Mindy

Daughter of Darkness (by Mindy Halleck) A troubled clairvoyant holocaust survivor—trapped between her new life in America and her past—must embrace her dark powers to defeat a fanatical occultist SS officer who is hunting her. This is the opening scene of my (magical realism) novel, Daughter of Darkness. This scene sets up the antagonist vs protagonist plot and is the first time they meet. It serves the story in that it establishes the necessary mythos and language, to understand the following story and primary conflict. Chapter 1 ~ 1939 ~ Gdańsk Poland At twelve years old, Esmée Boruvka realized her clairvoyance was not the blessing her parents thought but was instead a defect, a hole in her soul with the potential to attract evil. Esmée learned this truth about herself at one of the two tables in her childhood home. One table she adored because it was a place where memories were made. But the other table terrified her; it vibrated with the dark energies of Seth, the Egyptian god of chaos, destruction, confusion, storms, and evil. The table she loved was the long oak-wood table in their kitchen where the walls were the color of English lavender blue, and where in summer warm sunlight splashed down on them from ceiling-high white windowpanes, and where in autumn the ping-ping-ping of raindrops against the glass and the crackling of the kitchen’s large fireplace announced the end of one season and the beginning of another. And it was at that table their Saturday morning ritual existed; Esmée seated with hot cocoa and her coloring books, her favorite being David and Goliath because David killed the giant with just one powerful rock. Her mama rolled a round of dough the color of one of her prized alabaster Shabti out across the table to make a batch of her legendary cinnamon rolls––a recipe she found in Egypt––the smell of which lingered throughout the house for days. “Ancient Egyptians used Ceylon Cinnamon for thousands of years,” her mama said. “Prizing it for its health benefits.” She freckled her magic powder across the soft dough. “This spice was so revered among ancient nations it was described in the Hebrew Bible as consecrated incense used in rituals, on altars, and as a gift fit for monarchs and even for a god.” She said, always teaching. “I have sprinkled my bed with myrrh, aloes, and cinnamon, it says in Proverbs.” She smiled. “Our bodies are temples, my darling, always use only the finest ingredients. Add a pinch of orange zest and a fine brandy, and viola, your cinnamon rolls are famous.” She flour-dusted the tip of Esmée’s nose. “Remember, inferior cinnamon is treachery on your cells. Learn about God’s herbs, both sweet and toxic, most can heal a body, but some can kill. Important to know the difference, wouldn’t you say?” Esmée nodded taking in her mother’s vast mastery of the many mysterious things in their realm. And her mama’s cinnamon rolls were legendary. Considered a true gift when given, an honor when served and a recipe people asked for but were never granted. “For magic to exist its secrets must be protected.” She’d say with a wink. And it was her cinnamon rolls that the young blue-eyed SS officer said brought him to their doorstep that Saturday when Esmée’s papa was not home. “Allow me to introduce myself,” he said. “Lieutenant Wolfgang Edzard König.” Behind him, two soldiers stood guard on the doorstep. “They call me the Wolf … but I do not like that.” He was the first SS officer Esmée had seen up close, though she had seen them in magazines, and her father certainly had plenty to say about them, their uniforms, flags, medals, and cruelty. The lieutenant towered over them. His grey uniform was dotted with Third Reich medal bars, the iron cross, and a metal swastika dangled from his chest, his black leather boots went to his knees, and he wore the largest ring Esmée had ever seen outside of an Egyptian museum, a ring with a swastika of red rubies. “I have heard of your sweet cinnamon rolls,” he said. “Fit for a king they say.” He removed his black visor cap. Esmée’s eyes focused on the cap’s insignia, an eagle above skull and crossbones. A shiver went through her. “I … I am busy today,” her mama said. “Perhaps tomorrow––” “I will wait.” Uninvited, he stepped inside the foyer and firmly placed his leather-gloved hand on Esmée’s shoulder. And when he touched Esmée she was unable to move, feeling a heaviness on her spirit she’d never felt before. She knew these men called Nazis were hated by her father and abhorrent to her mother because they recently forbade Jewish scholars like her mama, to teach. “This is a very nice home,” he said. His gaze traveled up the spiral staircase, along the shelved walls, and into the study. They lived in her papa’s family home, an 1870s dove white manor house with four large pillars out front and a red stone porch beneath them that hugged the entire house. It was a happy house where her parents had parties, where up to one hundred people luxuriated and overlooked her mama’s sweet-smelling lavender field, rose garden, and water fountains. In the far corner of that porch was where Esmée collected her stones, stacking them along the banister in delicately balanced sculptures and elaborate feats of near megalithic engineering, her papa always said. And now on that porch, two angry soldiers stood at attention glaring at her guardian stones. “This is an extravagant home,” he said. “It has been in your family for many years, yes?” Her mama nodded as he stepped toward the sitting room, their most precious sanctuary. There was an invisible line drawn down the middle of the sitting room––a room with twenty-foot ceilings and so many windows it had the appearance of a solarium. On one side was her mama’s world where she collected discoveries about female goddesses within ancient Israelite and Egyptian religions: black onyx Canopic jars that supposedly held the organs of an Egyptian goddess, stacks upon stacks of books, artifacts carved in wood, etched in stone, burned of bronze or gold––all in a whirlwind of lavender scented dust and disorder. But to Esmée that dust and disorder looked like flecks of gold falling from heaven and landing on flawlessly orchestrated pandemonium. Alongside her mama’s ancient chaos, existing in perfect harmony was her Papa’s orderly world: artifacts of the early engineers displayed on lit shelves or enclosed in shiny glass domes, measuring rods, a picture of them both in Sudan in front of the Nubian Pyramids, photographs, and drawings of other shrines, even a piece of papyrus with ancient engineering notes which hung framed in glass above his well-organized bookshelves––it was his prized possession. But it was these cherished possessions and their exceptional collective knowledge, even more than their ultimate crime of being Jewish, that caught the ravening eye of The Wolf. Esmée’s mama, Sabine Boruvka lectured at the university about ancient religions and death rituals, and she philosophized about goddesses and her own Kabballah beliefs at the drop of a hat. And her papa never let an opportunity pass where he could proudly explain the origins of his collections. “Did you know,” he always began, “There were fourteen pyramids constructed for their queens, several of whom were renowned warrior queens.” And it was on that note their relationship formed. They were young graduate students in 1913, both volunteer archeologists in Egypt collaborating with Americans trying to discover the Nubian Dynasty. Her papa’s interest was in the construction of pyramids and burial rooms and her mamas was in the ancient dynasties that worshipped female goddesses and who referred to them as God’s wife, which the Nubians often did. They had Esmée late in life saying she was a gift from those Nubian Gods of Sudan. And when they discovered Esmée’s gift of clairvoyance they claimed it was confirmation of their encounters with ancient gods. In their main dining room with its twenty-foot ceilings and gold-leafed wallpapered walls, was the other table, the one that frightened Esmée. It was an Egyptian Revival table that seated eighteen and that had wood-carved Cleopatra-Sphinx legs. In the center of the table was a black vase with towering plumes of stone-grey ostrich feathers that nearly touched the chandelier. At the end of the palm-lined room with high glass French doors was a pair of Egyptian Revival Thrown Chairs that Esmée’s mama forbade her to EVER sit on, especially when armed with an ice cream cone. And along the Egyptian Revival hutch were antique plates and several Egyptian Shabti––small figures carved in skin-colored alabaster or wood, representing persons who would perform tasks for the deceased in the afterlife. In one corner stood a bronze statue of Nephthys, the protective goddess of the dead, and on the wall above it hung three pieces of red and gold ancient Funerary Rights Papyrus, all on white and mounted in cherry wood frames, depicting the Weighing of the Heart in the Hall of Two Truths, where the ostrich feather of Ma'at, the goddess of truth and justice responsible for maintaining order in the universe, was used as a balance against the weight of the heart; if the heart weighed more, the soul was condemned and eaten by the demon Ammit, the Devourer of the Dead, the Eater of Hearts, as ancient Egyptians believed. Esmée’s parents entertained artists, writers, and scholars in that room where the judicious Ma’at was embodied. But despite all its opulence, in that room, Esmée heard an eternal weeping and felt ill at ease when she entered. And when she entered that room, she felt the table’s energy pulsating as if ready to burst into flames, and she knew someday it would. *** Her Mama’s eyes studied the lieutenant’s face. “I’ve seen you before?” “Yes, professor, we met in your classroom. I have attended a few of your lectures.” “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I remember. You sat in the back with a young woman.” “My sister is a fan of yours,” he said. “Well, she was.” “Yes, well, perhaps we will be allowed to teach again soon.” Her mama’s eyes narrowed as they traveled past him through the glass door to the two uniformed guards on their doorstep. He nodded toward the papyrus on the wall. “I am familiar with the weighing of the heart, the feather of Ma’at, feather of fate,” he said. “I have one.” “Well,” she said, “These are artifacts of ancient beliefs. Still … one must strive to have a light heart, after all, we will be judged on our deeds.” “Perhaps … however the bearer of the Feather of Fate will go directly to the afterlife without judgment, correct?” A menacing grin twitched the side of his face. “At least that’s what my superstitious mother told me.” He smiled and patted Esmée’s head. “Now, those rolls?” “Yes,” she said. More nervous than Esmée had ever seen her. “I…we have just made a fresh batch. I will be right back.” She held out her hand, “Come Esmée.” “Your lovely daughter can wait with me.” Her mama’s face went pale. “A…yes… all right.” She said with great reluctance. She looked down at Esmée and forced a smile, “I will be right back.” She then hurried down the hall. He motioned for Esmée to enter the dining room. “Sit,” he said. His tone of voice grew harsh. “Sit, child. There.” He pointed to one of the forbidden throne chairs. ....

Final 7 assignments Mindy Halleck Daughter of Darkness 1. Story Statement, Daughter of Darkness A troubled clairvoyant holocaust survivor must overcome a fanatical occultist SS officer in order to return to Egypt and say a final goodbye to her beloved parents. In Portland Oregon, fifteen years after WWII, a clairvoyant holocaust survivor—trapped between her new life in America, ghostly visions from war, and deeply indoctrinated ancient Egyptian rituals from her past—who believes her powers are evil (core wound), must finally embrace them so she can lure, and battle the fanatical occultist SS officer who has hunted her for years. Only then can she finally return to Egypt, say goodbye to the spirits of her beloved parents, and return to the man she loves. 2. Antagonist profile, The Wolf In 1960, Reichsführer Wolfgang Edzard König, AKA the merciless, Wolf of Birkenau is fifty years old, a wealthy fanatical occultist who resides in a penthouse tower in Zürich. He is surrounded by priceless Nazi-acquired artifacts and Jewish art taken in the ‘cleansing’ of Poland. Aside from his blue-eyed, blonde, physically fit appearance, he has cancer, and only six months to live. Wolf’s father worked close to Hitler, in berlin, abandoning his family: leaving Wolf to tend to his mother with whom he grew unnaturally close (core wound). His mother, Adolfa was part of Hitler’s secret circle of spiritualists. Adolfa’s mythos and plans for Wolf were drilled into him from an early age, informing his distorted worldview. “You were born to me as my son in this life,” she said. “In the next life, we will rule as gods, man, and wife, together.” She gave him a gold box with his mummified umbilical cord inside. “With this cord, your eternal soul will resurrect in the afterlife.” Wolf believes Esmée Boruvka—whom he’s hunted for fifteen years—stole this cord from him when she escaped him at Gross Rosen concentration camp, and now he’s dying, he needs the key to his afterlife and will do anything to get it. 3. CONJURING YOUR BREAKOUT TITLE Daughter of Darkness (current working title for WIP) The Guardian Stones The Girl with The Scarred Face Esmée’s Mysterious Realm Hall of Two Truths Esmée and The Wolf 4. Comparable Titles; Genre, literary/magical realism? (Def, from Masterclass:) Every magical realism novel is different, but there are certain things they all include, such as: Realistic setting. All magical realism novels take place in a setting in this world that’s familiar to the reader. Magical elements. From talking objects to dead characters to telepathy, every magical realism story has fantastical elements that do not occur in our world. However, they’re presented as normal within the novel. Limited information. Magical realism authors deliberately leave the magic in their stories unexplained in order to normalize it as much as possible and reinforce that it is part of everyday life. A. The Book Thief, Markus Zusak (2016) Like my novel, In addition to magical elements in the everyday life, topics o WWII, Holocaust, grief, and persecution are covered. B. The House of the Spirits, by Isabel Allende (1982) Like my novel, Clara and Rosa's magical realist qualities emphasize the power of women as well as the violence inflicted upon them. C. The Immortalists, Chloe Benjamin (2018) Like my novel, The Immortalists probes the line between destiny and choice, reality and illusion, this world and the next. It is a deeply moving testament to the power of story, the nature of belief, and the unrelenting pull of familial bonds. D. Beloved by Toni Morrison (1987). A novel about a former slave haunted by an abusive ghost. Esmée is haunted by demanding ghosts, a promise she can’t keep, and a very real ghost who forces her to do battle. E. The Snow Child, Eowyn Ivey (2012) Because of how the myth of The Snow Child’s protagonist, from her childhood, informs her life, her belief in the magic she’s seeing, and her ultimate decisions, just like Esmée. 5. Logline DAUGHTER OF DARKNESS A troubled clairvoyant holocaust survivor—trapped between her new life in America and her past—must embrace her dark powers to defeat a fanatical occultist SS officer who is hunting her. 6. OTHER MATTERS OF CONFLICT: TWO MORE LEVELS A. Sketch out the conditions for the inner conflict your protagonist will have. Esmée is torn between her new life and her past. She wants retribution, but she also wants love. She believes she can't have both. From her past, Esmée remains traumatized by her teen years in the concentration camps and as a victim of The Wolf of Birkenau. She believes her guardian stones and her secret Egyptian rituals will keep her safe. She is also haunted by a promise she made to her Papa while in the concentration camp, that she has not been able to keep. And she knows it’s only a matter of time before the Wolf finds her to retrieve what she stole from him the night she escaped Gross Rosen. She knows he will kill her and anyone in his way, including her beloved Oskar and his daughter Serafina. In her present, she wants to marry Oskar but is terrified it may put him in danger, and afraid he will not love her when he learns the secrets of her past. B. Why will they feel in turmoil? Esmée is in turmoil most of the time, she’s anxious, guarded, and suspicious. And to add to her disposition, she sees the ghosts of other holocaust survivors who need her help crossing over to the other world. Or some who bring her messages, warnings, or insights. Though she sees so many ghosts, she never sees her beloved mother, who disappeared one day at the hands of The Wolf. More than any other, Esmée aches to see her mother’s spirit, to say the goodbye that was denied them in the concentration camp. Her inner life is chaos because of her fear of The wolf, and partly because of her lack of closure with her parents. C. Conflicted? Esmée is conflicted because she senses her upcoming battle with The Wolf, which will put Oskar and his daughter in danger. She is afraid to marry Oskar, knowing that even if she survives an encounter with The Wolf, she can’t be the wife Oskar needs and deserves. And though she wants retribution, revenge even on The Wolf, she desperately wants to return to Egypt and is equally as desperate to be with Oskar. Ultimately, she must decide between the two. D. Sketch out one hypothetical scenario in the story wherein this would be the case--consider the trigger and the reaction. Primary Conflict: Esmée and The Wolf Early one morning in 1960, in downtown Portland Oregon, her new home, Esmée finds “Poles Go Home’ signs on her doorstep, then sees them across the street on her neighbor’s store, then on Oskar’s shop door. She panics, remembering the 1930s when she saw those same sentiments in Poland, just before the war. She runs around the street collecting the signs so none of her neighbors have to experience the same paralyzing rush of dread. She then spots a man in the shadows on the corner and senses the time has come, the past returns, The Wolf has found her. E. Sketch a hypothetical scenario for the "secondary conflict" involving the social environment. Will this involve family? Friends? Associates? What is the nature of it? Secondary conflict: Wanting to marry Oskar and be stepmother to Serafina When Esmée traps The Wolf in her basement and Oskar stumbles into the situation. Esmée must choose between retribution and love: her desire to assassinate The Wolf, which would expose Oskar to danger and her true nature, risk prison, and the loss of Oskar and Serafina forever. 7. Assignment 7 Setting Sketch out your setting in detail: The present story is in Portland Oregon, in 1960 Esmée lives in an apartment behind her corner café in NW Portland in a building rumored to be haunted. The humble street entrance of their one-story brick building on Washington Street is a square-shaped structure with a cracked foundation and crumbling bricks that spans the full block. Originally built by and for smugglers sometime in the late 1800s, it’s full of underground passageways, stairways, hiding places, and secrets, and replete with the skull of a human whom Esmée calls Jack and in whom she confides. Esmée’s neighborhood, as well as her café, has become a Jewish and Polish immigrant sanctuary. 70% of the neighbors are Polish concentration camp survivors. Portland has just been voted the favorite American city for Polish immigrants. Flanking the glass door that leads to the eight apartments are two others: 1214-A, her restaurant, The Harvest Cafe, and 1214-B, Oskar’s Shoe Repair—both with ceiling-high windows. In Esmée’s bedroom, she has a secret cabinet where she stores her ritual accouterments; a candle on a small altar, a hand-carved pole made of wood from an oak tree in Israel with the sacred Tree of Life carved around it, two Egyptian Shabti—servants for the deceased in the afterlife—one made of wood and one made of alabaster, a small wood carving of Asherah, the Mother Goddess of Israel, the Wife of God, and the small yellow triangle once pinned to Esmée’s clothes, now wrapped in black velvet, out of sight but always present. These are imitations of the kind of real artifacts that her mother had collected, good enough for Esmée’s weekly rituals during Shabbat. Oskar’s shoe repair is next door where he and his daughter live behind the shop. There are eight small apartments bordering a private courtyard garden in the center like a prize inside a Cracker-Jack box; benches, cherry blossoms, birds, and flowers which Oskar and Esmée maintain so their elderly Jewish neighbors can sit in peaceful communion with their ghosts. They are a tight-knit enclave, a family with Esmée at its core. On their rooftop is a tiny private garden with six boxes the size of coffins, built by Oskar, where Esmée grows the potatoes and medicinal herbs for her remedies and recipes. Next to her garden bench is where she keeps her guardian stones filled with prayers and protective invocations––formed into a ring like the Nabta Playa stone circle in Egypt’s Valley of Sacrifices. At the center of each of Esmée’s circles was a stone with the Eye of Horus painted on it. Esmée’s café was left to her by her dying boss, for whom she worked as a waitress. With Oskar’s help, the ten dust-covered tables and four tattered booths were reborn in emerald-green and white vinyl, and shiny chrome-edged tables and chairs all with a view of busy Washington Street out the ceiling-high windows. The rebirth of the café is a metaphor for the healing and reawakening of its patrons. While helping Oskar, also a survivor and widower, raise Serafina, Esmée devoted herself to turning The Harvest Café into an eatery with a full menu a tribute to her parents, her Papa’s favorite foods: blueberry pierogis, cheese or meat stuffed pierogis, Polish sausage with potato pierogis and cheddar cheese, and her best-selling item, her Mama’s cinnamon rolls with brandy butter frosting. Now the café is a thriving meeting place for local businesspeople, most of whom are also holocaust survivors, most from Poland, all, like Esmée, sandwiched between two worlds. The back of Esmée’s café kitchen is a huge one-time bakery kitchen with exposed brick walls with photographs of the Nubian Pyramids, and framed black and white sketches that Esmée has done of people from Gross Rosen, her ghosts, and some of Egypt. There are three ovens, two old-time wooden ice box refrigerators that still work, and two sinks the size of wash basins. And ten-foot-long wooden countertops on each side of the massive room where she and her baker work tirelessly every day. In the center of the room are a red couch and a table and chairs where Oskar’s daughter comes to do homework, eat and visit when she gets out of school. This is a community room of sorts for Esmée’s inner circle, who come and go at their leisure. This room is haunted by a silent young ghost who also visits Esmée in her garden. This sweet little ghost is looking for someone, but Esmée can’t figure out who, until late in the story. The past part of the story is from 1939 into WWII. Before the Nazis seized their home, Esmée’s family lived in an 1870s dove white manor house with four large pillars out front and a red stone porch beneath them that hugged the entire house. Her parents often entertained up to one hundred people, intellectuals, professors, and artists who luxuriated, overlooking her mama’s rose gardens, water fountains, and the sweet-smelling lavender field. The first spirits Esmée ever saw were in that lavender field. In the far corner of that porch was where young Esmée collected stones, stacking them along the banister in delicately balanced sculptures and elaborate feats of near megalithic engineering, her engineer papa always said. Inside, there was an invisible line drawn down the middle of the sitting room––a room with twenty-foot ceilings and so many windows it had the appearance of a solarium. On one side was her mama’s world where she collected discoveries regarding the worship of female goddesses within ancient Israelite and Egyptian religions: black onyx Canopic jars that supposedly held the organs of an Egyptian goddess, stacks upon stacks of books, artifacts carved in wood, etched in stone, burned of bronze or gold––all in a whirlwind of lavender scented dust and disorder. Alongside her mama’s ancient chaos, existing in perfect harmony was her Papa’s orderly world: artifacts of the early engineers displayed on lit shelves or enclosed in shiny glass domes, measuring rods, a picture of them both in Sudan in front of the Nubian Pyramids, photographs, and drawings of other shrines, even a piece of papyrus with ancient engineering notes which hung framed in glass above his well-organized bookshelves. The dining room was a contrast to the rest of their joyful family home. In the main dining room with its twenty-foot ceilings and gold-leafed wallpapered walls, was an Egyptian Revival table that seated eighteen and that had wood-carved Cleopatra-Sphinx legs. In the center of the table was a black vase with towering plumes of stone-grey ostrich feathers that nearly touched the chandelier. At the end of the palm-lined room with high glass French doors was a pair of Egyptian Revival Thrown Chairs. And along the Egyptian Revival hutch were antique plates and several Egyptian Shabti––small figures carved in skin-colored alabaster or wood. In one corner stood a bronze statue of Nephthys, the protective goddess of the dead, and on the wall above it hung three pieces of red and gold ancient Funerary Rights Papyrus, all on white and mounted in cherry wood frames, depicting the Weighing of the Heart in the Hall of Two Truths, where the ostrich feather of Ma'at, the goddess of truth and justice responsible for maintaining order in the universe, was used as a balance against the weight of the heart; if the heart weighed more, the soul was condemned and eaten by the demon Ammit, the Devourer of the Dead, the Eater of Hearts, as ancient Egyptians believed. It is in this room where Esmée learns a dark lesson about herself, and where she meets her lifelong antagonist. The concentration camp scenes take place in Gross Rosen concentration camp where I lean heavily on sound and smell to describe Esmée’s experience, for example; Everyone’s breath halted, waiting for him to pass their door, praying for the crunch, crunch, crunch of his footsteps to not stop, praying that the door did not groan open and he enter their sleeping quarters, place his ice-cold hand on the shoulder of a sleeping girl and say, “Fraulein, du kommst mit mir.”