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| Photo Content from Tarryn Fisher's FB page |
Welcome 2 our place where we share our passion and thoughts on all things movies, shows, & books. As a mother & daughter bloggers, we enjoy a variety of genres, such as: fantasy. sci-fi, paranormal/supernatural, horror, & so many more. Not only that, from time to time, we attend a variety of events, and we will share our fun & fan experiences on our site. So, thank you, in advance, for visiting our site.

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| Photo Content from Tarryn Fisher's FB page |


Death smells of macaroons.
Amelie was slumped over the kitchen table, face in a plate of meringues. Spearmint-green flakes stuck to her left cheek. Her glazed irises remained fixed upon a vase of spiky dahlias, cut and arranged by Grace that very morning. Every tangerine petal was bug and blemish free; my sister was well known locally for her green fingers.
My body sagged and my A level folders fell onto the floor.
‘About time, considering this is all your fault,’ said Grace, appearing from the pantry in a veil of chlorinated steam. She threw a ball of latex at me.
This was really happening.
I peeled on the gloves, unable to stop gawping at Amelie’s violet lips.
‘Would you believe it?’ continued Grace. ‘I ran out of black sacks. Had to nip out and get some more.’ She took a step closer towards me and lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Where have you been?’
I reached into my tunic pocket for my phone. Grace cocked her head on one side so that her marmalade curls parted, revealing a tiny sliver of snowy hair against her scalp. She narrowed her eyes for a second then flapped her hands about her temples. ‘Never mind. You’re here now.’ She leaned forward and pecked the top of my forehead. ‘We’ve got lots to be getting on with. You can start by bagging her up. The packing tape is in the top drawer of the dresser.’
Grace wafted out of the room, her strappy sandals clicking across the hallway.
For some reason Amelie wasn’t wearing any shoes.
After I finished, I stared down at my handiwork; a black shiny parcel criss-crossed with brown tape. Grace stood there, leaning on the mop, her toe tapping to some hidden melody within her mind.
‘We’ll put her in the utility room for the mo.’ It was as though she was talking about an old hat-stand that was going to the charity shop.






