
Though the long-running Weekend Writing Warriors seems to be officially over for all intents and purposes, I’ve decided to keep its spirit alive by sharing my own snippets on Sundays. There are no more rules about a certain number of lines, so we get to decide how much to include now!
Since I haven’t any new Halloween-themed material to share, I’m using snippets from Chapter 15, “Mrs. Malspur’s Séance,” from Movements in the Symphony of 1939 (the book formerly known as The Very Next). It’s May of 1939, and what started as a routine séance hosted by the mystical-minded Mrs. Malspur has quickly devolved into drama caused by Mr. and Mrs. Green. Now Kit has begged to be the first to get her fortune told.

“You ain’t getting your fortune told, you spoilt brat,” Mrs. Green said. “I’m shocked Ione let any of Julieanna’s friends come. This is supposed to be strictly adult business. Children should be seen and never heard.”
“Funny how you never apply that philosophy to your precious little Sammy, who’s more of a spoilt brat than Kitty will ever be,” Mr. Green said. “At least I don’t hide the real world from Kitty the way you shelter Sammy. That little mama’s boy is in for such a huge shock if he ever leaves home and cuts the apron strings.”

Everyone around the table sat frozen, some of their mouths hanging open. After the long, awkward silence finally passed, Kit drummed her fingers on the table.
“May I please get my fortune told now? I wanna know if I’ll marry a handsome man with blonde hair and blue eyes. I like blonde men best, ’cause my entire family is blonde.”
“Thank God for that,” Mr. Green whispered.
“What did you say, Phillip?” Mr. Scots asked.
“Nothing important. I was just thinking out loud without realizing it.”
Miss Runds took Kit’s hands and gazed into her eyes. “I see many misfortunes for you.”

“That’s enough!” Mrs. Green shouted. “I can already tell you’re making it up just to scare Kathleen, though I care less if she suffers a thousand misfortunes in her life.”
“Bernadette!” Mr. Green shouted back. “If you don’t quit speaking out of turn and insulting Kitty, you’ll have to leave. And her name is Kit now, not Kathleen. Her name hasn’t been Kathleen for some time.”

“That’s all your damn fault, you stupid pushover. Who the hell gives permission for a child to legally change her name to a nickname? There was nothing wrong with the name Kathleen. Normal people go by nicknames and legally keep the full name so they’re taken seriously. My legal name is still Bernadette, even if I’m almost never called that. You meanwhile think it’s perfectly appropriate for her to have a nickname for her legal name. She’ll always be Kathleen to me, whether you like it or not.”
Miss Runds cleared her throat. “As I was saying before being so rudely interrupted, I see many misfortunes in your future. You’ll be cursed with a bad marriage and three sick children in a row. Sick blood, sick brain, sick blood.”
Mrs. Green began hyperventilating.
“Sick blood?” Kit asked. “What does that mean?”

“I see blood, lots of blood, blood everywhere, for a boy and a girl. And a sick brain in between. Sick blood runs in families and comes through the maternal line. Very unusual I see a girl with sick blood, not just a boy.”
“That’s enough!” Mrs. Green shouted, pushing back her chair. “Phillip, we’re taking Kathleen and getting out of here right now. How dare this fraud try to embarrass our entire family and expose us to such shame, disgrace, and ruin!”

“What are you talking about, Bernie?” Mr. Green demanded. “Maybe Kitty will have some misfortunes, and maybe this is just nonsense being made up to try to scare her. I don’t particularly believe in fortunetelling, but you insisted so strongly, and I became curious. And since when are there any diseases in our family? Have you been hiding something from me?”
“That’s none of anyone’s damn business!”
Everyone stared as Mrs. Green attempted to run from the room and tripped in the unnatural darkness, cursing up a blue streak when she hit the hardwood floor. She picked herself up and felt her way out of the room, sobbing hysterically.































