Creepy Doll Contest--Stories

Below are some entries in the Creepy Doll Contest. They're in no particular order and the names have been removed to protect the innocent!

“My son had a girlfriend whom he broke up with because she had been acting very “strange.” Soon after, he and I were stalked by someone who turned out to be her, and even though she lived far from us, she had a close friend who was a psychic using telekinesis. I never believed in that until this situation occurred. Things started disappearing. Sometimes they would reappear later. It drove us crazy. She would email us using a fake email address so we didn’t know who it was at first—telling us she had removed things that belonged to us and making veiled threats. One of the emails said to look in my jewelry drawer; there I found a weird-looking doll pin that gave me the creeps. I spoke to a psychic locally and asked her advice. She said to bury the doll pin. I did that—the next day it was back in my drawer. When we finally uncovered who was doing this to us—we contacted the authorities and it stopped. I still get the willies about that doll pin. I think I finally threw it out and that was the end of it except for the strange memories.”

“We had a baby Crissy doll that was supposed to have been in a storage closet. We checked the closet and couldn't find the doll. We looked through everything and still couldn't find it. A couple of months later we went and looked through the closet again and found the doll. What was weird about it was that the doll was in an easy place to find when we looked the second time but we couldn't find it there the first time. It wasn't in the closet at all the first time.”

“Just thought I would tell you about one of my dolls I played with. I was about 8 years old at the end of WWII and my parents bought me a DyDee doll that supposedly wet. The head was of a composition and the body was rubber—well I dropped it and the head broke off but my mother said I went ahead and played with it since they could not afford to buy me another one. AND I TURNED OUT NORMAL go figure!”

“This really creeped me out. When I was about 8 years old, I got a present at Christmas and I knew it was either a doll in the cradle or just the cradle with the way the wrapping was. So I was totally excited and I opened it, picked up the doll and the head fell off and into the cradle! I was screaming! I remember it clearly. My mom told me that she couldn't calm me down nor was I able to understand her (I am deaf and didn't have much communication then). She said I refused to play with my dolls for a long time. I have bothered my sisters, I had four of them, since then, asking if one of them did it and they all deny it. I still can't figure out to this day how the head came off, cuz its one of those baby dolls and I remember those things were hard to put together, like putting the leg back on. I have a daughter, but when she was young, she never liked dolls except for this rag doll we got from a discount store. Head is not removable!”

Texas Ransom Excerpt

PROLOGUE

A waxing moon rose over the barren countryside as the black Escalade bumped along a back road that ran parallel to the border. Two hundred yards away, across the Rio Grande, was the Texas Big Bend National Park, a vast terrain of canyons, desert, and mountains. A place where a man could stay invisible for days if he needed to.

Leo Kittering sat alone in the backseat and stared straight head as the headlights tunneled through the darkness. He glanced back once, uneasy by their proximity to the border, but the road was clear. Nothing behind them but a swirl of dust that hung shimmering in the moonlight.

Kittering turned away from the window. His heart pounded and he felt the kind of adrenaline rush he hadn’t known in years. And with good reason because soon everything would be in place.

The man and woman...they wouldn’t know what hit them.

He didn’t want to get ahead of himself, though. There was still a lot to be done. Too many things that could yet go wrong. An operation of this magnitude—bigger than anything Leo had attempted before—was a delicate balance of careful planning and daring improvisation.

A part of him wished that he could be there when it all went down, but his time for that kind of work had come and gone. He was no longer a young man or in the best of health. But even if he had still been in his prime, he wouldn’t risk crossing the border. If he was spotted and detained by the authorities, the whole plan would be jeopardized.

Besides he didn’t need to see their faces at the exact moment they realized their lives were over. He could take just as much satisfaction in the aftermath.

He shifted his considerable weight in the seat and rolled down the window for a breath of fresh air. The man in the front passenger seat glanced over his shoulder. He had a cell phone to his ear, and he palmed the speaker to ask in an anxious voice, “Leo, you okay?”

The older man shrugged, not bothering to answer.

The vehicle came to a stop, and to his right he could see the glitter of moonlight on muddy water. For years, American tourists and Mexican villagers had crossed the river in nearby Boquillas, a loosely enforced Class B port of entry. Leo himself had come over not far from here, but that had been a long time ago. The crossing was officially closed now, but residents of the tiny village continued to go back and forth with their livestock. And often with even more valuable cargo.

Leo’s mind churned with memories and emotions and with a growing sense of unease. “They’re not here,” he muttered as apprehension fingered down his spine.

The man with the cell phone turned again. “Don’t worry, they’ll show. There’s too much at stake for them not to.”

I hope you’re right, Kittering thought, his eyes still glued to the water. Because if Gabriel Esteban didn’t come soon, somebody would have to pay.

As if reading his mind, Hector Reyes—the man with the cell phone—shot him a worried looked. “I made the arrangements myself. They’ll show,” he said again, as if he, too, needed reassuring.

Kittering closed his eyes for a moment, letting the humid air and fecund smell of the river wash over him. He’d brought T.J. here once, when they’d been on a camping trip in Big Bend. The boy couldn’t have been more than seven or eight because they’d still been living in San Antonio at the time. Leo had owned his own business even then, been a well-respected member of the community. Happily married, a settled family man. Then a few risky deals had soured and he’d found it necessary to relocate in something of a hurry to Mexico City.

His wife, Lena, had refused to come with him. She’d tried to turn T.J. against him, too, but the foolish woman had learned the hard way that you did not keep a father from his only son.

Lena, God rest her soul, had been dead nearly thirty years, and T.J was gone now, too. But it gave Leo no comfort to imagine that mother and son were reunited in heaven.

The only thing that gave him any pleasure since his son’s murder was the promise of revenge. It had been a long time coming. But now the day of reckoning was almost at hand.

“What about Houston?” he asked suddenly. “Our contact there can be trusted? You’re certain?”

Hector Reyes turned again, his gaze meeting Leo’s in the dark. “Everyone involved knows the consequences of betrayal. Nothing will go wrong.”

“An operation like this...we can’t be too careful.” Leo sunk back into deep thought. He wanted to turn his mind away from the past. He needed to get his head back in the game before the others arrived so that he could be on guard for even the smallest hint of treachery.

Leo had never met Gabriel Esteban—not his real name, Leo was certain—but his violent reputation preceded him. Leo wasn’t afraid of very many things or very many men. Not after everything he’d seen and done in his sixty-three years on this earth. But the stories he’d heard about Gabriel Esteban chilled even his blood.

Getting into bed with an animal like that...

Leo shuddered. His men were jittery, too, especially Hector, who would accompany Esteban and his crew to Houston. Leo didn’t blame Hector for being nervous. He was in a difficult position. If he refused to go with Esteban, he risked Leo’s wrath. And if Esteban turned on him once they were across the border, Hector would wish that he’d never been born. The poor man was caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place.

Leo felt only a slight twinge of guilt over Hector’s predicament, even though the younger man had worked for him for years. Hector had started in the organization as a kid, a penniless orphan who’d turned up at Leo’s front gate one day, demanding a job. Leo had admired the boy’s bravado and he’d given him the odd job now and then around the estate.
Behind Leo’s back, Hector and T.J. had become fast friends, and sometime later Leo realized that the homeless boy had moved into the house. He’d take a room down the hall from T.J.’s and had never left, even when T.J. went off to university. After T.J.’s death, Hector had become Leo’s right-hand man. Leo thought the world of Hector, but still he didn’t hesitate to send him on this dangerous assignment. Because when all was said and done, blood was still thicker than water.

A movement in the dark caught Leo’s attention, and his eyes narrowed as he focused on the water. A few yards downstream, a teenage boy crossed the shallow river with a donkey. Leo watched until the boy was out of sight, and then he turned slowly as the interior of the Escalade was suddenly illuminated by approaching headlights.

“That’ll be him.” Hector glanced anxiously over the seat. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked in Spanish. “Gabriel Esteban is a very dangerous man. Once you agree to his terms, there’ll be no turning back.”

The driver, who had spoken very little during the drive, cast a wary glance at first Hector and then Leo.

Leo knew what he was thinking. There would be hell to pay for anyone else who dared challenge Leo’s judgment.

Everyone who worked for Leo knew of his temper. His control had a way of snapping when it was least expected over the seemingly most inconsequential incident. Part of that was by nature and part of it by design. Leo enjoyed seeing the men’s fear. It kept them on their toes.

He’d been a little too lax with Hector. That was another reason he was sending him across the border with Esteban. Hector had become too complacent. And that could spell trouble very quickly in their business.

“I know what I’m doing,” Leo snapped. “Now, leave me, both of you. I want to speak to Esteban alone.”

Hector and the driver climbed out of the vehicle, but they didn’t go far. Leo could hear them muttering in Spanish through his open window.

The headlights on the other vehicle went dead, and all at once the darkness of the countryside seemed to envelope Leo. He felt an all too familiar tightness in his lungs, as if something heavy were pressing against his chest. Suddenly he couldn’t wait to be home, safely ensconced behind the high stucco walls that protected his home from the prying eyes of the federales. In the past five years, since T.J.’s death, he’d rarely ventured outside those walls. Now he remembered why. After nearly three decades, the Mexican landscape still seemed foreign to him.

A few minutes passed before Leo saw a tall, dark shadow emerge from the other vehicle and slowly walk across the dusty road toward the Escalade. The approaching stranger said something to Hector and the driver, and then Leo heard a soft laugh before Gabriel Esteban opened the door and slid onto the backseat beside him.

The interior light had been disengaged, but moonlighted flooded through the windows and Leo could see the barest hint of a smile still lingering at the corners of Esteban’s mouth. His was not a nice smile, more like a vicious smirk. His face was pitted with acne scars and his thick eyebrows rose in points above his dark eyes, giving him a demonic appearance befitting his reputation.

In spite of the physical imperfections, Leo had a feeling that Gabriel Esteban never wanted for female companionship. There was something about him, a perverse charisma that would draw a certain kind of woman like a mouth to flame.

Gabriel eyes met Leo’s in the moonlight and the unpleasant smile deepened. “Señor Kittering.”

The sound of his voice drove an icy chill straight through Leo’s heart. He was not a man easily intimidated. He’d operated for too many years on the seamy side of society and had turned a blind eye to the havoc his profession wreaked on innocent lives. He’d arranged the ‘accident’ that had removed his wife from his son’s life, and he’d never so much as fingered a rosary in regret.

But now the thought of what Gabriel Esteban would do with Leo’s money filled his heart with a black, freezing dread. Leo was surely on the road to hell now. He had been for a long time, but now there was no turning back. For what he and Gabriel Esteban had planned, there would be no forgiveness.

“Señor Esteban.” He said the name with the wary formality of two powerful rivals who suddenly found themselves co-conspirators in a diabolical scheme.

“You have the money?”

Leo reached for the laptop on the seat between them. “Half will be transferred into your account now, the other half when the job is finished. Just as we agreed.”

Gabriel Esteban smiled. “Then let’s get on with it, shall we?”

It took Leo only a few seconds to transfer the funds to the numbered bank account in the Caymans that had been set up for the operation. Once Esteban was satisfied the transaction had gone through, he opened the door and climbed out, turning to say briefly over his shoulder, “I’ll be in touch. Have your man ready to leave at a moment’s notice.”

Leo watched him walk back to the other car. The headlights came on, and the vehicle turned, heading down the road in the direction from which it had come.

The front doors of the SUV opened and Hector and the driver got in. Hector glanced at the laptop on the seat beside Leo.

“It’s done then?”

“It’s done.” Leo drew a long breath, settling into the corner of his seat as his gaze went back to the river.

God help him, it was done.

News

The biggest news, of course, is that my first thriller, The Dollmaker, from MIRA Books is now in bookstores everywhere. Here is what one reviewer on Amazon had to say about it:

With The Dollmaker, author Amanda Stevens conjures up James Patterson and Anne Rice in this creepy gothic chiller of a novel. Making the leap from the romantic suspense yarns for which she's known to psychological suspense thriller, Stevens steers clear of the throwaway potboiler and crafts a well-constructed, multi-layered plot ripe with police corruption, child abduction, and enough creepy dolls to make one shudder at the next mention of Madame Alexander. It's John Berendt's Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil meets "House of Wax" - minus Paris Hilton with just a hint of John Grisham's Southern sensibilities.

My second thriller from MIRA Books will be published in March, 2008. It’s tentatively titled The Devil’s Footprints and is based on the legend by the same name. If you aren’t familiar with it, the folklore goes something like this:

“The cloven footprints, which appeared overnight in heavy snowfall, have never been adequately explained. According to reports, they stretched for miles and went through solid walls and across rivers, appearing on the other side as though there was no barrier. The extent of the footprints may have been exaggerated at the time, and they may have been the result of freak atmospheric conditions. But in truth the footprints – if that is what they were – still remain a complete mystery.”

You can read new reviews of The Dollmaker at The Best Reviews, Armchair Interviews, and Unspeakable Horror.

Or listen to a sample of the audio book at Audible.com.

New interviews are up at Romance Reviews Today and at E. I. Johnson's MySpace site. E.I. is the author of the young adult novel Wireless in the Fabric of Time.

I’ll be guest-blogging at Alison Kent’s Blah Blog on Friday, March 9, and at the Intrigue Authors blog all through March.

Don't forget the Creepy Doll contest that is still up and running on my site. I’ll be posting some entries here at Blasphemous Rumours next week. Entry deemed the creepiest will receive a $25 Barnes and Noble gift certificate.

For a chance to win a signed copy of The Dollmaker each month, all you need do is sign up to receive my newsletter.

And for yet another chance to win, please check out the contest I’ll have running all month at Fresh Fiction .

Chicken Hunter Wants to be Your Friend

Now that I’ve ventured into mainstream thriller territory, I’ve been faced with the very harsh reality of self-promotion...a concept that strikes terror into my heart. I’m not a people person. I’m not good at networking, I break out in a cold sweat at the very thought of public speaking, and conferences very often give me hives.

But I was made for MySpace.

One writer describes it as like passing notes in high school except with really loud music and easy access to porn. I won’t touch the porn aspect, but I’m all about loud music and I’m one of the few writers I know who absolutely loved high school. See: Dazed and Confused.

And I’ve met the most amazing people on MySpace. Mortician Miss who is answering all my questions about funeral homes. The German band Breathe whose song “The Laughing Dolls” is the soundtrack for my Dollmaker blog and who featured my book in a newsletter to their fans. A horror writer who has a wonderful review of The Dollmaker on Amazon. I’ve been interviewed, blogged, and made a top friend on several sites.

I’ve heard from someone who had a close encounter with a UFO and another who lives with a ghost. I’ve met people from New Zealand to Greenland (Hi, Chicken Hunter!), and I learned that Harlen Coben’s first concert was Blue Oyster Cult (so was mine!).

So are you on there yet? Because if you’re not, you should be. It’s the place to be.

And if you are on, stop by my site and leave a comment or send me a friend request. I’ll add you, I promise.