As a peace offering, I have decided to share a bit of The Renfield Syndrome with you. Yes, it's just a snippet (and unedited at that), but if I give you more it'll ruin the story. I am writing today and plan on doing so each day until the story is complete.
So until then, and without further ado...
“I told you to go to your fucking room,” Jackson snarled at Joshua, lifting an imposing hand and pointing to the hallway. Her short caramel hair was messy, her toned and muscular back rippling as she motioned once more to the empty hall.
“N-no,” he stammered, body quaking.
“Don’t make me tell you again.”
Marianne rushed between her son and the enraged woman, as if her airy body could somehow shield him from harm, and Jackson moved toward him, passing through the ghost like a dense New York winter fog.
I glanced around frantically. The entire apartment was stripped, with none the barest of the essential necessities to engage in diligent combat. The porcelain lamps would shatter upon one good use, and the television and entertainment center would be impossible to lift.
My eyes settled on the old oak coffee table; the dark wood stain matching the somber furniture and gloomy atmosphere. My only chance was the enormous bible situated on the end; the good Lord Jesus Christ beaming up at me from the center of pristine white leather, flaming heart aglow.
Better make it count.
I didn’t hesitate, snagging the thick and heavy book in my hands and then bringing it around, building momentum and slugging the good word across the side of Jackson’s head like a sacred baseball bat full of deliverance. Her head snapped to the side with a rip roaring slap, spinning her around upon impact as her body followed, sending her staggering to the floor on her unworthy knees.