Monday, 3 November 2014

Featured Book: Ghostly Visitations and Southern Destinations by Anthony Renfro

There comes a moment in all our lives when we sit back and do a mental inventory. We, in essence, see our lives flash before our eyes. Parson Slang was taking that mental inventory as he sat on the edge of the bed, waiting, a box of shells beside him and hands within reach of a shotgun that would end a human life. He hoped it wouldn't come to that. The deal is done once the body goes cold. There was no turning back … 
Parson was, at one point in time, a warehouse worker. A simple day to day guy, and then that Golden Pirate showed up with the map leading to buried treasure. Parson had debated about it for a good long time, but the chance to wind up rich in this world was too much for him to pass up. So he took the next step, and journeyed beyond his front door, into this new life where he found himself sitting on a bed with a shotgun in his hand, waiting for the door to open. 

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Parson Slang woke up and opened his eyes. Something was strange about the night. The thick darkness was now invaded with light. No. It wasn’t light. It was illumination. This illumination hung over him, soft, creamy white. It oozed and pulsed as it highlighted his half exposed body, where a cold sweat had started to form.
A sharp gust of wind cracked the window causing Parson to jump and he knew what you may or may not already know. Something was standing by his bed waiting for him to turn and see. To see what, Parson wasn’t sure. The mind raced with possibilities. Anything and everything could have crawled up out of the dark and formed while he slept. With hesitation Parson turned, turned to see the horror that had awakened him from his dreams.
Standing beside the bed was the ghost of a pirate. This pirate stood about six feet tall, and he was decked out like a pirate from head to toe. He had long dread locks for hair, a shaggy black beard, and a red feather sticking out of his hat. He wore pirate clothes and boots the color of gold. If you wanted a cliché pirate to look at, then this guy was your guy.
Parson didn’t hesitate or pause when he saw the apparition. He flew across the king size bed (more cushion for the loving) and onto the floor with a hard thud. His butt hit the floor first, and then his head hit the wall. Parson looked up at the unmoving pirate who just stood there with its cold dark empty eyes, deep and haunting. It didn’t speak or make any gestures before it just poofed out, leaving a lingering white mist in the room which also disappeared.
Parson was speechless.
He got up off the floor (this part is important) and ran, not walked, over to the light switch. Light flooded the room as he stood there planted to the wall, cold sweat drying on his back. There was no one there. The pirate was gone.
Parson checked the clock. It was just after 4 in the morning, and work would be calling by 7. He checked his sleep impulses and realized they were gone. The sleep he would have had tonight was done.
The wind howled again, and this time Parson could have sworn there was a voice on the wind – PAAAAARRRRRRRSSSSSSOOOOONNNNNNNNNNNNNN – it said.
He ignored the voice as he slipped on a shirt and walked into the hallway (another light turned on) and then into the kitchen (more light). He made coffee, had breakfast, and then waited for the day to arrive.
The day passed as usual from that point forward, 7 A.M.-4:30 P.M., typical warehouse
work, nothing special to see here folks.
Once the day was finished, a tired and aching Parson drove 7 miles back to his

house and parked in his gravel driveway. He shut off the car and looked at his house, the white structure, no bigger than a trailer. It had been such a peaceful house before the pirate showed up. Now when he saw his home, the word “haunted” was all that sprang to mind.
Parson got out of his car, and he looked over at the dying winter sun. The world would go dark and cold pretty soon, and he still needed to get a run in. The wind gusted, and Parson braced himself against it.

He found his feet and walked up to the door. He took out the key and pushed it into the lock and turned. He was sure he would see that pirate on the other side of the door. He was sure that pirate would be standing there with those empty eyes staring back at him.
He opened the door slowly; and then, when he found the courage, he shoved it open all the way – hard! The door banged against the wall. No pirate to be seen, just his house filled with the light of a dying day.
Parson went inside and closed the door behind him. He was concerned with getting in a run before the weather turned bad, so he focused on that as he went into the bedroom. He grabbed his running gear and then walked over to the calendar. He always did this before he ran. It was self mojo, and it worked.
Parson stared at the calendar and the circle he had placed on it. In that circle was this statement 10K (6.2 Miles). He sighed, “Never going to make that goal.”

About the Author
Anthony lives in Apex, North Carolina. He is the self-published author of multiple short stories and the novel "Ghostly Visitations and Southern Destinations." He is a reader, writer, runner, husband, father, and stay at home dad - one of the toughest jobs anyone could ever do.

Connect with Anthony online