Danielle Lenaghan Sheets
Bio
Author, musician and artist who enjoys being outdoors and having good conversations.
Stories (6)
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Run For Your Life
Run For Your Life And Don’t Look Back By Danielle Lenaghan Sheets It was the mid 1980’s. Eddie Rabbit was blaring on the radio and Mario Brothers were all the rage. Red-headed, freckle faced Damian Smith put on his Pumas and ran three miles to the Muscutt’s house every Saturday to play Pitfall. Sure, young Damian had an Atari at home, but it wasn’t the crème de la crème of new technology. Frogger and Asteroids were cool, but playing Pitfall on the Muscutt’s ColecoVision was the bomb. This was Damian’s get away from the farm, time to be a kid.
By Danielle Lenaghan Sheets4 years ago in Fiction
Old Habits
Old Habits The Flowers in our Garden By Danielle Lenaghan Sheets The cemetery was gray on that rainy Sunday. Dark clouds loomed in the sky and the birds were eerily quiet. Rachel had popped into Petunia’s Flowers on the corner by her apartment. Her mother loved wildflowers and Rachel was happy to honor mom’s wishes. As she approached her mother’s grave she saw a single marigold adorning the headstone. She stared at it as she pulled the weeds, cleaned off the marker and unscrewed the vase to turn it upright. She arranged the wildflowers and made some minor adjustments. “Perfect,” she said to herself. She picked up the marigold and wondered who could have left it there. “Probably some kids wandering by,” she mumbled as she packed up her gloves and cloth. She placed the marigold in the vase with the wildflowers and filled it with water. “I love you mom,” she uttered, blowing a kiss.
By Danielle Lenaghan Sheets4 years ago in Fiction
The Wishing Stone
The Wishing Stone And All Her Heart’s Desires By Danielle Lenaghan Sheets Ellen loved working at the law firm, with one big exception, her boss. Pam was the office manager, a real hard ass, and a miserable person all around. Ellen had survived two years of Pam’s verbal abuse and juvenile mind games. She needed three more years to pad her resume and gain some decent references with the attorneys, then she could move on to another firm and be rid of Pam for good. She also tolerated Pam because she needed the income. She received a meager inheritance from her father and put a down payment on a fixer-upper. Since the day she moved in it seemed to be nothing more than a money pit. When her boyfriend, Mark, left her to go gigging in Florida, she dated an electrician for a while, followed by a plumber, then a drywall guy, but the relationships always seemed to end before the work could be completed. The roof and windows leaked with every downpour and the air conditioner was way too old and too small to bring any relief in the sweltering summer months. The aged washing machine trickled water, and the basement flooded with every downpour producing the stench of swamp which drifted up the wooden stairs. She talked to a realtor about selling, “It’s not a great selling feature to have a tarp on the roof.”
By Danielle Lenaghan Sheets5 years ago in Fiction
The Baker
The Baker By Danielle Lenaghan Sheets Erica was not one of the popular kids growing up. She was taller, heavier, and harrier than most of her classmates, boys included, and she had protruding moles on her chin and cheek. She found it difficult to make friends, which she believed was due to kids asking about her moles too frequently, combined with her aversion to sports or scouts, or anything social for that matter. She was tired of being judged by the perfect kids and preferred to work alone. She practiced piano and clarinet throughout her awkward preteen stage and finally made a place for herself in high school. Her clarinet earned her first chair in the orchestra and by her senior year Erica was chosen to play piano accompaniment for the choir. Her hard work was paying off and it seemed like her wishes were coming true. Erica was in heaven when the music director announced the fall play, “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat”. After three years of straight theater her school was finally doing a musical. Erica would get her chance to shine in front of everyone. She was a shoo-in to play piano for the show. She would get to spend hours practicing with the leads, maybe even become friends with them over the six weeks of afterschool rehearsals. “This will look awesome on my Berklee application!” she told her mom. All walks of life auditioned for the show. Cheerleaders and dancers vied for the part of the Potiphar’s wife. Jocks, skaters and band geeks tried out for Joseph, the Pharaoh, and the cast of characters from the book of Genesis. The entire school was buzzing. As Mr. Able walked into homeroom the screeching of tuning instruments abruptly stopped. The students had their eyes fixed on the aging music teacher, captivated by his every word. “So, I’m sure you’ve all heard about the fall musical. I will hold auditions for pit orchestra this week so please practice the following piece.” Mr. Able handed out sheet music for “Any Dream Will Do” and posted a signup list. When Erica walked into her audition, she was surprised to see an attractive Asian girl sitting at the piano. “Where is your clarinet, Erica?” asked Mr. Able. Her face blushed and she lowered her head, “I thought you would need me on piano, sir… I’ve learned the entire show…I can’t wait to…”. “This is Yatsumi,” Mr. Able interrupted. “She’s new to our school and she’s dynamite on the piano. You’ll be playing your clarinet Erica, and since no-one else has auditioned, congratulations and welcome to the pit orchestra!”
By Danielle Lenaghan Sheets5 years ago in Fiction
The Roman Line
The Roman Line By Danielle Lenaghan Sheets James was underdressed, freezing and irate, “Janet is dragging us to a creepy old barn in middle of BF Biddulph Township in -1℃! We’re supposed to be on lockdown guys. If I catch COVID…” Janet got in his face and scolded him, “You’ve always been such a pantywaist James!” She lowered her voice and turned her head toward the moon… “It must be tonight, February 3, 2021… when the clock strikes midnight it will be the 141st anniversary of the massacre… leaving a family butchered… and a farm in ashes. We’re almost to Roman Line, then it’s past the church, through the field and into the woods...” James’ brother, Matt, was way ahead of the pack. His flaming red locks aglow in the light of the waning gibbous. “I found it losers,” Matt bellowed through the darkness, “who has the flashlights?” Christine noticed the heaviness of the snow clouds, “dark and ominous,” she commented, “the crows in the naked trees are glassy eyed and watching”. The screech of a barn owl stopped her in her tracks. “I’m just going to stay here until you guys check it out,” Christine mumbled, clutching tightly to her Scooby-Doo sleeping bag. Matt was smoking a cigarette and guzzling bourbon when Donnie caught up. Donnie was sporting a headlamp and carrying two flashlights. “I’ll check for critters,” he announced as he kicked the side door in. He yelled to Matt, “It’s an 8x10 foot room, nothing but a few shovels, a rusted scythe and an old scooter covered in chicken shit.” The next room housed empty coops and remnants left behind by previous partiers. Red shattered bong glass, empty beer cans, and a plethora of cigarette butts littered the room. Donnie picked up a forgotten deck of Tarot cards lying on a beer-stained Mad Magazine. He flipped the top card, revealing The Fool. Instantly, he heard a loud wooden creak and ran into the cattle stalls. Dust particles danced through the burst of moonlight beaming from the hayloft. A large figure rose in a cloud of dust and shone a blinding light. Donnie blocked his eyes and pivoted away before he heard Rory burst out laughing, “I came in through the hayloft, idiot! You look like you browned your trousers buddy!” Rory inspected his surroundings, “nothing up here but a coffee table, some pigeon shit and a bunch of empty beer cans.” Janet, James, Matt and a reluctant Christine appeared one by one in the hayloft. “Come on up Donnie,” belched Janet, “unless you’re the chicken shit!” By the time Donnie climbed the wooden ladder, Janet had the decrepit table set with a bowl of apples, six candles, a photograph and an antique pocket watch. Donnie was breathless, but still able to give Janet some crap, “what the hell Janet, who is this dude?” She snatched the photograph from his hand. “That’s William Donnelly,” Janet thundered. “Everyone knows about the Donnelly massacre. It’s part of Lucan lore, something we all whispered about, way before our parents wanted us to. It’s rumored that the Donnelly gravestone was removed from St. Pat’s cemetery in the 1960’s and placed in an old nearby barn. The monument, etched with the word ‘murdered’ under the names of the five butchered, was attracting too many tourists, each chipping away pieces for a souvenir. I believe that gravestone was brought here!” Janet picked up the watch and began to swing it back and forth like a pendulum. “This belonged to William Donnelly…the word ‘mother’ is engraved on the inside cover...” “You’re so full of it, Janet,” spouted Matt. Janet’s brows knitted, “if everyone will just shut up, I will tell you why we’re here.” Janet passed shot glasses to the obedient five then proceeded to pour each a nip of absinthe. Rory was the first to bark, “that’s not a shot Janet, I’m not a child.” Janet spit back, “actually, you are a child Rory, but ‘the green fairy’ will make you hallucinate if you have too much of it. Just sit down and listen.” Janet removed her hood and dusted the snow from her white parka. She took a sip of absinthe and began her monologue. “It was February 3rd, 1880, a cold night with snowflakes in the air and Taurus’ fiery red eye peering through the dark sky. The Vigilance Committee assembled at Cedar Swamp Schoolhouse. Grievances about the horse mutilating Donnelly clan were endless. It was just after midnight when the armed party of thirty-five started on their journey toward the homestead.” “Nothing good happens after midnight,” Christine interjected, only to be shushed by Janet’s death glare. Janet continued, “The ringleader, James Carroll, crept into the darkened house…alone…and handcuffed sleeping Thomas Donnelly. James Sr. was awakened by the intrusion and eventually Johanna and Bridget came downstairs to see what the ruckus was. When Carroll signaled, his men burst through the front door, piercing Tom with a pitchfork, and pulverizing him with shovels… James and Johanna were bludgeoned and trampled by the drunken invaders… Bridget ran screaming for the stairs but was ruthlessly hunted and viciously slaughtered… The oil from the family’s lanterns provided the fuel the posse needed to burn the little farmhouse to the ground… Next, they headed to William Donnelly’s place, 3 miles away. The angry mob yelled repeatedly for Will to come outside. Will’s brother, John, was spending the night and opened the door to see what the commotion was. He was riddled with bullets as he stepped over the threshold. You see… Will survived the Donnelly massacre! The vigilantes thought they had killed William, but they shot John... Why do I have Will’s photograph? And Will’s pocket watch? I believe he will talk to us!” The swinging pocket watch in Janet’s right hand came to an abrupt stop. Christine grabbed Rory, hiding her pale face in his pea coat. “You did that,” snapped Donnie, “quit messing around Janet.” “This is real Donnie, so if you can’t handle it, you can leave,” snorted Janet. “I’ll go with you Donnie,” stuttered Christine, clutching tightly to his green bomber jacket, only to get ripped away by Janet’s outstretched arm. “Both of you need to sit the hell down or this isn’t going to work.”
By Danielle Lenaghan Sheets5 years ago in Humans
Sleep Tight
Sleep Tight by Danielle Lenaghan Sheets “It seems like he’s everywhere I go, offering me a gas mask when chemical attacks are looming, or warning me about security breaches on campus, but I’m trying to keep Greg Moriarti at an arm’s length.” Adrian told her dad during their weekly phone call, “I feel like Molly frickin’ Ringwald in Pretty in Pink for Pete’s sake! What’s he like? His band plays benefits to support animal rescue and he spends most of his time with his grandma. Tell me, why does he have to go and do stuff like that? Don’t worry dad, I’m keeping him at bay.” “That comes from the French, Adrian. Hounds barking in the 14th century were said to be ‘at a bay’. If he’s a hound, you should have nothing else to do with this boy. Sleep tight and don’t let the bed bugs bite. Tighten the bed ropes Adrian, so you don’t fall to the floor, and change the straw before the bugs hatch. It means be prepared baby cakes, don’t be taken by surprise! It only takes 18 days for bed bugs to hatch. Things get out of control quickly. I know you have a good head on your shoulders, just keep your eyes and ears open.”
By Danielle Lenaghan Sheets5 years ago in Fiction
