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    Of A Strange and Dark Vintage
    Of A Strange and Dark Vintage
    Of A Strange and Dark Vintage
    Ebook57 pages1 hour

    Of A Strange and Dark Vintage

    By Eric Free Egelund and C.W. Ansley

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    About this ebook

    It is said that wine holds memories, and allows the mind to wander freely, to temporarily grasp the ephemeral.  And when that wine is created from grapes harvested in the cemetery where your dead grandmother is buried?  She might just have something to say about disturbing the dead. Or she might demand you solve a murder....

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAlien Knight Publishing
    Release dateAug 30, 2020
    ISBN9781393764199
    Of A Strange and Dark Vintage
    Author

    Eric Free Egelund

    Eric is a fantasy and science fiction author.

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      Book preview

      Of A Strange and Dark Vintage - Eric Free Egelund

      Of A Strange and Dark Vintage

      EASTON UNCORKED THE first bottle of wine, letting his nostrils inhale the pungent aroma of the South’s greatest gift to amateur vintners: the lifeblood of the muscadine grape.  Easton had been crafting his skills of straining and extracting grapes since he was a teenager, helping his Granny every summer until she passed.  It wasn’t a summer without bubbling pots of squished grapes, cheesecloths lying haphazardly about, and purple stains all over his hands and clothes for which his mother berated him, and his father secretly condoned. His father’s mother, Mrs. Gertrude Anders, lived down the dirt road from Easton’s parents. She had raised three kids on her own after her husband was killed in Korea. Her eldest son lived in Montana, and her only daughter in New York, but her youngest son had strayed no more than down the road.  She had doted on Easton’s father and then transferred that doting to Easton, who adored his irascible grandmother. Young Easton would walk to her house every summer morning for as long as he could remember, dew still glistening on the dog fennel and wild blackberry bushes along the ditches. He’d walk back in the afternoon, usually after a snack of peanut butter spread over saltines washed down with a glass homemade grape juice. In his small hand would be a yellow Post-It note Granny would give him that he would stick on the fridge, a written reminder to visit the following day. 

      As he dusted off his first bottle, Easton reminisced about last summer, when he went to pay his grandmother a visit. He hadn’t seen her in a long time, but he never forgot her birthday.  August 12th—the day they would always pick the grapes.  She loved dahlias, so he had stopped by the local Winn-Dixie for a bouquet.

      I miss you, he said with a sigh, reverently setting the flowers on the headstone.

      The cemetery was in disrepair. The maintenance man hadn’t been that reliable the last couple of years.  Wild honeysuckle and muscadine vines grew everywhere, interlacing the chain-link fence circumnavigating the property.  He’d walked the periphery of the fence, picking up discarded plastic flowers, and he had noticed the vines teeming with very small, but ripe grapes on them.  They grew thickest on the woodland side of the cemetery. 

      Thinking of those summers with Granny, he returned to his car and got out the plastic shopping bags that he kept meaning to recycle, and started picking. 

      August in the South. The true dog days of summer.  No sign of Sirius in the sky now, he told himself.  No clouds either.  He kept telling himself he’d just pick a few more, but it was hard to stop.  No matter how closely he skirted the woods, the sun’s incessant rays crept along his skin until he was certain that colloid oatmeal baths and aloe vera gels were in his immediate future. Reluctantly, he forced himself to retire for the day with plans to return in the evening.  He drove home with what he had, ate a small dinner, and took a short nap—which turned into a long nap. 

      Easton checked his watch as he started the coffee maker.  Eight o’clock. 

      Was the cemetery closed at a certain time?  A dusk until dawn curfew like the

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