? Unbelievable.” The principal slammed the receiver down. “Fine. I’ll call your mother.”

The guilt set in again. Andrew tried to go at least one day without thinking about the accident—the mangled car, the splattering of blood. Jorge’s mangled face. “Sir, you’ve got this all wrong.” He willed back tears, yearning to return to the bathroom where he could let it all out.

“No, I believe it’s you that have it wrong. Get out of my sight. You’re on external suspension until further notice.” Mr. Fuerst rose from his chair and pointed to the door. “Say goodbye to your Duke scholarship. They won’t touch you after this.”

Andrew skulked from the room, actually relieved he could leave campus. His Adidas hit the asphalt so fast, he swore his feet felt the rubber burning. He choked back tears, fearing someone might see him. Losing his basketball scholarship was a possibility he couldn’t swallow. It was already bad enough that he didn’t think he could ever forgive himself for Jorge’s death. He just wanted to lock himself in his room, to never come out.

He bolted across the parking lot and got into the rental. The door rattled as he banged it shut. He tossed his phone onto the passenger seat before gripping the steering wheel and bumping his head on it.

“Having a bad day?” Siri’s voice chirped through the Bluetooth system.

Andrew raised his head. Is my phone talking to me? He rubbed his eyes. The keys were on his lap. Realizing that and the fact that the system hadn’t worked that morning increased his pulse rate.   

“Yeah, I’m talking to you.”

After picking up his phone, he looked at the display. Everything seemed normal. He punched in his security code. Then he checked the notifications. Are there voice commands on this thing? But he didn’t command it to do anything. The stress of the day must have had him hallucinating.

Soon it’ll be spouting Latin and levitating.

“I’m not going away, Andrew.”

It knows my name? Holy—! He snatched the smart phone from the seat and powered it off.            

The phone rang. Oh, my God! How the—?

The caller ID read “Mom,” so he answered without thinking. But all my contacts are erased.

“Andrew?” she asked, her voice sounding tired and hoarse.

“You all right?”

“I’m at Broward General. Please come.” She hung up.

Dang! What happened?

He started the car and sped off.


After peeling into the lot and parking, Andrew sprinted to the emergency room desk. He felt jittery, having just been there days before. After hearing the news that he had lost his best friend, he shuddered to think about how his mother was doing.

He knees wobbled with emotional exhaustion. Panting, he put his hand on the counter to keep from collapsing. “I’m here to see Mrs. Walker.”

The nurse scanned the list of patients. “I’m sorry, but she’s not here.”

“Please look again. Jasmine Walker. She just called me.”

“Sorry. There must be some mistake.” The nurse got up to retrieve some manila folders.

Andrew paced. Moisture beaded his face. His shirt was soaked at the armpits. He felt his brain go into overdrive. Where’s Mom?

The reality of standing in this very hospital made him dizzy. His vision hazed. He rubbed his throbbing forehead.

Spotting the restroom, Andrew decided to splash some water on his face. The faucet took a few seconds to run cold. After patting his skin dry, he stood there, gazing at his reflection. The room went dim.

Siri’s voice spoke, “You murderer.” The words were slow and deliberate.

Taking the phone out of his jean pocket, he saw the screen was black. It was still off. Had it been on when his mom called? He didn’t remember.

Where’s the sound coming from?

“The world would be better without you in it.” The digital voice seemed to be in his head while also bleeding into the room.

In a trance, in some weird meditative state where he was losing control, Andrew tightened his grip on the phone. He smacked it into the mirror, cracking the glass. The shards rained in a clanging symphony onto the tile.

You can’t destroy me, Andrew. A loud, maniacal laugh reverberated through the tiny room.

“Sir, you okay in there? Sir?” someone outside the door yelled.

Andrew kneeled on the floor, staring at the glowing broken screen. Fragments of plastic and metal littered the ground. How was it still functioning?

You should off yourself, Andrew.

Without thinking, he took up a piece of mirror. He gazed at his sweaty face and his vacant brown eyes reflecting from his hand. Was there really a reason to live? His dad was dead—and so was Jorge. Everyone at school thought he was a joke. His girlfriend dumped him. The principal hated him. His mom had obviously abandoned him. He wouldn’t be going to Duke.

Andrew caught sight of Jorge standing in the corner. His clothes were soiled with dirt and blood from the collision. Cuts and abrasions covered his body. Lacerations on his face were so deep that parts of his skull could be seen. His scalp hung in flaps. One of his eyes was just an empty crimson socket. Out of his cheek poked the sliver windshield.

A crippling grief overwhelmed Andrew as the specter of who he’d killed confronted him. That image, the fact that he was responsible, would never leave him. It would be there at every turn. It would stare back at him from everyone and everything. It would be there in the eyes of his first born, if that was a part of his future—a future that seemed erased. Pointless.

He sliced into his wrist the long way. That was sure to do the trick. Red spurted everywhere. A glistening slick of blood covered the floor. The wall became a Pollock bespattered painting. He felt woozy.

Jorge went to Andrew and helped ease him onto the cold porcelain. He kneeled over him, putting pressure on the gashes.

The door flung open and a stream of bright light invaded the room.  A man with a bandaged head and a nurse in green scrubs hovered over Andrew. The dampness underneath his body chilled him. The smell of iron was thick in the over-air-conditioned air.  

“Code blue!” a nurse yelled.

Medical staff loaded him onto a gurney and rolled him down the bright white-walled hallway. The fluorescent lights whirred past overhead.

Jorge’s disfigured face hung over Andrew’s as Jorge helped wheel him into the emergency room. A bloody finger waved in chastisement before the battered hand pocketed the remains of Andrew’s phone.

Regret and the anguish overcame Andrew because he knew the doctors would save him.

Theresa Braun was born in St. Paul, Minnesota and has carried some of that hardiness with her to South Florida where she currently resides with her two fur babies, who are her creative sidekicks. She enjoys delving into creative writing, painting, photography and even bouts of ghost hunting. Traveling is one of her passions—in fact, her latest adventure took her to Romania for a horror writers’ workshop where she followed in the steps of Vlad the Impaler. She writes horror fiction and the occasional romance. Oh, and she likes to guest blog about writing, television shows, movies, and books, mostly in the horror genre. Her short story “Shout at the Devil” appears in Under the Bed Magazine, “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” in Hindered Souls, and “Dead over Heels” is published by Frith Books.