I am so excited for this time of year. Working for a 911 center, I am a city employee and the city I work in just put up their Christmas lights. When I come out from my work I am surrounded by trees that are strung with a multitude of colored lights. It feels magical, almost like I have been given the chance to step into a fairy tale. Maybe the 12 dancing princesses or something. I love it. Everything about this time of year just makes me want to strap on a pair of ballet shoes and dance sur la pointe around singing carols. Not that I have danced ballet in about 15 years, or would even be able to at this point in my life. Still, it doesn't stop me from feeling so wonderfully light and magical I almost believe I could.

My friend Hannah did a post on ANTs and I thought it was SO fitting with what I have been feeling lately that I decided I would write one of my own. So what kind of Ants am I talking about? Fire Ants? Carpenter Ants? Little black picnic Ants? No. These ANTs are much closer to home and here is a secret: we all have them.... Automatic Negative Thoughts, or ANTs. kinda like ROUS', except these rodents of unusual size exist within our brains. The ANTs I have been plagued with lately are: I am not accomplishing anything that I set out to do. I haven't been good enough with exercising the past few weeks. Ok, by not good enough I really mean that I haven't seen the inside of my gym in two weeks, and now I don't think I will reach my weight loss goal for family pictures at the end of November. I have an arbor in my backyard that my dad and I are building. We are rushing to get it done before it gets too cold and wet/snowy to finish it and yet, knowing that we are in a time crunch with the weather I can't seem to make myself go out and paint the last few boards. I leave dishes in my sink, which I hate. Not having a clean house completely sets me off in a bad mood and yet I cannot seem to find the motivation to clean it. I have so many ideas in my head of next chapters and new stories that I want to write and yet when I sit down, I don't seem to actually type any words. I don't think I let my husband know I appreciate him for the little things enough. I haven't finished one of my monthly projects at work yet. These are the ANTs that seem to have paralyzed me into a disturbing lapse of apathy lately. So what do you do when you get an attack of the ANTs? What are some tricks you all have found to get you from not focusing on the ever growing and sometimes seemingly insurmountable ANTs that march across your brain telling you that you will never be good enough or do enough or accomplish enough? Let me know, because I feel like I could use the help.

I love this time of year. Halloween. It is such a great holiday. My love for this time of year goes beyond getting to dress up and openly indulge in being someone - or something you are not, no matter how outlandish. It goes beyond being able to gorge on all the mini candy bars you snuck out of your toddler's bag because he is too young to realize what the good candy is and is happy with the smarties.
I love this holiday because the flavor of it resonates so completely through everything. The air has just turned crisp and has a tang to it that says Halloween. The moon takes on an eerie quality. I find myself holding my breath at midnight waiting for ghosts and goblins to come out to play. Fear has such a delicious quality to it.
I have been reading other people's posts about fear tonight so I thought that I would write my own. What am I afraid of? What scares me?
I could list spiders. I swallowed a spider instead of a raisin once when I was very young and I remember my mother picking me up and holding me under a gushing faucet trying to wash my mouth out while she called poison control. I have been terrified of spiders ever since. I haven't eaten a raisin since then either. Horrid dreadful fruit.
Or there was the time I went into shock when I was the victim of a 'spider' prank in jr high school. It involved a bobby pin on a string, a backstage party from a school play I had just been in and a boy who liked me and was trying to get my attention in the 'if I pull her hair I like her' mentality. But that story is much too long and can be saved as a post for another day.
I could list snakes. I was bitten by a small harmless garden snake once and was told by my sister that I was, to quote her "probably going to die." I ran inside and sat in a corner crying until my parents came home and soothed my fears. They make my skin crawl.
But if I were going to be completely honest I would have to say that my biggest fear is myself. Or rather, my imagination. What goes on in my head when my imagination gets stirred up is worse than if you put all the snakes and spiders in a room together. (Ugh, well maybe not. I think I will have to reserve judgement on that fact to depend on whether or not I ever end up in a room filled with snakes and spiders. Fingers crossed that never happens.)
I have the type of imagination that needs very little encouragement to jump to the extreme of any situation. When I was newly married I used to work til late in the evening as a manager of a movie theatre. After closing and doing the bank drop I would often not get home until around 0300 in the morning. My husband would get up and go to work at 0430. (It sounds familiar to our lives now.) I remember a night when I was too wound up to fall instantly to sleep so I turned the television on. I watched the movie "The Deliberate Stranger" with the incredibly handsome Mark Harmon. (The girls at my work give me a hard time for liking men much too old for me. I have a picture of Robert Redford they cut out for me hanging in my locker amongst the family pictures. Not Robert Redford from The Sting, or the Great Gatsby era, but a picture from this last year's Sundance Film Festival. Still Dreamy. Sigh. But I digress.) For anyone not familiar with "The Deliberate Stranger" Mark played, masterfully I might add, the role of Ted Bundy. When my husband left for work I had myself so freaked out that I pushed couches in front of not only the front door, but also the bedroom door on the off chance that a serial killer might show up. And I couldn't sleep that night until I had committed to memeory just exactly how I would climb out the apt window and which neighbor I would run to for help. I moved the couches and planned my escape every night after that when I had to sleep alone for an entire month afterwards.
And yet I am drawn to it. I love/dread the feeling of fear. The gut churning adrenaline spike that makes every emotion more vivid and real. My imagination runs wild at the drop of a hat, or should I say the drop of an ice cube?
The ice maker in my house, when it drops it's ice cubes at night, makes me hear footsteps in the kitchen or someone fiddling with the patio door.
Some of my worst fears take giant leaps over the bounds of realism into things I know don't exist but still frighten me spitless.
As I drive home from work in the dark early morning hours and think of what I would do if I get a flat tire and had to walk, (I don't have a cell phone. Antiquated I know.) I picture the dark lightning-quick shape of a werewolf streaking through the orchards surrounding my town to drag me off the road.
I recognize that my fears tend toward the irrational and that I often let them spin rapidly out of control. But when I walk outside and look up at the crisp autumn sky and I see the Halloween decorations filling the stores and houses I get drawn in to the excitement of fear.
I thrill at the irrational nature of being scared and the fact that imagining the serial killer lurking in the shadows or the werewolf streaking through the mist means that I don't have to think about the fears that aren't softened by a couch pressed up against the door. Like the traffic accident that could leave me widowed, or the random violence of a school shooting.
So I will take my fears and relish in them, allowing this time of year to let me experience my fears while keeping me safe.

Hey everyone,
Sorry for my absence from blogging. I think that my life just got really overwhelming with everything I have going on and the stress took it out on my immune system, so needless to say, I got sick. Bleh. I hate getting sick and I really don't function well while I am, so I decided instead of trying to fight it and push my way through I just shut my life down for a while, called in sick to work and let it run its course. But, thankfully, I am feeling much better and will try to post my next chapter asap. I hope you guys are still interested in reading them. I had lots of down time to let things play out in my head so I have changed part of the story and I am excited to get it up and hear what everyone thinks. This has been so motivating for me. It has really helped keep me going to have such support, and that is just invaluable to me. So, thanks everybody.

Special Agent Mark Miller pulled his sedan off of the main road and immediately felt the wheels sink slightly in the muddy earth that made up the shoulder. He sighed. It was going to be a long night. In his haste to get to the crime scene he had forgotten to grab his boots from their normal storage place in his laundry room.
He looked out into the darkening light at the busy crime scene before him. All of the park rangers and local law enforcement officers he could see had thick rubber boots on, protecting their uniforms from their swampy surroundings. A few were even wearing Tyvek coveralls. Mark guessed they were the ones who were going to be processing the scene once he gave the go ahead.
He sighed again, thinking about how he would probably be caked in mud from the knees down before he was finished for the evening. But there was little he could do about it now.
He checked his watch as he climbed out of the car and grimaced slightly feeling the mud ooze hungrily over his shoes. The time was 08:15. He had made good time getting here considering the hikers who found the body reported it to the Mt. Saint Helen’s ranger station at 06:45.
Fortunately, the ranger on duty who responded back to the scene with them saw the small gold charm the un-sub left behind as a signature to his crimes dangling from a limb on a nearby log before she saw the body. Connecting it with the recent publicity the murders have been getting in the press lately, she quickly backed off and set up a perimeter, not wanting to contaminate the crime scene. Her supervisor was quick to notify the FBI field office and Mark was able to shorten the normal hour drive from Vancouver to the crime scene into just under 40 minutes.
He had to restrain himself from rushing up to the body immediately. Everything in him wanted to get right to the epicenter of this organized chaos. Following the string of dead bodies the un-sub left in his wake was not only his job but had become something of an obsession with Mark.
The hikers were local Herpetologists who had been through that marsh earlier in the morning looking for a certain species of frog. They hadn’t been having any luck and so moved on to another area about a mile away. On the way down that evening when they decided to stop for a breather on the same log they ate lunch at and then discovered the body. They were positive that the body had not been there earlier Which meant that they were at most half a day behind him.
The thought made Mark’s adrenaline work overtime. He could feel the tension vibrating in his body. He wouldn’t be surprised if soon he started giving off a low hum.
“Take a deep breath.” He told himself. “Remember your training. Get into his head. Walk the perimeter and try to think like he does.”
Since no one had yet noticed his arrival, getting into the correct frame of mind was easier than if he had been shadowed by overly eager local officers wanting to know his motivations behind every decision.
All the previous victims had been killed at a secondary location, their bodies later moved and dumped where they would be found. He quietly walked along the edge of the road, looking for what would be the best place to park while unloading the victim.
“Carrying the weight of a body is generally cumbersome and awkward in the least, so his path will most likely be a straight line. If I were going to put her out there,” he lifted his head to visually line up where the body was out in the marshy grass, “and the charm was found on the log there, then my starting place would be somewhere around that rock.”
He walked through the mud, creating a sucking sound as each step pulled free, until the log stood between himself and the body, creating a fairly straight line.
“Okay, here is a good a place as any to start out.”
He took a few trepidatious steps, fumbling for footing under the soggy ground as the mud oozed up over his ankles. “I’m carrying a body.” He thought.
“Do I drag her or throw her over my shoulders?”
“The ground would be dangerous to walk on, especially carrying another person’s weight, but the grass does not look disturbed. If something were dragged over it, it would be matted down in the mud, so I must have carried her.”
“Hmm. Strong.” Mark mused aloud.
He looked around him and saw several clumps of brush and tall grasses that would be easier, closer and just as effective to dump the body in.
“So why there?” he muttered looking out at the area cordoned off by crime scene tape.
“Is there something special about that particular spot? I must have decided on it beforehand, so I’ve been here before. How many times? Do I live in the area? Does this spot have meaning for me?”
A thousand thoughts raced through his head as he made his way closer to the body. His already slow approach came to a stop as he reached the log. The body now no more than 15 feet away.
“This is a good place to leave the charm. It won’t get lost in the mud so it will be easier seen.”
His insight into the un-subs thoughts grew quiet. Mark could feel a low buzzing in the back of his mind, as something tried to tickle its way to the surface, but his train of thought was interrupted by a blinding light.
Mark held up a hand to shield himself from the sudden glare.
“Oh sorry about that.” he heard a voice call from the other side of the light.
The floodlights shifted so that they were not shining directly in Mark’s eyes. He could see one of the crime scene technicians setting up the portable floodlights so the evidence could be processed in the rapidly growing dark. There was a tall man in uniform approaching him.
“I’m Lt. Humphrey.” The man said, sticking his hand out in greeting. Mark took his hand and shook it jovially. “Special Agent Mark Miller.”
“You made good time coming out here. We didn’t expect you for another half an hour or so.”
“Well this case is very important to the Bureau. We consider ourselves fortunate that you called us so soon after the discovery of the body. Your ranger should be commended on her quick thinking.”
Lt. Humphrey nodded. “Well, if you want to follow me, the victim is right over here.”
As anxious as Mark was to see the body, something tugged on his subconscious telling him he was missing something. He felt a small stir of superstition that if he moved he would lose any chance of figuring out what it was.
“So this is where the charm was found?” Mark said, remaining in place.
“Yes,” the Lieutenant said. “We have it bagged in an evidence bag over here if you want to come look at it.”
Mark took one last look around him allowing what he was seeing to imprint itself on his memory. It would have to do.
He took a step and stumbled. His foot had found a small drop in the terrain, sinking to his calf in the muddy water, his shoe filled with an uncomfortable squishing. The Lieutenant looked over his shoulder and smiled a little. “Doesn’t look like you were prepared for our mountain. If you want, I think we can find you an extra pair of boots in the back of one of the trucks.”
Mark looked down at his wet and mud splashed pants. “Not much good it will do me now. But thanks for the offer.” he said, and pulled his leg free from the ooze.
“Suit yourself.” the man said.
They had reached the crime scene tape. Around the edges the grass had been matted down with mud as dozens of feet had set up equipment and waited outside the perimeter. But inside it looked fairly pristine. That was good. It meant less chance that someone had accidentally contaminated the scene.
“Most of our work we have done from out here.” The Lieutenant said. “The FBI office said you would want to be one of the first in.”
“I appreciate that. I won’t try to hold you up for long. I know you guys have a lot of work to do.”
Slipping on a pair of rubber gloves he was handed, Mark lifted the tape and ducked under, stepping into the crime scene. As he did a small breeze blew across his face. It smelled of mountain, stagnant water and the sickly sweet smell of death. He choked back on his gag reflex. The first 10 minutes of smelling a body were always the hardest. After that, the nerves deadened to the smell.
The floodlights cast a harsh light on the scene before him as he got his first view of the deceased. She had been pretty in life but there was not much of that beauty left behind. She was laying on her back, her arms and legs spread out, positioned in an awkward star pattern. Her body was covered with slashes and stabs. Mark knelt down beside her to better examine the wounds. Her neck had been cut in one deep ragged gash which now leered at him like an angry red smile.
The edges of the flesh and the skin on her neck was stained red from the bleeding she had sustained when her carotid artery had been severed. If he were going to place a bet, he would say that the coroner would pronounce this wound as the cause of death.
He frowned as he looked at some of the surrounding wounds. None of the edges of any of the other wounds had any retraction, and there was no bruising except around the wounds on her neck.
He gently picked up one of her hands and turned it over. Examining her knuckles and forearms he saw no evidence of self-defense wounds.
“She didn’t fight back,” he thought to himself.
Her wrists had some traces of gummy residue on them that he guessed would have been left by some kind of restraint, probably duct tape. But there was no bruising or swelling indicating that she had struggled against the restraints. His frown deepened. Moving to her feet he found the same thing; the sticky residue but no signs of a struggle.
This whole scene seemed off. On all the previous victims there had been massive signs of struggle before death. And while this poor girls body was mutilated like the others, hers was the only one with one clear obvious cause of death. The other victims were stabbed multiple times while still alive and most likely struggling with their captor.
“Perhaps she died before he was ready to kill her.” he thought to himself.
The space of time from when the girls went missing and the determined time of death listed in the coroners report suggested that he kept them alive for a while after he kidnaped them.
But if she died, why mutilate the body? It also doesn’t explain her neck wound. She was obviously alive when that occurred, though not for any of the other injuries.
And there was the matter of how her body was positioned. In all the previous cases, when the victims had been placed at the secondary location where they were eventually found they looked like a doll whose owner was tired of playing with her, letting her lay how she fell. In this instance however, she had clearly been positioned.
He got the same nagging, tickling sensation at the back of his mind, like he had by the log, telling him that he was missing something. He rocked back on his heels, placing a hand on the ground to steady himself.
“What am I missing?”
He looked up at the girls face, which except for a bloodless slash on her cheek, remained pristine.
“Help me.” he whispered to her.
“Help me find the person who did this to you.”
But her eyes remained closed, death having taken her long before she had been placed here. Any help she could have given him, it seemed, had gone with her.

He felt a surge of frustration push up at him. He hated more than anything not having the answers. It was his own personal demon that plagued and tormented him in the dark restless hours when he could not sleep.
He knew that he should allow the police to take over processing the scene. The best way he could help was to let them do their job and to concentrate on finding where her life overlapped with the un-sub.
Standing he waded back to the perimeter where everyone had been watching him silently.
“So what do we know about her?” he asked.
“We checked with some of the local towns to see if anyone has been reported missing. There should be a list waiting for us back at the ranger’s station.” Humphrey said.
“Can I see the charm?” Mark asked.
Humphrey nodded and signaled to a woman dressed in a park ranger’s uniform. She stepped closer and handed him a small plastic bag.
Inside was the small gold charm, identical to all the other’s they had found. The greek letters
Alpha and Omega intertwined. He hesitated in turning the bag over. There was something scratched into all the charms that had never been released to the media. They held back this information to be able to distinguish his crimes from any possible copycats. If this was the work of a copy cat it would explain all the obvious discrepancies.
He turned it over to look at the back of the charm. Kallistēei. There it was. He felt his stomach clench in anger. It was him alright.
The ranger who had handed him the charm, peered over his shoulder curiously.
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“It’s Greek. A rough translation would be ‘for the prettiest one’ or ‘to the most beautiful’.” he told her.
His fist tightened involuntarily around the charm. He turned to the Lieutenant. “I think I’m done here. Can you take me to the ranger’s station. I would like to start on identifying her as quickly as possible.”
Humphrey nodded, “My car is parked over there. You can follow me in your car if you want, or I can ride with you and one of my men will bring the car back with them.”
“I’ll follow you.” he said.
“I’d like to come.” The ranger who had discovered the body piped up. “There isn’t anything more I can do here and I think I can help you better in finding her.”
Mark nodded his approval to the Lieutenant. “Allright,” Humphrey said. “You can ride with me.” With that decided, the three of them made their way away from the crime scene to the cars.