6

It’ll be our little secret.

Ezra could hear the vendor’s voice as if he were speaking inside her mind. She was lying in bed with the lights off, trying to fall asleep while staring at the ceiling. The winter wren chirped occasionally, but she dismissed its plea. Her cells buzzed with unrelenting anxiety. Her stomach was tied in knots as if her organs were being wrung dry. Ezra’s scalp was on fire, but not even the burn could cease the instinctive urge to stroke her hair. She’d always stroked her hair. As far back as she could remember, she’d indulged in the practice. Ezra pulled forcefully, stroking the long locks and thinking while clucking her tongue.

“Da-da-DAAA, da-da-da-DAAA-da-da-DAA.”

Thinking of the street vendor.

There is a hidden alcove in Central Park that houses charms and figurines. It is referred to as the Ramble Cave. There is magic inside the cave. Knowledge exists there. Truth and answers. You are to go there and retrieve the small statue. You’ll know which one when you see it, for it holds magical energy. Magic that will provide you with the truth. And then you will see. You will see and know the truth about what is happening to you.

But Ezra was afraid of magic. Afraid, and yet intrigued. The ability to know, understand, and have answers far outweighed Ezra’s fear.

The vendor had placed his finger to his lips. It’ll be our little secret. Once you have obtained the statue, you may do with it as you please. Then he stood tall, like a soldier about to offer a salute, with his chin raised and his shoulders erect. Promise you’ll go there, and I’ll provide you with directions.

“Da-da-DAAA, da-da-da-DAAA-da-da-DAA.”

Ezra pinched three strands. Pulling. Tugging. The pain brought her back to the here and now.

Chirp. Chirp.

“Da-da-DAAA, da-da-da-DAAA-da-da-DAA.”

Aaaahhhhhhhhhhh!

Ooohhhhhhhhmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Aaahhhhmmmmmmmmmmm.

“Da-da-DAAA, da-da-da-DAAA-da-da-DAA.”

Chirp. Chirp.

“Shhhhh.” She shushed the bird.

She tugged at the few strands with a wince. Let them drift from her hand to the bed, then stared into darkness.

Her eyes grew wide, then wider as an icy chill crawled across her skin and her thoughts emptied from her mind like a well gone dry. A subtle creak on the carpet. Heavy, strained breaths whispered through the door. The shadow people groaned across the bedroom floor. Ezra lay in bed, stiff as a board, as the shadows inched across her skin.

Unfortunately, there are more demons than angels.

Her breath caught in her throat. Her heart froze, stiff, turning to stone.

She’d been here before; the shadow people had first arrived on a summer’s day long ago. They took her away to the butterflies and waterfalls and the essence of spring, where flowers bloomed and the air was warm, while the hum surrounded the cave housing the monster. Bad things happened in that cave. Ezra knew it was true. She could feel the evil essence saturate her bones.

If she focused hard enough, she could hear soft footsteps moving cautiously inside the cave. If she gazed into its blackened depths, she could feel her body twitch from the pain radiating from her pelvis to her chest.

Ezra forced her eyes away from the cave.

Focus on the waterfalls and butterflies.

Focus on spring.

Her heartbeat now raged inside the sun hovering above the horizon. The Ohm was prominent, bleating from the center of the giant star.

She found it odd that the vendor’s journey would lead her to a cave.

7

“Have you lost your mind, Ezra?”

Sister Agnes looked down on Ezra with contempt. Her teeth were gritted. Her jaw tight, with her nose curled in a sneer. The other girls snickered and laughed. Sister Agnes waited for an answer. How could Ezra answer? Was it an actual question or a statement? Sure, Ezra had drifted off again, thinking about the cave, the butterflies, spring, and the shadow people. Thinking about last night and the pain that was unbearable, then the cave with its evil essence.

“Are you there, Ezra?”

Another drift, this time right in front of Sister Agnes. In front of the class. Ezra’s jaw hung loose, shocked into a frozen state. Her ability to speak was gone, a result of her emptied mind.

“Up!” scolded Sister Agnes. She gestured to the front of the class. “Take the position.”

Ezra looked up at Sister Agnes, feeling her face turn flushed and hot. The other students looked on with grins and squelched laughs. Ezra looked at the desk in front of the class. Looked at the other students staring at the scene, watching it unfold.

“Now, Ezra! If you refuse to stay alert in my class, I’ll have to force you to pay attention. Get up, Ezra. Out of the chair and assume the position.”

Ezra eyed the paddleboard on Sister Agnes’s desk. She’d never seen it in class before. Typically, the teachers kept it in their office, which was where the punishment took place. Ezra didn’t move. Couldn’t force herself to get up. Sister Agnes tilted her head, eyeballing Ezra while gritting her teeth.

“Do I need to move you myself?”

Ezra gave a slow shake of her head.

“Good,” said Sister Agnes, turning away and walking toward the desk. Ezra followed a second later, staring at the paddleboard that Sister Agnes snatched off the desk, then stepped back, waiting.

Ezra’s heart pounded against her ribs, racing like a rabbit in her chest. Her stare locked on the paddleboard that Sister Agnes kept knocking into her free hand, as if gearing up for maximum penalty.

“Assume the position.”

Ezra turned around behind the desk to face the twenty students in attendance. There was a mix of emotions in the audience. Some wore pained expressions. Some looked away, and yet a few seemed as if they were anticipating the pain that Ezra was about to receive, chomping at the bit to bear witness to Ezra’s shame.

Ezra knew they fed off it like candy.

Ezra bent over with her hands on the desk.

“Let this be a lesson to you all: pay attention.” Ezra could feel Sister Agnes’s hot breath crawl up her back, creeping across her neck. “Dreamers never win. You need to be in the here and now to be a proper lady.”

Ezra locked onto the closest desk, not seeing the student—Nancy Blake—sitting there. Just the desk. A focal point to maintain her...

Thwack came the first paddle whack, and Ezra twitched with a wince. Pain raced up her spine. Ezra stiffened.

Thwack!

Ezra jolted forward. The pain blossomed across her lower back.

She felt the wind before the third whack. Ezra ground her jaw in anticipation. Her entire body was on fire. The pain welled up into her throat.

Thwack!

The other students looked on with lost stares. She noticed Kendra cup her hand over her mouth and whisper something to Jenny Holden. Ezra turned her stare back to the desk in the front row.

“Now, get back to your seat and pay attention.”

At least she only gave three. Ezra stood tall, then walked back to her desk, feeling eyes roaming over her. Her body was hot from the heat of pain and shame. She sat down, avoiding eye contact with the other students when a single tear dripped down her cheek.

8

“You’ve got a devil in you, Ezra,” said Sister Agnes. She’d brought Ezra into her office after class and had her sit down to speak with her. Ezra’s bottom was throbbing. She was certain welts had formed across her ass; the sting forced a wince every time she shifted in the seat. “You’ve been a student here all your life, and in that time, we’ve always noticed something… troubling about you.”

Sister Agnes sat behind her desk, her eyes locked on Ezra, staring her down, assessing. Staring into her soul. Sister Agnes sighed. She tilted her head. “I’ve also noticed over the last few months that your drifting has escalated. In fact, it’s become so prominent that I had a talk with Father Carmine about it.” She paused as if to allow the information to sink in. Father Carmine’s tenure with the church was paramount. He intervened only when there was an issue with a student, and his involvement would often lead to expulsion. “I want you to know that we are calling your parents to have a conference with them about your behavior.” She let that sink in, too; her stare never wavered from Ezra. “Drifting off the way you do and as often as you do…” She shook her head. “It is the place where the devil roams. Needless to say, we are very concerned.”

Ezra gripped her hair, then pulled just enough to feel the follicles raise her scalp. Her parents? This wasn’t good. She could only imagine the wrath that would be delivered upon her by her parents. Being called into the school over your child’s behavior was shameful.

“Say something, Ezra. I want to know what you’re thinking.”

Ezra wanted to puke, her insides roiling with toxicity. She tugged a little harder, the pain across her skull eliminating the pain across her bottom.

“Where do you go when you have these episodes? The situation is quite troubling.”

Ezra didn’t know what to say. Could she tell Sister Agnes about the butterflies and waterfalls? The spring season and the cave where the darkness loomed and the creature waited. Should she tell her about the shadow people or the way her insides were in a constant boil? Or how it all happened on a whim, requiring no prompting from Ezra. The episodes just happened.

Instead, she said nothing; the words dried on her tongue. Evaporated from her mind.

“We’ve seen such cases before,” said Sister Agnes. “There is a procedure that can cure such illnesses. It’s quite popular and has received magnificent results in the medical community.”

Ezra’s heart was racing, wiping her thoughts clean. Ezra didn’t want a procedure. She wanted clarification on what was happening to her.

“Are you going through the change, Ezra?”

Pull. Tug. Gritted teeth.

“I noticed you’re a bit behind in developing like the others. The change can often amplify a mental illness.” She cupped her hands together on top of the desk.

Ezra’s voice arrived soft and meek. “I just want to know what is happening to me. What is this change? Why do I have to go through it?”

Sister Agnes sighed. “We’ve gone over this in class. Girls your age go through changes. Like a caterpillar entering a cocoon, we come out on the other side blossomed and ready to be women. What you’re going through is commonplace. All women go through the change. But sometimes the change is overwhelming. I’ve seen it before, most particularly with those who entered the cocoon with a troubled mind. I believe you are one of those women.”

Ezra knew it was more than Sister Agnes had referenced.

A cocoon? Like a butterfly.

Butterflies flashed before her eyes. The waterfall. The spring season. The cave. The groaning ohm radiating through her bones.

Sister Agnes snapped her fingers, breaking Ezra from her trance. “If you can’t remain present during a simple conversation, how do you expect to remain diligent in real life?” She looked away as if to break her thoughts, then returned her gaze to Ezra. “I believe there is something troubling about you, Ezra. The procedure I spoke of can cure you of it.”

Sister Agnes opened her desk drawer and retrieved a pamphlet that she slid across the desk to Ezra. “This pamphlet explains the procedure. I want you to share this with your parents tonight and talk to them about it.” She eyed Ezra as she took the pamphlet. “I believe it is the only way to get the devil out of you.”

Ezra’s eyes narrowed. In big letters, the pamphlet read: Return to Family Life. The Calming Effects of Prefrontal Lobotomy.

“Father Carmine and I will suggest this very procedure to your parents when they arrive.”

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Ezra’s Secret

1

January 1955

NYC

Thwack!

Ezra twitched at the remembrance of the paddleboard slapping across her bottom. She could still feel the sting as she stroked her thick, long brown hair. Her skin tightened from the bitter cold while she sat on a stone bench outside the church.

She pulled her hair while gnashing her teeth. Her dry eyes stared wide-eyed across the cobblestone path leading to the waist-high wrought-iron gate that opened to the city sidewalk. Black, dirty snow covered the ground on both sides of the path, which was slick with ice and patches of boot- trampled snow.

She listened to the hum that rose above the church, cascading across the city like a demonic ohm. Ezra always heard it as if the hum followed her everywhere she went. Constant and forever, she’d become so used to its dark foreboding that she relied on its presence.

Ezra pulled forcefully on her hair, stroking it with nonchalant grace.

Thwack!

She paused with a lock of hair gripped in her palm, remembering Sister Agnes with the paddleboard and the menacing look in her eyes. Some of the other students joked that Sister Agnes got off on doling out capital punishment, but Ezra didn’t understand what that meant.

Got off?

The hum intensified. Ezra could feel it in her bones. She started to hum. A tune she never remembered hearing, but it was there, at the forefront of her brain, like a lullaby to put her at ease.

Da-da-DAAA, da-da-da-DAAA-da-da-DAA.

Pull. With tight, gritted teeth, feeling the hairs rip from her scalp, she paused again.

Da-da-DAAA, da-da-da-DAAA-da-da-DAA.

Thwack!

She certainly didn’t know what “got off” meant, but she believed it had something to do with the fact that Sister Agnes had paddled Ezra’s bottom eight times. Three more than legally allowed. Those last three hurt the most, considering Sister Agnes had switched hands and her position behind Ezra to capitalize on doling out the maximum punishment by turning the paddle to the other cheek.

Or perhaps Ezra’s lack of tears, screams, and hollers irritated the aging nun. From what Ezra had heard, by the third paddle thwack, most students shed a tear or two. But not Ezra. Not at all. Ezra just went somewhere else when it happened. Out of body. Out of mind. Daydreaming was the word Ezra used to explain her state of mind.

An icy wind caressed her skin. Ezra looked up at the cloud-riddled sky. The clouds looked like giant blocks of ice anchored above the city that hid the afternoon sun, turning the air into a grayish hue.

She hummed again. Started to pull, stroking her hair with a forceful hand, her tongue buzzing against the roof of her mouth.

Da-da-DAAA, da-da-da-DAAA-da-da-DAA.

Thwack!

Sister Agnes had stepped to the side, still holding the paddle. “And let that be your lesson to no longer drift off in my class. Next time, I’ll add even more. A modern woman needs to be alert. How can you listen to God’s advice if you’re drifting in the devil’s dominion?”

To her question, Ezra had no answer. She couldn’t help that her mind wandered. It was who she was. Ezra found solace in the drifting; it was where she lived most of her life.

Ezra tilted her head, staring into the void of icy, gray clouds at a bird that seemed to be headed right for her with a crooked flight.

Da-da-DAAA, da-da-da-DAAA-da-da-DAA.

She pulled with a yank. Her nostrils flared. Her face twitched, then she dropped the long lock of bloodied hair to the ground when the crooked bird landed with a splat on the cobblestone path. Ezra licked her chapped lips, watching the bird flop across the cobblestones in a frantic panic. Ezra took a good, long look at it; the sight was intriguing. Her eyes narrowed, assessing the bird, concluding that something must have happened to its wing. The little thing couldn’t take flight, continuing to flop at an odd angle, with one wing flapping and the other as lame as a…

Ezra couldn’t finish the thought. The bird, small enough to fit inside her palm, started chirping as if calling for help. Ezra looked up at the sky and all around, but there were no other birds in the sky. No one on the way to help the little one.

It flopped and flopped, straining to take flight. Ezra stood up, taking her bookbag off the bench. The large monstrosity held a host of thick textbooks, pads, paper, pencils, and erasers. She slung it over her shoulder, then took slow steps toward the bird. The coos and chirps were relentless. The flopping was hurried and anxious as she paused in front of it. Ezra knew about birds, and she was certain she was looking at a winter wren. The poor thing stopped flopping, lying down in the cold.

Ezra looked around, assessing whether anyone had seen what she’d seen when her stomach twisted nausea to the back of her throat. She couldn’t help it; her cells buzzed with toxicity, culminating in heated, flushed skin. The nausea was new. It had been happening since before her fifteenth birthday last month.

She dropped her bookbag, then vomited in the snow. Gagged, vomited again, then wiped her mouth, stretching her eyelids to the icy sting of winter. The wren chirped as if it were a last effort to call for help. Ezra touched her quaking stomach, then gasped a heavy breath.

Staring at the wren struggling to take flight, her scalp burning, she was certain that her skull was bleeding. Little beads of blood that accompanied the burn. Ezra gazed at the bird, then bent down to add it to her bookbag.

2

The wren was placed in a shoebox. Its soft coos wouldn’t matter. She poked holes in the cover, then slid the box under her bed for safekeeping. Father always worked long hours as a mechanic. She wouldn’t see him until tomorrow, and Mom was out. She was always out, mingling with friends. Typically, she was high as a kite by dinner and wouldn’t notice the coos or chirps. Alcohol did that, melting away the periphery while tuning out every noise that meant anything.

Ezra got up off the floor while listening to the hum. It followed her everywhere. She had plans to meet up with Michael Freed after dinner. She’d met Michael at church a few months ago. He was a good, church-loving boy who was as loyal to the church and all its philosophies as anyone Ezra had ever met. Purity was something Michael took to heart.

Ezra’s parents were pleased that she was seeing him. More than likely because of his conviction to purity, but Ezra had needs. She could feel them rise when she was with him, admitting she was overwhelmed with what her mother referred to as hormones.

“You’re going through the change,” her mother had said last summer. “A little late, but... it was inevitable.”

Not that Ezra understood what she was talking about. No one ever talked to Ezra about whatever change her mother referred to. Her mother included. Perhaps Mom thought the school was educating Ezra on such topics, but all the school ever taught was basic anatomy. A subject that Ezra found gross in every way possible.

During the conversation with her mother last summer about hormones, Ezra had asked about babies and how a woman got pregnant. The question had been on her mind, and when she asked a few girls in her class, all they did was laugh and provide ridicule that Ezra couldn’t stand.

“From storks, of course,” Kendra Havendale had said, but Ezra knew that wasn’t true. She may be naïve, but even Ezra knew there were no magical storks flying around carrying babies to new mothers in the hospital.

Mother’s answer was simple. “When you make love is when the baby comes.” Mom’s answer had arrived through gritted teeth.

Ezra understood the topic made her mother uncomfortable, but she really wanted to know, so she pressed her mother for clarification.

The result was a wicked tongue. Mother’s wicked tongue, which was often cruel in ways that made Ezra shudder and want to hide.

The wren chirped from inside the box. Ezra gritted her teeth. The sound was loud. Maybe a bit too loud, and she wondered if her mother would hear it despite her alcohol-infused, numb mind. Thank the heavens she wasn’t home yet. The hum-the demonic ohm-carried thick inside her room. Ezra felt sick again, acid boiling from her throat to nip at the back of her teeth. She swallowed it down while gazing around her room. The chest of drawers beside the door, with the Mother Mary statue on top. The closet door on the wall to her right was half-closed. Darkness seeped into the room from the closet. Her scalp burned, with a faint tinge of pain. Ezra crossed one leg over the other while sitting on her bed. She stroked her hair again.

Then clucked her tongue.

Da-da-DAAA, da-da-da-DAAA-da-da-DAA.

The wren chirped, and Ezra shushed the poor thing, pausing her tongue- clucking but still stroking her hair. The length stopped just below her shoulder. She stroked her hair with both hands while gazing at the long mirror attached to the wall opposite her bed. Staring at herself.

Ezra was a skinny little thing who didn’t weigh an ounce above eighty-five pounds. Standing up, her head didn’t reach five feet. Petite! That’s how her mother referred to Ezra’s frame. She wore her school uniform one size too big, but she still looked like a child. Her black irises gazed at her reflection. Gazed at herself. Acid in her chest nipped the back of her teeth.

Chirp. Chirp.

Ezra clucked her tongue.

Da-da-DAAA, da-da-da-DAAA-da-da-DAA.

The hum-so faint yet unmistakably there-pressed against her ears.

She heard the key slice into the keyhole even before her mother opened the front door.

3

The sun was descending over the city, shedding shades of azure and burnt orange that cut through the skyscrapers while Ezra walked across the city sidewalk to Michael’s house. Of course, the hum was with her. Always with her. Her conversation with Mother was still on her mind.

The conversation resulted in a smack across Ezra’s face when Ezra confessed about the paddle boarding and Sister Agnes’ discontent. She was certain her cheek and the skin over her eyes were still blotchy red. Ezra would cry if she had any tears to shed, but those had been taken a long time ago, resulting in no emotion at all. Numb. All Ezra ever did was take the punishment and put her mind somewhere else. Daydreaming was Ezra’s favorite friend. She referred to it as heaven, for what better place could she go other than heaven? Heaven was where butterflies coasted across the landscape in droves, and the birds sang sweet melodies while basking in the glory of a spring season. Always spring, where the flowers bloomed and the grass was the brightest green she’d ever seen, with a waterfall that thundered into a crystal-clear lake.

But even in the spring, the creature hid in waiting, calling out the ohm with a noxious reverberation as if to remind the world it still existed, biding its time to reach out and snatch spring by the throat.

Ezra jumped back onto the sidewalk when a car raced past her, blaring its horn. The headlights beamed brightly, and the light washed across her eyes. The car was mere inches from her nose. So close, she felt the wind from the speeding car. Her eyes blinked away the butterflies and the green grass. She was so lost in thought she never realized she was about to walk into the street, into oncoming traffic.

“It is best to stay alert, young lady. The drivers in this city are becoming more unhinged with every passing year.”

The voice came from behind her. Ezra looked over her shoulder at the street vendor standing in front of a table, holding a large can wrapped in white paper with the word “Donations” written on it. The table behind him was covered in a black cloth, with poster board signs standing on top of it. Westchester Orphanage was written in thick black letters across the two signs that were littered with pictures of children in various states of play. All had smiling faces. A red cane leaned against the table.

He cocked his eyebrows, waiting for her to speak. With the sun now dipping beneath the horizon, darkness bathed him in a pale glow. He was a lanky, tall man, clad in all black that stressed the paleness. “Are you okay?” he asked. “My lord, you look like you saw a ghost. What troubles you, young lady?”

“I-I was just thinking about something.” She cleared her throat.

His eyes narrowed, assessing Ezra from her toes to her head, when his eyes narrowed even more. Ezra instinctively put her hand over her head, certain he was staring at the bald spot where she’d pulled her hair out that afternoon.

“Indeed!” he said. “But in the interim, it seems you’ve lost some of what’s supposed to be on your head.” He smiled, a tight-lipped toothless grin.

Ezra had no response. Her scalp burned from her touch, and she was dismayed that her hair pulling was more pronounced than she had thought.

The stranger stretched the donation can toward her. “Can you provide some help for the orphanage? In these trying times, every penny counts, and the orphans will be forever grateful.” He shook the can, but there were no coins inside to rattle or jingle. Empty.

Ezra gazed at the can, then returned her stare to the stranger. “Of course.” Normally, Ezra would walk past the street vendors. The city was full of them, and all they wanted was some quick change to turn a profit. “I can spare a few nickels to help the unfortunate.”

Before she left the house, Ezra had rifled through the swear jar in the kitchen. Father had a foul mouth, and there was enough in the jar for Ezra to indulge without it looking like it had been ransacked. She planned on buying a hot dog on her way home from Michael’s, but knew the money was better spent to help a noble cause. She retrieved the nickels from her pocket as she approached the vendor. His body emitted a heat that was a welcome reprieve from winter’s bitter cold. She dropped the coins into the can.

“So gracious. The orphanage thanks you.”

“I feel sorry for those kids, all alone with no parents to lead them.”

“Agreed, and yet, as is true in these trying times, some people should not be parents. They have no patience or kindness.” He paused, staring her down. He was very tall. “All children are sacred. Is it the baby’s fault for being born? For being conceived? Feed it good things, and it shall prevail. Kindness and love are all a child needs. Some children are better off without parents who bring nothing but heartache. As unfortunate as that may seem.”

“I suppose it is.” Ezra turned her gaze away from the stranger’s stare. It seemed he couldn’t take his eyes off Ezra’s scalp.

“May I offer some advice, young lady?”

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Hello Readers,

Below is the book description for Ezra’s Secret. Official publication will be on August 18th. Formats will include digital, paperback and hardback. My cover designer and I will have the cover completed soon and I will send over the official cover reveal at that time along with links on where to find the story.

The first five chapters will go live this evening to all paid subscribers. You’ll be the first to experience the tragedy and heartache that is Ezra’s story.

Until next time, be safe and be awesome and keep on reading.

With gratitude,

PD Alleva

NYC. January, 1955.

Something is wrong with Ezra—and it isn’t the kind of wrong you can pray away.

She turned fifteen a month ago. Since then, the world has begun to slip. Questions about her body, her mind, her very existence are met with silence—at home, at school, even beneath the cold gaze of the nuns who preach certainty but offer none. Everyone knows something.

No one will tell her.

Then there’s the hum.

Low. Constant. Alive.

It vibrates through the bones of the city—and through her. It follows her into sleep, into waking, into the fragile refuge of her “daydreams,” a place of blooming fields and quiet skies that once felt like escape… and now feels like something else entirely.

Because Ezra is no longer sure she’s imagining it.

When a strange street vendor offers her a path to the truth, she’s sent into the shadows of Central Park—into a hidden cave where something ancient waits. A small figurine. A simple object.

A key.

But truth has a cost. And some doors don’t open—they consume.

As Ezra peels back the layers of her reality, she begins to uncover a truth buried deep within… one shaped by silence, by fear, and by things no one was ever meant to speak aloud.

Some secrets aren’t hidden in the dark.

They’re hidden in plain sight—protected by those who should have told the truth.

And as the walls close in, Ezra begins to understand:

The real horror isn’t what’s waiting for her in the shadows—

It’s the truth they’ve buried all along.

Ezra’s Secret is a chilling descent into identity, possession, and the quiet terror of becoming something you were never meant to be.