Tag Archives: fear

Angella Jacob & Pierre C. Arseneault Authors- DARK TALES FOR DARK NIGHTS


by Angella Jacob & Pierre C. Arseneault

9781832926217   $8.99   90 pgs

DARK TALES FOR DARK NIGHTS is a collection of six dark and unique short stories that explore the mysteries and suspenseful realm of the supernatural, encounters with legendary monsters, fear and of love that continues even in death leave you with a fright at night!  These stories offer a new twist on the traditional suspense/horror stories of the past and highlight the talented imagination of first time authors Angella Jacob and Pierre C. Arseneault.

Artemesia Publishing

9 Mockingbird Hill Rd.

Tijeras, New Mexico  87059



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by  J. Ibeh Agbanyim

Fear is powerful, and it has a presence in whatever we do in life – whether that is passing our exams, keeping peace in our homes, or simply adjusting to the constantly changing world.  In FEAR, author J. Ibeh Agbanyim offers a guidebook that portrays fear as a healthy emotion- as long as it is well managed.

Demosstrating practical ways that fear can work in our favor instead of working against us, Agbanyim focuses on the importance of using fear as a healthy emotiong to achieve goals on a daily basis.  He discusses techniques for believing in constructive fear, evaluating the quality of fear, adjusting to the conditions of life, and entertaining the notion that even Jesus feared.

Available from iUniverse

Softcover ISBN978-1-4917-1177-4

Hardcover ISBN978-1-4917-1178-1

Ebook ISBN978-1-4917-1179-8



This title is also available through your local bookseller or preferred on-line retailer.

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Dan Denman Author- WEAVER’S BEAM


by Dan Denman

Horror sruck the world leaders. An unstoppable terrorist plot and ransom demand had been set in place by al-Qaeda, mujahadin, Taliban, and Hamas’ minds. A counter plan to thwart and lure these devious maniacs to a certral location and extract the crucial information to halt the coming mass extinctions of life must be orchestrated. Something so equally devious must be contrived, something that can elude the terrorists’ suspicions, yet can sway them to let their guard down and relax.

A sample of terrorists’ evil ransom plan has been enacted in Burma. Many thousands died and the world leaders did not believe these rebels could have devised and carried out this mass-murder, engineered fear. However, another strike in two months would fall on the major powers and their decision not to pay the ransom would mean the next deaths and would be on their hands!

The FBI women have concocted an equally deceptive counter plot. A weaving of minds and bodies, superior beauty and athleticism, combined with the magic of cinematography will be the bait. What can be done to unlock these evil men’s scheme? The answers lie with the power of persuasion by deception and where the fear of the Weaver’s Beam comes into play.

Dan Denman attended Michigan Technological University for several years, then Pima Community College, taking civil engineering courses. The author earned a B.A. degree at Prescott College with a competence in management. Currently designing and managing the construction of water works projects, Denman revisited his imaginative side.

To contact the author, pleaase leave messages at (520) 744-3763

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Jillian Cantor Author- THE SEPTEMBER SISTERS


       by Jillian Cantor


This novel illustrates life as it truly is—filled with fear and danger, hope and love, comfort and uncertainty.

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Randy Ford Author- emotional vomit

      Don found them.   They hadn’t expected to see him again.   He explained in his quirky way that he found heaven in Mindanoa.   Then he said, “But heaven wasn’t enough for me.   At age twenty-one, twenty-two, getting a degree, Chase Western, no, none of it was enough, not for me.   In Mindanoa, I was reading about Venezuela, and down there in heaven it had become required reading.   Until then I hadn’t thought of Venezuela, and then finally I was able to see where I wanted to go.   Indeed before coming up here, I hadn’t thought it through; but now, seeing how you two are ready to go, I’m ready too.   I’ve had enough Peace Corps.   So I’m off to Venezuela.   Why Venezuela?   I haven’t a clue.”   And they all three laughed.

       Late one night, right before they were scheduled to leave, Susan woke Ted up.   She couldn’t sleep.  She was in the lightweight summer pajamas she always wore to bed.

      She said, “Ted, I’ve got to get out of this room.   It’s too quiet.   This is not Manila.”   Until then she had thought she was some place else, or had she been dreaming?   In deed, as she lay there next to Ted, she laid out all their plans for the week, including all they had to do when they got to Singapore in a day or two.   But she was so completely in charge that she could hardly believe it, so full of energy that she could no longer lie there next to her husband.   She had to wake him up.   For some time she realized she no longer heard the clamor and the chaos of Manila, that she had grown accustomed to it and had concluded that Manila had become her home.   She had tried to sleep.   She was reminded of all of the kids she taught in school and felt sure that one of them would one day become president of the Philippines.   To hell with Marcos!   Who never showed up!   The bastard!   What had her all fired up?   Now what?   A flight to Singapore.

      She recalled how daunting those first flights were: first to San Francisco, then Hawaii.   How when she landed there in Hawaii she was expected to be someone else, to have changed on the flight.   She was constantly tempted to quit.   There was always more training, more reflection, so on.   She found she first had to do what? She first had to decide what.   Just as she now needed to decide.   “Ted get up!”


      “Let’s go for a walk.   Something’s missing.”

      “At this hour?”

     “Yes!”   She wanted to say, “You’ve dragged me half way around the world and now you want me to” and of course she couldn’t/wouldn’t say it right.   Forget all those bad memories.   “Ted get up!”

      They went to the elevator and there was no elevator operator at that time of night.   They looked for the fire escape when Susan insisted that she needed air.   She had lived through an earthquake.   So she could live through this.

       She had never confided her doubts to Ted in any comprehensible way, and he started talking about how he wished they could afford to buy a jeepney, an untouched jeepney with all the color, pomp and circumstance, and tour the world in it.   She told him that since age four she had been scared to death.   Yes, age four.   Did he hear her?   All he did all the time was talk about Borneo, Singapore, Malaysia, and Thailand; and in so doing, he once again left her behind.   Stand your ground girl.

      “Ah, he said, “But we’d have find a way of shipping the darn thing.”

       When he said that, she didn’t know what he was talking about.

      It was a typical night.   She asked to be held.   She was learning.   He held her tight.   Ted felt how she relaxed in his arms.   She returned to the same things out of her past over and over again: masturbating by definition.   She was learning to forget to edit.   Many might’ve found the exercise passe and even useless, but it wasn’t to her.   She was doing well and mostly by herself.   How often had she remembered her father doing everything for her and not allowing her to do things for herself?   But what if that wasn’t true?   What difference would it make?

      Susan said, “I don’t know if I can adjust to another place.”

      He said, “I think you can.”

      Walking the streets of Manila.   That was it.   That was all they did for a week.   And without direction.   Perhaps it was because they didn’t need direction.   Manila had become their home.

      She said, “I want you to promise me something, that you won’t die on me.   Just think if something were to happen to you in a place where they didn’t speak English.”

      Randy Ford

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Randy Ford Author-on dreams deferred or taking a pass

      We each had a trunk.   Susan hadn’t packed them yet and procrastinated as long as she could, and sometimes I would place something into mine, maybe a book from the library the Peace Corps provided each volunteer.   I pretended we wouldn’t stay long.   We would just go to the Philippines to check it out.   We didn’t yet know our assignments.

      Life hadn’t slowed down for us one bit.   One night, in that room of ours that really wasn’t a room, where shower curtains separated the couples who lived together in that schoolroom, and where we couldn’t hold private conversations without loud music, (oh, how I grew to hate Bob Dylan) Susan looked as if she could cry.

      I asked, “What’s going on?”

      She said, in a tiny voice, “I don’t know if I can do this.”

      I said, “You’ll do fine.”

      She said, “If I were home now, I would want to get pregnant.”   She just said that.   What she really wanted to say was…what she was aching for was to go back to school.   Training had shown her that.   She would have to have more education to go where she wanted to go.   She still had plenty time to think about having a family.

      I said, “That sounds like fun.”


      “Forget it.”   What else could I have said?   So I took a pass again and said, “We’ll do fine.   Fine.”   By then I had learn my lines.   I had them down pat and had half convinced myself.   Then when we were all packed and ready to go, I said to Susan, “I don’t understand it.   I still know nothing at all about science.   Often I can’t distinguish the difference between life and a rock.   And yet I’ve been given a pass.   They must want me to fail.”   I should’ve said, “I’m scared, Susan.   I want to cash it in.   Let’s go ahead and have a family.”   But I was too chicken.   And remember I don’t backtrack.   All I said was, “we can do this.”   But I could’ve screamed because I was screaming inside.

      My wife then said, “I’ve written your mom and dad and told them that they needn’t worry, that the Peace Corps will take care of us.   I told them we’ve had all of our shots, over fifteen different varieties, everything from yellow fever to typhoid…medically poked and examined, tested for TB and x-rayed, and Scouts honor we’ll boil our water.”

      I was off to Hilo again for one last filling.   I was with a doctor for over an hour, and he shocked me with “how long have you had a heart mummer.”   Whereupon I said to myself, “Okay, this is it.”   But there would be no reprieve.

      So I figured Susan was right: we would be taken care of.   The Peace Corps, in spite of my indecision, with all my doubts and fears, never showed its hand, and I wouldn’t know until I was in country where for the next twenty-one months my assignment would be.   I assumed I would be teaching, teaching science somewhere.

      She said, “So I suppose we’ll have to defer that.”

      And I thought I knew what she was talking about.   For after all the possibility of her getting pregnant was very real.   Everyone knew that slipups happen.   There were contingency plans for everything, duel citizenship even might’ve been possible for the baby.   My job was being the man.   It had been pretty well set when I refused to do the laundry.   My mom took the blame for that.   She always said she didn’t train me right.   But it wasn’t written in stone or anything like that.   Susan and I mostly had worked it out.   She had her jobs and I had mine.   It had worked out pretty well.   It was something we fought through, but we never thought it would be easy.   “Marriage wasn’t for sissies:” I used to say that sometimes when I’d get frustrated, over minor things mostly, nothing that we couldn’t resolve.   All of our belongings had to fit into our two trunks: that meant everything we had accumulated during our marriage that we hadn’t stored (except of course what we could take with us on the plane).   Those trunks would contain memories and many things we didn’t end up using.   We didn’t know if our trunks would get through safely.   We ran the risk of losing anything in them of value.

      I got myself geared up.   I had finally taken responsibility for my decision to sacrifice my career.   Our decision had become my decision, and now I felt glad that I had made it.   The stipend we would earn each month was paltry; but the savings the Peace Corps would set aside for us, which was ours upon completion of our service, would be enough to soften our return.   We weren’t thinking of the money.   Believe it or not, we would have enough money not only to live on but also to support and afford a live-in maid.   Did we feel guilty?   No.

Randy Ford

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Randy Ford Author-on doubts and service

      I would say, “I want to help out.”   I wasn’t sure I could do it, but it seemed worthwhile.   I felt certain I would witness change as people were helped.   I didn’t really know it though.   Deep down I had doubts.   The faces, ribs, bellies of starvation and malnutrition, gaunt, showing, and pouched, in the slums of the world without running water came in and out of my mind.   It caught my imagination.   I could see myself working for CARE or a rice project as part of the Green Revolution.   That would’ve justified my giving up a career in the theater.   But there wasn’t a chance for me.   I knew nothing about starvation, and besides I was assigned to teach.   With the end of training near and time running out, I thought there was no one I could talk to about it.   The one person had been deselected.   For the first time I saw I should’ve taken her place.   There was sincerity about her and honesty; it had attracted me to her; and you could see she would’ve made a good volunteer.   The Peace Corps had been wrong about her.   I should’ve been on that flight home instead of her.

      I didn’t know what to say to Susan.   I couldn’t say, “We made a mistake.   We don’t make mistakes like that.   When have we ever turned around and gone back?   What do we do now?”   And all of that would’ve impacted our marriage, and to tell the truth, I didn’t want to give up.   I didn’t want to think of failure.   I didn’t want to think ahead.   So I took off, down the lane through the fields, with the cane grown up over my head, and walked just as I had as little boy through the vineyards of California.   Just as dangerous.   Looking ahead I couldn’t see very far, and then the ocean wasn’t that very far away.

      I took to going on long walks at night and long after everyone else had gone to sleep.   I would scold myself.   One night I ran into Don.   He surprised me in the dark.   I was just as confused as I had been for a long time.   I thought that as our science instructor, and a returned volunteer, that Don could tell me if my fears were justified, but, as I stood in a T-shirt and boxer shorts, I was, to tell the truth, afraid if I confided in him I would be on the next plane home.   I could so easily have been deselected; one poor rating would’ve done that.   I could simply tell him.   But then, I would be nagged with a sense of failure, and I had had enough failure in my life.   But what if Don were indifferent?   Could I trust him to be indifferent?   Indifference would be key to my trusting him.   We went and sat on the front steps of the schoolhouse, under the flagpole, with the hosting cord flapping in the wind like bunting on the Fourth of July.   Just the connection I needed.

      That was how we became friends.   Nothing said, no explanation was requested, yet something special happened.   To begin with he knew I knew nothing about science, and I had begun to get the sense he knew that way before we met that night.   I was scared.   Why hadn’t I been deselected before then?   Why hadn’t he facilitated that process?   But what had he seen in me to make him think that I could ever teach science?   I certainly trusted his knowledge…about rocks and animals, non-living and living things…as the first indication that he also knew something about people.   That was only the first thing that came into my mind.   I knew there was more to being a Peace Corps volunteer than an assignment…more to it than teaching science.

      The first thing I would have to do was to ask Don a question or two.   I waited for him to speak to me.   There was a long silence, but yet it seemed as if we were communicating.   And that drew us closer to each other.   Mixed up with this was my fear.   I could see that he was also pondering something, even if he didn’t seem afraid.   I thought I heard him mumble something.   He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, or were they fully closed?   It would’ve been hard to tell on this particular night, colder and darker than you would’ve expected for Hawaii.   It wasn’t what I would’ve expected from him.   For one thing what was he doing up at that hour.

      Such intimacy wasn’t new for me.   A few times in my life something special like that happened.   But that was rare.   Generally it occured when I first met someone or when someone first paid attention to me.   I always had to commit myself and then something happened that took care of whatever was going on.

      I was so connected once with a whole group of people…after my focus and concentration on horseshoes won me a week of competition even though I had rarely played the game before…that they threw me into a swimming pool with my clothes on.

      Don said, “you’ll do fine.”

      Fine?   I felt he had no right to tell me I would do fine.   Who was this person?   He didn’t know me.   The word “fine” was never a word that I would use to describe what I wanted to do.   Excellence, or the word “run” did fit though.

      I said, “how do you know?”

      “I’ve been there.   And I know that it’s better not to know too much.”

      He spoke with authority, and it sounded good, but I didn’t know what he meant.   Weren’t we being sent over there to do job…we were selected because we were at least BA generalist, which meant with my MA I was slightly over qualified or more than met the educational qualifications.   (It could’ve meant I also was a lemon in a barrow of apples.)   And then I saw where Don was coming from.   If I had been a science teacher, I wouldn’t have been a generalist.   This might’ve explained it.   And I could see he had my future in his hands.

     He said, “You never know what an outcome will be until you give it a try.   That’s pure science.   Impressions count.   The rest is bullshit.”

      That would’ve suited me had it been true.   “The rest is bullshit” was obviously a statement about Don’s attitude.   I could see at that point that his mind had drifted.

      He said, “They say they want me to go back and give it another try.   As if they weren’t satisfied.   I’m not interested in repeating myself.   What are you going to do?”

      I still didn’t know.   I knew I wasn’t a science teacher.   I said, “What do you think I should do?”

      “I don’t know.   No one will care, except you.   Have you talked to your wife about it?”

      I said, “But that doesn’t help.”

      “You’ll do what you have to do.   As far as the Philippines, they have their own agenda.”

      He looked at me.   I saw that he had a decision to make too.

Randy Ford


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