What inspired your story?
--For some reason, the first line—“They called it the murder
tree.”—kept running through my mind. I asked myself what kind of story would
inspire people to give something such a nickname and from that what event could
be so horrible to cement that name in history. The result was Silk.
Is the setting to your story important?
--I think so, yes. I’ve always been intrigued with the idea
of writing a Southern Gothic novel. I’m not sure if Silk really qualifies but I think it’s very close. There’s a sort
of wonderful eccentricity to small Southern towns, I believe, and when you add
tragedy, it only exacerbates it.
Did you always want to be a writer? If not what did you want
to be?
--Oh, I wanted to be a number of things—thankfully, none of
them came to fruition. The older I get, the more I realize I don’t really have
the type of personality for the structured environment of a law office or a
classroom. I also don’t think either environment would appreciate my… colorful
vocabulary.
When did you first consider yourself a “writer”?
--Probably when I finished my first novel. It was… horrible
is putting it mildly. But I finished it, which was the first time I’d ever
finished an entire work, so it was a major milestone. After that, I continued
writing and studying my craft until I felt comfortable enough to publish.
What was the craziest thing you’ve ever done when it came to
a storyline in your book?
--Oh, wow. I think the absolute craziest thing I’ve done was
in my first series, the Jude Magdalyn series. Spoiler alert: one pregnancy, two
babies, two fathers. I’ll leave it at that.
L.M. Pruitt
Release Date: April 19, 2016
Genre: Horror
Book Description:
They called it the murder tree.
In 1995, twenty kids went in to the woods. Only three came back.
There are monsters in the woods.
Twenty years later, what happened is still a mystery.
The monsters are back.
Now, the town of Silk faces its greatest threat in over two hundred years. No one is safe.
Not even the monsters.
Available for Pre-Order at Amazon
Excerpt
November 1995
They called it
the murder tree.
The kids did,
anyway. To the adults, those people who no longer believed in ghost stories and
things that went bump in the night, it was known as the old Litz tree. The last
living monument to the family who founded the town before Georgia was even a
state, giving their money and lives in the process.
The adults liked
to gloss over that particular part of the story when discussing the history of
Mulberry.
The kids
preferred to linger on it.
Most of them
knew the story of the night the Litz family lost their lives before they were
even able to read the decades old textbooks grudgingly provided by the
Department of Education. By the time they graduated to junior high, all the
kids—the cool ones, at least, the ones you wanted at your party or it wasn’t
really a party—had camped out next to the murder tree. More than one high
school girl had allowed her boyfriend to “comfort” her in the shadow of the
ancient mulberry after listening to the story of the Litz family yet again.
You weren’t a
part of Mulberry until you had spent your time at the murder tree.
It was the only
reason Elias Crenshaw could think of for why he was freezing his balls off on
what was shaping up to be the coldest night of the year.
That and the
fact Mandy Jones had promised him she’d be there. The way she’d told him, with
just the tiniest smile of her bubblegum pink lips and a flutter of lashes, was
enough to keep him warm.
But only for
another hour. After that, he was going home. The guys could rag him all they
wanted on Monday morning. They’d be the one with bug bites and frozen fingers
and all the other stupid things that happened when you spent the night in the
frickin’ woods. He’d be warm and rested and all studied up for the big biology
exam in sixth period.
Man, if he
didn’t get at least a C his parents were going to flip. They’d already been on
the fence about letting him camp out the Friday before a test. If he failed,
they wouldn’t let him out of the house again until the end of the school year.
He’d be the only kid not allowed to go the eighth grade prom.
Mandy Jones
would never go out with him if he was the loser kid who didn’t go to the prom.
“Your face is
going to freeze like that.”
Elias snorted.
“No, it won’t.”
“Yeah, it will.”
Shephard Jackson widened her already big brown eyes—bug eyes, Mandy called
them—and nodded solemnly. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“Probably the
wrong thing to say when we’re next to the murder tree.” Elias tilted toward
her, leaning in with his whole body before hunching his shoulders and
shivering. “What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t allowed in the woods
after dark.”
“I’m not.” She
huffed out a breath, the puff of frosty air doing nothing to dislodge the white
blonde hair seemingly glued to her forehead. She’d bleached it the week before
on a dare, just like she’d pierced her nose last month and broken in to the
library the month before that. “But that’s Kelly’s stupid rule. She keeps
trying to act like she’s my mom or something.”
“Well, she
married your dad.” Elias winced when she reached over and smacked him on the
back of his head. “Jesus, Shep.”
“You’re not
supposed to take her side. You’re supposed to take mine.” She sniffled and
swiped her hand under her nose. “That’s what best friends do.”
“Fine,
whatever.” When Shep sighed, Elias rolled his eyes. “It’s a stupid rule and
she’s a bitch and she should stop trying to act like she’s your mom.”
“Thank you.” The
pseudo sniffling immediately stopped and she leaned in to him, her slight frame
weighing next to nothing. After a moment, she said, “What are you doing here?”
“Rite of
passage.” He nodded at the small group clustered around the carefully
constructed fire. Albert had insisted they follow all the safety rules for
lighting a fire in the woods, reminding everyone of Smokey the Bear’s immortal
saying. “Supposed to be more people coming. Real party.”
“Oh, please.”
She scoffed, the harsh exhalation shaking her entire body. “You’re here because
Mandy Jones said she was going to be here. Her and her little group. They’re
so… ugh.” She shook her head before turning to scowl at him. “You couldn’t fall
in love with some girl who can actually have a conversation for longer than
five minutes without mentioning cheerleading or makeup?”
“First, I’m not
in love with her.” Elias returned her scowl, narrowing his eyes to slits. “We
barely know each other.” Truth, even though he’d spent countless hours
imagining what it would be like to kiss her. “Second, just because she’s not
fighting the power or whatever you do when you’re not pissing off your stepmom
doesn’t make her stupid. She’s really smart.”
“Eli, she said
it was ridiculous to have the term ‘african-american’ because if you were born
in America you obviously couldn’t be from Africa.”
“Well.” He
paused, racking his brain for an explanation even as he winced. “You know,
there are a lot of adults who feel the same way. Like we should all just
embrace our current culture and let of our heritage.”
“Right.” Shep
snorted and rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” She jerked her chin at the fire.
“Let’s go. Story time.”
“Oh, come on.”
He groaned, digging in his heels half-heartedly when she tried to drag him
toward the group. They both knew it would be impossible for her to move him
unless he helped. She was a hundred pounds soaking wet, barely topping five
feet while he’d gained twenty pounds since school started. The only reason he
wasn’t as fat as a turkey was the corresponding growth spurt, the new six
inches putting him dangerously close to six feet. “Not again. We’ve heard this
thing a million times.”
“So this will be
a million and one. Come on.” She yanked his arm harder, grumbling something
under her breath about ogres. “It’s tradition to tell the story at every campout.
Besides….” She trailed off, smiling up at him and batting her lashes. “I’m
pretty sure Mandy finally arrived.”
“Well, in that
case.” He laughed when she gasped, using her moment of feigned shock to scoop
her up and toss her over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold. “You know what’s
really great about having you as a best friend? You’re easy to pick up when
we’re fighting.”
“You’re such a
troglodyte.” Shep pounded on his back with her fists, biting back a scream when
he took a step forward. “If anybody sees me, I swear—on my mom’s grave—I will
make your life miserable for the rest of the year.”
He paused, not
at the threat, but the oath. After a minute, he dropped her back to her feet,
brushing a speck of something off the shoulder of her jacket. They stared at
each other, the awkwardness of the silence nearly tangible. Finally, he said,
“Sorry, Shep.”
“Whatever.”
Spinning on her heels, she stomped toward the far side of the group, the laces
of her combat boots slithering over the dead leaves like a snake. She slid
between Albert and Jacob, sneering at something one of them said. Elias watched
for another minute before shoving his hands in his pockets and trudging over to
join the growing group.
“Hey, Elias.”
Mandy half walked, half skipped up to him as he neared the fire, linking her
arm with his. “I thought you were going to spend all night talking to that
weirdo.”
“She’s not a
weirdo.” The defense was as automatic as breathing. “Her mom died, remember?
Like, right in front of her. She’s just, you know, grieving.”
“Right.” Mandy
sighed, the sort of huge, exaggerated sigh Elias knew meant annoyance at his
supposed ignorance. His older sister made the same noise every time he asked
her a question. “Whatever. I didn’t come out to these stupid woods to talk about
her.” She smiled at him, the fire casting shadows over her normally light and
bright face. “I came to hang out with you.”
“Dude, we’re
waiting.” Isiah Graves, Elias’s second best friend—but number one guy best
friend, as Isiah was quick to point out—raised his voice to an almost shout.
Since he’d been the one to propose the campout, he’d insisted he get to tell
the story of the murder tree. Elias didn’t bother reminding him it was a hollow
honor. “Story and then party. Rules are rules, man.”
“Nobody cares
except for you.” Jacob Wesson had the honor of being the oldest person in the
group by a month and the first to have a voice which didn’t crack at random
moments. “Just get this boring ass shit over with before I die of fucking
boredom.”
“Okay, okay.”
Isiah hunched his shoulders and shuffled his feet, shooting a glare around the
group at large before straightening to his full height. “The year was 1748. The
town of Mulberry was struggling, just as it had been since the Litz family
arrived from Germany with a dream of producing silk and other luxury goods.”
“He sounds like
a really dorky version of Mr. Young.” Mandy’s breathy whisper smelled like
cinnamon and Elias closed his eyes for a split second, inhaling deeply. When he
opened them again, she was watching him with a knowing look.
“Everybody else
in the town wanted to use the land for rice, something they could use and sell.
But the Litz’s refused to give up their dream.” Isiah paused, drawing out the
attempt at suspense. “Finally, the people of Mulberry decided enough was
enough.”
Even though
everybody knew how the story went, how it ended, every last one of them inched
closer. The next part of the tale was always told in a voice barely above a
whisper, as if the long dead participants would hear and interrupt to correct
the teller on some minute point. Tonight was no exception.
“The entire
town, everybody except the children, marched out to the Litz homestead. Josiah
Litz tried to talk them down, make them see reason, but he failed.” Isiah
stepped back and pointed up at a thick limb jutting out from the trunk in a
crooked line. “They strung him up here but the fall didn’t break his neck. So
he watched while the town slaughtered his entire family.”
He paused again,
the group holding its collective breath. The leaves, long dead but stubbornly
clinging to their branches, shivered as a faint wind blew through the forest.
Mandy moved closer to Elias and he put his arm around her, ignoring Shep’s eye
roll.
Isiah waited a
beat longer. “Or rather—almost his entire family.
“They forgot the
oldest son was returning from New York. Franz Litz had been gone so long, it
was possible the town had forgotten he even existed.” Isiah rapped his knuckles
on the tree trunk, nodding solemnly. “But Josiah hadn’t. And while he slowly
suffocated to death under the weight of his own body, he swore his family would
have their revenge. And they did.
“While the town
burned the house and the trees and buried the bodies of the Litz family, Franz,
who’d witnessed everything from the safety of the woods, rode in to Mulberry.”
Isiah stepped back in to the circle, his low voice forcing everybody to move
closer in order to hear. “And hung every last child.”
The wind gusted
through the woods again, stronger this time, the trees rattling their limbs in
protest. Somewhere in the distance, some animal let out a single short cry,
quickly cut off by the crunching of something larger and more dangerous. Elias
glanced around the circle, surprised at the number of pale faces and large
eyes, even as he reminded himself it was only a story.
“The townspeople
caught him right after he hung his last victim, a baby barely a month old. They
hauled him, kicking and screaming, back to the murder tree.” As one, they
turned to look at the ancient mulberry. “Even as they put the rope around his
neck, he fought. His last words before the noose broke his neck were ‘A cursed
ground bears only poisonous fruit’.”
“Or so they
say.” Jacob snorted and shook his head. “Whatever, dude. Stupid story about a
whole bunch of dead people.” He nudged Shep with his shoulder and laughed.
“Fuck’em. Let’s party.”
The circle broke
up in to smaller groups, twos and threes and fours, each cluster wandering away
from the murder tree. Mandy gripped Elias’s arm tighter and shivered. “That was
so scary, right?”
“Right.” He
wasn’t sure if she was being sarcastic or not and the smell of her floral
perfume was too distracting for him to try and figure it out one way or the
other. “So, uh, did you want to go for a walk or something?”
“A walk?” She
laughed and shook her head. “Uh, no.” Still laughing, she slipped away from
him, reaching up and pushing her shiny lemon-yellow hair behind her shoulders.
“I actually need to go talk to Shanna about the routine for the game tomorrow.”
“Right.” Elias
nodded dumbly. “Uh, right. Good luck with that. I’ll just… go… talk to Isiah.”
Elias hunched
his shoulders, stalking over to the base of the murder tree. Isiah studied his
face, rocking on his heels before sucking air through his teeth. “Man, that was
an epic crash and burn. Epic.”
“Shut up.” Elias
punched him, pulling back at the last second. Isiah was nearly as skinny as
Shep but more fragile looking, as if a good solid blow would break him in two.
“She had to go do cheerleading stuff.”
“Cheerleading
stuff.” Isiah snorted. “She’s such a fucking tease.”
“Dude, stop.”
Elias looked up as another gust of wind shook the branches, a handful of leaves
falling down around them like confetti. “Did you have to pick the coldest night
ever to do this thing?”
“Nah, that was
just luck.” The other boy grinned and attempted to wiggle his eyebrows. “Pretty
spooky, right?”
“Whatever.”
Elias nudged him with his elbow. “You bring any good snacks or what?”
About the Author:
L.M. Pruitt has been reading and writing for as long as she can remember. A native of Florida with a love of New Orleans, she has the uncanny ability to find humor in most things and would probably kill a plastic plant. She knows this because she's killed bamboo. Twice. She is the author of the Winged series, the Plaisir Coupable series, Jude Magdalyn series, the Moon Rising series, and Taken: A Frankie Post Novel.
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4320796.L_M_Pruitt
Pre-order Giveaway
Order the book before April 18 and receive
a free short story and signed bookmark
Please visit http://www.lmpruitt.org/SILK.php for details
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