Author Archives: elizabooks

A Woman’s Voice: Book Of Poems

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A Woman’s Voice is a small book of poems that echo my inner feelings about my southern upbringing, living in the north, love, and growing older.

Excerpt from ‘A Woman’s Voice: Book Of Poems

My Mother’s Vegetable Garden

32

My mother’s vegetable garden grew in gray dry dirt
Pole beans twisted themselves around gnarled brown sticks
Stuck in that same gray dirt
Rows and rows of bushy headed collard greens
That were our relief from biscuits and beans
Pole beans, collard greens
Tomatoes ripe and juicy
Okra spiny and straight
I watched her from the window of the house
Skirt tied in knots at her knees
Bent over she worked pruning and weeding

Later, harvest time, I followed behind her
With basket in hand
As she pulled our very existence
From that gray dry dirt

Why goats in a tree? Listen.

Because most of the time women feel like they’re up a tree screaming for help. I Know I did.  And if you’re not one of these women, a bunch of goats up a tree is just funny.

Eliza D. Ankum
Author of
Flight 404
Ruby Sanders – A Novel
Jared Anderson – (The Ruby and Jared Saga)
OneThreeThirteen – A Presidential Agent Novel Series
Dancing With The Fat Woman
Thou Shalt Eat Dust
STALKED! By Voices

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#Black Lives Matter

My Stalking Blog

A Tiny Kitten with a Big Mouth

Office Slager shooting Walter Scott

Back in 2005, when I still believed in justice, fairness, and the American Way, I made a speech in front of the Village of Maywood’s City Council during one of their Tuesday night meetings. In the meeting, I remarked that if they didn’t put a stop to the stalkers public humiliation of me that it would come back on them by way of their children. They looked at me as though I were some insane idiot who had wandered in off the street.

But what I meant by that was, if you let one group of people, The Stalkers, get away with doing and saying whatever they want in your streets, others, including your children, will learn to do the same. And they did.

The same holds true with the Zimmerman case. The not Guilty verdict in the George Zimmerman case gave a clear signal…

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How To Get Away With Murder

A Tiny Kitten With A Big Mouth

mystalkingblog

Edward Stringer and Corey Ankum

https://mystalkingblog.wordpress.com

This morning, as a watched firefighters putting out a fire at the site of a house explosion on the south side, I had a flashback to December 22, 2010. That was the day Corey Ankum and Edward Stringer were killed while battling a fire in an abandon building.

Following is an article written by Maudlyne Ihejirika, Staff Reporter for the Chicago Sun Times.

Fallen firefighter’s brother: ‘He was doing his job’
Slowly, the cars pulled up outside the brick two-flat with the silver tinsel twined around outside bannisters — at the foot of which stood two Christmas penguins that should have heralded joy at the Chatham home of firefighter Corey Ankum.
But only a sadness — heavy as the footsteps of family and friends who trudged up the five stone steps, crying and hugging and holding each other in mourning — could be felt…

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Happy Thanksgiving

My Stalking Blog

A Tiny Kitten with a Big Mouth

                           Over the River and through the woods

elizabooks wishes to extended the happiest of Thanksgiving to all my readers, especially those who purchased an ebook during the past year.  Without your generosity, I would be nothing.     THANK YOU!!!!

elizabooks  (aka  Eliza D. Ankum)

Author of
A Tiny Kitten With A Big Mouth
My Stalking Blog
Flight 404
Ruby Sanders
STALKED! By Voices
OneThreeThirteen – Master of the Day of Judgment
https://dancingwiththefatwoman.wordpress.com

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Flight 404 Chapter 85

Chapter 85

The house slumbered a gray restless sleep of darkened hallways, leaky faucets, banging pipes, and appliances turning on and off.  Every sound Frank knew by hard.  It was the sound of the kitchen door closing that quicken his pulse.

Lester Schuster eased down the darkened hallway leading from the kitchen to the living room.  He’d let himself in through the garage where it connected to the kitchen.  Normally, it only took him a couple of minutes to get the door open but tonight he’d been a little more excited than usual and it had taken longer.  But he was in no hurry. 

He hadn’t bothered bringing a flashlight, he’d been in this house so many times he knew every inch of the way even in the dark. 

 As he looked around, he realized that Frank had changed nothing about the sad little house he’d fought so hard to keep.  He attended Frank’s day in court.  And Frank had been as blind to him as always.  It added an extra special thrill to the game knowing that he was going to kill Frank in his own home.

He knew without a shadow of doubt where Frank would be in the house.  The spare bedroom is where he usually slept.  That fool still couldn’t sleep in the master bedroom.  Too many bad memories.  Nothing like the sight of your wife screwing some another man, in your bed, to really mess up your head.    He almost felt a twinge of compassion for the poor bastard, because he too, knew what it felt like living with memories that haunted you.  “Well, after tonight old Frank won’t have to worry about that anymore.  After tonight, he’d sleep for a long, long time.

After a few minutes, in the hallway, he reached his goal.  He poised outside by the spare bedroom door and listened for any activity within.  Not that he expected any.  Frank didn’t have enough balls left to even bring that Black bitch home. She, was a sure bet. After all, she’d liked him enough to follow him around.  That should have been enough of a clue for even a dumb fuck like Frank.  If it were him, he would have jumped her bones during that first trip to New York, that is, if he had a liking for dark meat.

After a few minutes of listening, he was satisfied that there was no one else in the house.  He crept into the room, removed the forty-five he’d tucked into the back of his belt and aimed it at what he thought was Frank’s head and pulled the trigger.

POLICE! Put the gun down!  NOW!  Someone was shining a flashlight in his face.  PUT DOWN THE GUN!  NOW!  Cops were everywhere – screaming orders all at once.  PUT THE GUN DOWN!  There was nowhere to run.  He was surrounded.  Another policeman turned on the lights in the room.   HANDS ON YOUR HEAD!  GET DOWN ON YOUR KNEES – ON YOUR KNEES!  He dropped the gun.  It made a hollow muffled sound on the carpet.  Strong arms were pulling him up and cuffing his hands behind his back.  Then one of those sons of bitches reached up and pulled his wig from his head.  Rage engulfed him.  He felt naked.  Betrayed by something he couldn’t control.  He struggled but there were two of them now, holding him firm.  He yelled, “put it back on, put my hair back on, you bastard.”

Detective Bradley Shaffer grabbed him by the jaw and put his face in Lester’s.

“You freak, let me show you what you shot.”  With that, he walked over to the bed and yanked back the blanket revealing a life size dummy.

“Thought you had him, didn’t you.  Well your killing days are over.”

“Frank, Margaret.  Get out here.”

We had hidden in the one room where, Frank said Rebecca would not look for us.  We’d hidden in the master bedroom.  I was glad she hadn’t peaked in, because if she had, she would have caught us engaged in some rather adult like behavior.  The gunshots had ended that.

By the time we exited the master bedroom, the Police had Rebecca surrounded and handcuffed.  She was struggling in vain to free herself.  Frank let go of my arm and walked over to Rebecca. 

“Why?”   Why kill all of those people to get even with us?”

“First of all, I’m not Rebecca, you idiot. My name is Lester.  Lester Schuster.  Get it right. And secondly, you’ve got it all backwards.  I was going to kill those other people anyway, because I knew I could.  You and your friends were the icing on the cake.

“Get him out of here, said Detective Bradley.”

“Sir, where do we put him,  ah-er  her?”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got a special place for that.  It’s called Hell!”

THE END

Flight 404 Chapter 84

Chapter 84

Mrs. Sofia Alverez met her grandchildren’s plane as it arrived at Aeropuerto de Mexico Benito Juarez in Mexico City all the while wondering why her daughter had decided, at the last minute, not to accompany the children on the flight home.

She had prepared for this day by washing and pressing the only decent dress she owned that was suitable for Mexico City.  With it, she wore the faded yellow hat and shoes that she saved for Sunday Mass, and she carried a brightly colored hand woven basket filled with food for the journey home, a two hour bus ride into Mexico’s interior.

When she saw the children, she burst into a wide toothless grin and  threw her arms around the bewildered little twosome as they stepped from the arrival gate.  She had questions, so many questions, but they could wait.  For now, she was going to enjoy having her grandchildren home.

After they had boarded the rickety old bus for home, Christina pulled and envelope from her backpack and handed it to her grandmother. 

“MaMe said to give this to you, Tete.”

“What is it mehoe?”

“I don’t know.  MaMe made me swear not to lose it and not to open it.  She said it is very important that you have it.”

Sofia Alverez was puzzled by the large brown envelope that must have weighed at least two – maybe even three pounds.

The package reminded her of a drug envelope.  With so much drugs smuggling going on in Mexico, she was tempted to throw it away.  But who smuggles drugs into Mexico.  No one, that’s who.  The package had to contain another substance.  Her sun browned hands gently caressed the package’s outer surface hoping to gain some insight as to its inner contents.  As she caressed the package, two sets of brown eyes met hers and their hearts, she could tell, were heavy with fear.   Where was Maria?  And what did this package contain?  And why was it so important?

“Christina, what else did your mother say when she gave you the package?”

“Not much, Tete.  She was crying and she kept yelling, “Get on the plane, Get on the plane, now!”

“Where did your mother go?”

“She went with the man.  The same man that came to the apartment and drove us to the airport in his truck.”

Juan, Maria’s son, who had been so quiet and still, leaned forward and patted his grandmother’s knee to get her attention. When she leaned her face close to his, he whispered, “Tete, he had a pistol.”

Her wrinkled eyes were immediately filled with concern.  “Did you know this man, Christina?”

“No, Tete.”

Sofia comforted her grandchildren as the old bus jerked its way up the winding road to the little village of Merida that would be their new home.  Neither child had ever lived in Mexico. 

This was not like Maria to abandon the children.  Something was wrong but Sofia did not want to worry the children anymore than she already had.  She had to pretend, at least for now that everything was alright.  In the morning, she would walk over to the little clinic and ask the doctor there to make the phone call to Maria in New York.

Slowly, she pealed open the brown envelope and stacks of green American dollars were inside.

 

 

Two weeks later, Dr. Henry Sorisosen, MD, PhD of Pathology called Mr. Lin and reported that the body found on runway 22E was not that of a forty year old woman of German descent, but rather that of a thirty something female of Hispanic descent, who had given birth to at least two children.  And that she had not died of a fall from a plane nor had she been run over by a plane.  She had been strangled.

Mr. Lin faxed over Maria Alvarez’s medical records.  He decided to wait until he had confirmation that the body was that of Maria before he phoned the tiny clinic in Merida, Mexico. 

But first, he needed to call Agents Sanchez and Roberts an inform them of Dr. Sorisosen’s findings.

 

 

Flight 404 Chapter 83

Chapter 83

“JFK Control Tower to Trans Air Flight 200.  We have a situation on the ground.  Please respond.”

“What kind of situation JFK?”

“After your take-off, a body was found on Runway 22E.

Captain Zukerman and his First Officer exchange puzzled glances.  “Say again JFK.  I don’t think we heard that correctly.  It sounded as if you said, “a body was found on runway 22E.”

“Affirmative, Flight 200.  A body was found on runway 22E after your take-off.  We need to know if you’re experiencing any difficulties.”

“JFK are you saying that we ran over someone?”

“Negative Trans Air.  We believe you might have had a possible stowaway.”

“Stand-by JFK.”

“Dennis, call Alexandria and have her do a passenger check.”

“JFK this is Captain Zukerman.  We’re having one of the Flight Attendants check the passenger manifest to see if anyone is missing.  It’ll take a few minutes.  We’ll get back to you, JFK.”   

“Captain Zukerman, my name is Agent Sanchez.  I’m with the NTSB and I’m heading up the investigation of the body found.  As part of that investigation, I’d like to be certain that the young woman’s body, did not impact the condition of the aircraft.  Are you experiencing any difficulties handling the plane? 

“WOW, the NTSB is already on the case?”

“Yes sir, Captain Zukerman.  It’s not every day a body falls off a plane.”

  “No.  I guess you’re right.  My copilot and I were in the middle of our in-flight checklist when you radioed in.  We’ll finish that while we wait on Alexandria.”

“Dennis, you got that checklist.  Let’s go over it again.” 

Minutes weighed like hours as Agent Sanchez waited and watched the minute hands of each of the seven clocks which hung strategically over the controller’s consoles inch their way around each clock.  There was a clock for New York, Mexico, London, Rome, Sidney, Cairo, and Belize.

“Agent Sanchez.  All paying customers are accounted for and the plane checks out just fine.”

Agent Sanchez relinquished the radio back to the controller.

 “Roger that Trans Air Flight 200.  Continue your heading on zero zero nine east at twenty-six thousand feet. 

“Trans Air we will now hand over control to Heathrow. It’s been nice serving you Trans Air Flight 200.” 

“Roger, that JFK. Good luck with your situation.”

Captain Zukerman set his radio frequency to that of Heathrow’s, and leveled off at twenty-six feet, and engaged the autopilot for what he thought was going to be a smooth ride into Heathrow.

“That was weird.  A body on the runway.  Who the hell do you think we ran over?” Dennis asked.

“Probably one of the baggage handlers.  Those guys always think we can see them in those dinky little trucks they drive.”

While they were talking, the two hundred mile marker sounded.  Captain Zukerman buzzed Alexandria and asked if she would bring him a cup of coffee, cream – no sugar.  Dennis ordered a diet Coke.

“Trans Air Flight 200 this is Heathrow.  Welcome to International Waters.  My name is Daniel and I’ll be your Flight Controller for the remainder of your flight.” 

“Trans Air Flight 200 acknowledging transmission.”

“Trans Air maintain headings.  You are on course for London’s Heathrow airport.”

“Roger that.”

The two men resumed their conversation at the point where it was interrupted by the Heathrow controller and settled in for the remaining ten hours.

About five hours in, Dennis took control of the plane, or watched the autopilot, while Captain Zukerman did his customary meet and greet to reassure the passengers that all was well.

His first stop was the First Class Section where he made sure he informed the passengers that they were about three quarters of the way to London and at the deepest point over the Atlantic Ocean.

As Captain Zukerman was talking with a bubbly sixty-year old woman from Iowa on her dream vacation to London, the Boeing 747 encountered a storm.  Dennis flashed the Fasten Seat Signs and radioed Heathrow for instructions. 

“Heathrow, this is Trans Air 200.”

“Acknowledged Trans Air.”

“Heathrow, we are experiencing some turbulence.  Permission to climb to thirty thousand.” 

“Acknowledge.  Permission to climb to thirty thousand.”

Captain Zukerman entered the cabin and slide into the Captain’s chair and took control of the plane.  “This reminds me of my days flying for FedEx.  Come hell or high water the customer always had to get their package.”

Dennis surveyed the heavy dark gray storms clouds looming in front of the cockpit window.  “It just scares me shitless.  I can’t imagine what’s in those damn fluffy things that make so much noise and lightening when they bump into each other.”  Captain Zukerman laughed in spite of the senselessness of the statement and reached for the radio.

“Heathrow, this is Trans Air Flight 200 requesting permission to climb to altitude thirty-two thousand.”

“What is your problem Trans Air?”

‘We are still experiencing turbulence at thirty thousand.”

“Trans Air what is your fuel reading.”

“We got enough, Heathrow.”

“Permission granted.”

Captain Zukerman eased the Boeing up through the gray clouds and driving rain, up to where the sun was shining brilliantly.  Dennis let out and audible sigh of relief.

Captain Zukerman was so impressed by the beauty of the sky above the storm that he decided to actually fly the plane instead of putting her back on autopilot.

Alexandria rang from the stewardess cabin and asked if it were ok to serve the passengers alcoholic in hope of calming some frayed nerves.  “Go ahead.  I’ll put her back on auto and come back there and help convince them that we’re not crashing today.

When Captain Zukerman engaged the autopilot, the plane bucketed as if one of those gray clouds they’d escaped a few minutes ago had come up from below and smacked into the belly of the plane. 

Forty-five seconds later Trans Air Flight 200 crashed into the deepest part of the Atlantic Ocean.