Bella knew what was coming for me. In the days leading to that horrific night, she never left my side. She was the only one who believed me that that thing was out to kill me and she was the only one that was going to do everything she could to protect me. When the end came for us, she stood fast. I felt how scared she was but she was not going to fail me. An unspoken promise that she kept.

~ ~ ~

Bella was beautiful. She never was the aggressive, intimidating breed that everyone seems to make pitbulls out to be. Bella was a caramel terrier mix with a look like the joke went over her head. She always smiled at me. She’d lumber around very lazy-like when she passed by me, or when following my dad. Whenever we all came home from our outside ventures, she’d greet us with ruckus jumping, jubilant running around (zoomies we called that), and bathe us in the wettest of kisses. Her tail made me laugh because it whipped side to side frantically like an upside-down car wiper in a heavy rainstorm. She had the best fur. It was tan and smooth when you slid your hand with the natural flow of it. It tickled when you went against it.

I was very little and learning to walk when I felt my connection with Bella. Bella once accidentally knocked me over and was scolded hard by my mom. She scurried out of sight. Dad told me when I was older that in the proceeding days after that incident, he’d catch Bella hiding either behind the couch or in the hallway; just out of sight but always not far from where I was when I was with mom. I knew this. I don’t remember the accounts but I remember knowing she was there. Looking over me. Protecting me. Loving me. She was my best friend before I even knew what those words meant.

~ ~ ~

I don’t remember when the nightmares started but I do remember the first time when the thing from my nightmare was still there when I opened my eyes. Initially, I thought it was my father standing over the bed and looking down at me. I thought he was checking on me or he came in take Bella outside because she was whining that no one walked her before bedtime. But it was not my dad. It barely looked like a man. Its shape was blurry like it has no solid dimension to it. A shadow with burning yellow eyes and a blood red hue glowing behind it. It snatched my arm. Its grip was so cold that it burned my skin. I screamed with every bit of energy I had in my seven-year-old body. And then everything went black.  

I woke up the next morning on the floor with my mom holding me in her arms, frantically shouting my name to me while my dad was on the phone calling for help. They sobbed with relief when they saw my eyes open. I wasn’t sure if this was real. I remember the blackness drowning me. I remember that shadow thing’s cold dead grip. I knew it tried to kill me but somehow, I’m alive and safe with my parents. I felt weak and discombobulated. It was seeing my Bella peering over my bed that brought me back into the moment. She was on all fours with her car wiper tail whipping side-to-side joyously.  I smiled to let her know I was okay but that feeling quickly sank when I noticed a dark scar on the side of her face. I don’t know what she did but she was the one that saved me… and she was hurt doing it.

Over the next couple of weeks and several doctor visits, my mom and dad took turns asking me if I was okay. I answered yes, every time. I wanted to convince them and myself whatever happened to me was never going to happen again.  The look on their faces every time told me that I was convincing no one. And Bella… I felt her worry too.

~ ~ ~

I could not sleep. The dread I felt was choking the life out of me slowly. My school teacher and the school social worker were constantly calling my parents about my erratic behavior and random outburst of screams. I fought my classmates because I thought they were the thing trying to kill me. I was exhausted all the time. Then came the therapy talks. I refused to talk about what happened the night of the attack. I did not want to talk about it out loud because I thought that would awaken that thing to return and finish me. Whenever I came back from these sessions I would rush into the house and hug Bella tight. She’d lick my face to assure me that I did the right thing by not talking. 

The therapist prescribed a pill to me. He told my parents it would help take the edge off, so I did not question when my mom asked me to take it. I gulped it down with one sip of water. Bella began barking hysterically. It was a deep and thunderous bark that seemed to shake the house. My mom called my dad to take Bella outside. My dad swooped in and pulled her by the collar to escort her out. As I watched on, my eyes locked with Bella’s. A terrible chill crawled up my back. I asked my mom what the pill was for. To help me sleep she explained. I immediately tried to gag myself to vomit out the pill but she quickly sequestered me in her embrace. This is to help you she pleaded. I began to cry uncontrollably. “I don’t want to die!” I shouted repeatedly. My mom sobbed as she held me tighter. 

~ ~ ~

I sat at the foot of my bed in room with Bella sitting up next to me. My parents were in their room. I could hear my mom questioning everything they were doing to help me and my dad trying to reassure her it was going to be okay. Bella had her ears perked like she was trying to listen in on them too. She looked like one of those guard dogs that stood at attention at the side of an Egyptian king sitting on a throne. I felt like no king though. A king is brave when his enemies attack. One is a king because he shows others his courage. I had none. I was scared and powerless. But she protected me anyway. She had a worried look now. She knew as I did that the enemy was coming… tonight. All it was waiting for was for me to fall asleep. I prayed Bella would be able to save me again. I felt Bella hoping for the same thing. She caught me gazing at her and quickly licked a kiss on my cheek. 

~ ~ ~

Bella is in bed with me. Both of us struggle to not to go to sleep but I’m losing this fight. Bella fusses with me to stay up for hours but my eyes are now too heavy. I relive the moments of the night of my attack. That night when I fell asleep, I heard angry, threatening voices. I was too scared to open my eyes. When I finally did, I saw those horrible pair of glowing yellow eyes looking back at me. I suddenly remember Bella growling that night. She stood over me while she glared at the enemy. The shadow thing returned a gruesome snarl that reveals large sharpened teeth. Each looking like ivory stakes itching to pierce skin. The thing jumps at us; mouth open, ready to shred us. I black out. In the darkness, I feel my body get heavy. I can’t move. This was not the memory anymore. I was asleep.

~ ~ ~

The overwhelming thirst for water wakes me up. Sluggish, I pull myself out of bed. I don’t see Bella in the room. I whisper out her name. I snap fully awake when I see my bedroom door open. Bella was gone. And I have been left defenseless. I sit still on the side my bed; my fear paralyzed me. Then staggered paw steps approach my bedroom door. I let out a sigh of relief when I see Bella poke her head into view. In that instant, the door slams shut in front of her. She cries out to me. I hurry to open the door when a cold hand grabs my leg and yanks me back. 

My face slams on the floor so hard that it bounces off the wood flooring. Blood shots down my nose. Everything is blurry. I looked back behind me and I see the yellow glowing eyes of the shadow thing gazing at me. It lets out a horrible sigh as it smiles at me. I hear Bella screaming behind the door. She wants me to move but I’m frozen in fear. Bella then unleashes a thunderous bark that shakes me alive. I dive for the door and barely turn the knob when the shadow thing grabs me again but it was enough to crack the door open. Bella barges inside and jumps in between me and the enemy. I crawl to the wall and curl up into a shell. My terror fuses my eyes close. I hear Bella barking feverishly, staving off the yellow eyed monster. Then… everything went quiet. 

I dared not open my eyes. I kept waiting for Bella lick me letting me know that the battle is over. That everything is okay now. Instead, I feel drops of saliva dripping over me. I opened my eyes and I see the yellow eyes again… and they belong to Bella. Her eyes…our connection… Bella was gone. She is now something pure evil and vicious. She unsheathes her teeth at me. I was no longer her king. I was her prey. 

My parents rush into the room and see Bella over me ready to tear into my skin. My dad yells at her to get off me. Bella replies with a loud and unholy bark that drives both my parents to the ground. She pounces on my dad and bites down so hard on his forearm that she nearly breaks it in half. Bella rips a chunk of flesh off my dad’s arm. Mom screams in horror. The shadow creature took my friend and now is going to take my family. I scream Bella’s name as loud as I could through tears washing down my cheeks. Bella snaps back her attention to me and leaps. I close my eyes once more and ready for them to be closed forever. A moment passes where I was not sure whether I was alive or not. I open my eyes and Bella’s teeth were inches from my face. Drool pours out of her mouth. She was still, shaking a little bit. Hesitating. I saw the yellow in her eyes beginning to dim. Bella, the real Bella, and I looked at each other for the last time. I could hear her telling me that she could not hold the shadow for long. I knew what she was going to do. It was the only way to end this and finally keep me safe. Before I could say goodbye, she darts out of the room. A window shatters down the hallway and I hear Bella running towards the woods. 

~ ~ ~

Seven years. Seven years have gone by since the night Bella ran off with that thing inside her. Every day since I’ve come to the same spot where our backyard meets the towering woods. It has become part of my routine. I have waited here for my friend to come back. I came to hope that the darkness inside her would eventually leave having failed to get what it really wanted all those years ago. I decided that if that were true then I will wait for her every day at this spot. I would want her to see me and know it’s safe to return. If she were still alive today, she would not have too many years left and I’d want them spent with me. Seven years have passed and…and…I am now paralyzed with chills… my breathing slows to a stop as I hear something trotting back towards me from the woods.         

The post Bella’s Promise (Short Story) appeared first on Roberto Alvarenga.

I believe the proper term for what I am trying here is “reinvention.” The thing about reinvention that I am learning is that it is never a wholesale change but rather a tweaking if you will. I’m learning it has to be incremental because what you’re really trying to do is change the way you think and that, as this whole nation is probably realizing now, is a very difficult thing to do. Change is scary, yes we all know (hopefully) that by now but change also reveals our stubbornness. Why do I have to change? Things are working fine the way they are! It’s what’s comfortable for me! I think it’s fair to say that we all feel like that. We’re creatures of habit, and learning new habits sounds like a lot of work.

In late 2019, I learned of the inaugural Killer Shorts Screenplay Competition. The moment I read Alison Parker’s (@thealisonparker) tweet announcing it, I immediately knew I wanted to submit to this competition. My favorite genre in a format I do regularly for practice? Yes, please! I only had a little over a month to submit before the early-bird deadline (i.e. lowest submission fee offered. Hey, I’m broke) so naturally I panicked. Funny thing happened as I was hyperventilating though. In deciding what story to write, I turned to an old “friend.” My Bluecat quarterfinalist script THAT NIGHT AT THE BAR. That script had become my forever work-in-progress. It has haunted me for over ten years, never feeling like I nailed the story that I wanted to tell no matter how much I rewrote it (and to be honest that title now sounds like a comedy than a horror story). So I asked the question, could this story work as a short? A month later I submitted MICHELLE’S GRIFFIN to Killer Shorts. A short that placed in the quarterfinals. Placing in that competition changed something in me.

After that accomplishment, I wanted to seize the momentum by diving back into my feature screenwriting. I created a schedule for myself to submit to noted screenplay competitions that I have longed admired and wish to do well in. I broke it down so that I have time between submissions to work on a new feature. 2020 was going to be my next stepping stone in realizing my dream career. But then 2020 happened. Pushing through my feature WIPs became strenuous amidst one apocalypse after another. People were getting sick. People were losing their jobs, People were being brutalized and all of these terrible things were being used as political footballs to move agendas. As a husband and a father, my job is to worry about the dangers that may affect my family. And the dangers were everywhere.

So I missed my first deadline in June. I know that sounds trivial but for me that hurt. Doubt and anxiety sets in as many of us creatives know occurs when things like this happen. Then I saw a new Alison Parker’s tweet announcing the second annual Killer Shorts Competition. I felt another panic attack coming on. Of course I wanted to submit to them again but I didn’t have anything prepared yet. Or did I? I had a horror story I’ve been trying to tell for two years now. It was the script I was planning to submit to the June feature competition I missed. Could this story be told as a short? I dove into the story to find out and the answer I came away with was…. sort of?

I think what is happening now in this country falls under reinvention. Storms like this happen because of an accumulation of routines and methods that simply do not work anymore and they have finally broken down. Between the horribleness that is reported, you find small changes, some seemingly negligible, that will lead to a new way of doing things. Symbols of the old broken ways are coming down. People, now understanding the hurt that has been inflicted on others for years, are fighting to end that pain. We are turning to new leaders to help us through a pandemic. All incremental steps towards a change we need but have not realized yet because we insist on being stubborn to said change. I have been stubborn. I’m realizing now that the change I want to see won’t come by the old paths of broken methods. I truly believe we all are realizing this truth. This won’t be easy, this anxiety-inducing environment promises as much. But if I can still create, even if it’s at a short clip at a time, I will be that much closer to where I want to be.

Okay 2020, you are one scary son of a gun but know this! The world is changing for the better. I pledge to help make it so. For my family. One way to do that is by creating and sharing with the world. It does sound like a lot of work and it’ll be uncomfortable but in the end, it will all have been worth it. So now if you would excuse me, I have a killer short to submit.

The post The Killer Short appeared first on Roberto Alvarenga.

A few Fridays ago, I was in the midst of my morning routine of dropping off my baby daughter and making my way to work when I received a call from one of my favorite people to hear from, Veronica Dang. Veronica (www.iveronicadang.com) is a busy actress, producer, director, and improv performer.  I have known my friend since I cast her in one of my first short films way back in 2005. And though our treks in life have gone in different ways (she’s the more successful one in my view) she has always reached out to me to keep me in the game.  She invited me to help her in last year’s weekend challenge and I was able to help as a PA.  (By the way, that film is called Extinct and it won the competition!  https://www.imdb.com/title/tt8531598/)

“Hey V! What’s going on?”

“Hey Rob, I’m doing the 72-hour challenge again this year.  Can you help?”

“Of course.  Tell me how I can help.”

I always tried to find a way to say yes to her when she asks me for help or support in any of her projects. I knew this would interesting now that I have an 11-month-old and a set working/ daddy/ hubby schedule, so I was already spinning how I would be able to go down to the city after work (I live about an hour from New York City) and help with whatever I could on a set for an undetermined amount of time.

“No, we need help writing the story.  The competition started last night. We got the theme and the premise.  We just need a script and we need to get it done by noon the latest.  Are you in?”

I checked my watch and it was 8:15.  I was just about to enter the building to start my day and win commission sales.  I had been writing but nothing really since I finished my master’s program a few months ago.  And I had not written anything for film in a long time.  I quickly said yes to her. 

I was probably not prepared. My bread-winning job now was an obstacle.   I had no idea how I was going to pull this off but I knew I was not going to miss this opportunity.   I immediately remembered something very good friend of mine once said to me in passing: “Sometimes, you just have to be ready.” 

I went into work and before I could lie to my boss about leaving early, he gave me the morning off because I could not have overtime that week.  I quickly told him I understood, ran out to my car, and drove to a local supermarket parking lot.  Pulled out my laptop that I always carry with me (I carry my laptop with me every day no matter what as a reminder to always write)  and immediately started working on the script with Veronica on speakerphone to guide me through what she is looking for.  By noon, I gave her what I had.  I met my surprise deadline. And now, the rest was up to the production crew to get this film done.  I wish I could have helped with the actual production but like I said I was on a strict work/daddy/hubby schedule and I couldn’t make it there.  I did get a copy of the final script and to my surprise, they used almost everything I wrote for them.  For me, it validatedthat I am built for this.  No matter where this project went from this point, it was a win in my eyes.

Tomorrow at the Asian American Film Festival, The 15th Annual 72-hour Film Shootout will present THE A+ TEAM, a spoof on the superhero genre pitting two rival super teams fighting each other’s level of stereotypes of what it means to be Asian in America (I’m the superhero genre expert, hence my role in writing the story) and it will be screened in front of a live audience. This will mark the first time something I wrote is on a theater screen.  What’s more exciting is that this will also be the first time I see the film.  I have no idea if this film will share the same success the previous film Veronica directed that has won so many accolades but even if it doesn’t, I am ecstatic.   This opportunity jumped me out of nowhere and I did not flinch.  I cannot thank Veronica enough for thinking of me to help her with this.  I guess if this film places in the top ten that can be a start.   

The post When Screenwriting Attacks! appeared first on Roberto Alvarenga.

I truly did not appreciate the profound concepts offered in the classic tale The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson until fairly recently and for that, I have put myself behind the proverbial eight-ball.  While completing my Master’s degree online program, I had the pleasure to finally read this story.  Shocked that I haven’t read it to this point in my life?  That makes two of us.  It is especially surprising for a writer that wants to write memorable horror stories but it is what it is.  As I was reading the last few passages of the strange tale, I was amazed by how much of what I knew of the story was tainted by pop culture’s interpretation.    Hyde was never some savage that went on some mindless rampage.  Jekyll was never some Bruce Banner type that fell victim to his own alchemy.   It turns out that Hyde was who Jekyll really was inside.  A wild passionate mongrel that wanted to live on the edge without the restraints of society’s law and order.  Hyde is the persona he hid from everyone in order to live how he really wanted. Without the whole murder aspect, this newfound understanding has made me appreciate the persona I have chosen to finally reveal to everyone. 

1995. AOL.com. Dial-up modems.  Chat rooms. The Internet belonged to America Online. I was 18 years old and like many pop culture trends, I was late to the party.  My mother had an AOL account before I did.  I had no clue what to do once I actually did get online.  And since I lacked the creativity to make my own AOL username, I used my mom’s account name (she had one email she asked me to check every week for but other than that she hardly used the account). Thank God for research reports from school,otherwise, I would not have had any purpose to surf the World Wide Web. Seriously, I had no idea what to use the Internet for… that was until I discovered those infamous chat rooms.  It was in those seedy virtual gatherings where I discovered a part of me that I had not realized I had inside all along and how much I needed it.

The AOL chat rooms were notoriously known to be the virtual equivalent of dive bars where single people and not-so-single people converged to mingle and hopefully do more than that offline.  I was no different.  I typed anything I could to get attention: raunchy comments, aggressive pick-up lines, or quoted movie lines any chance I could (that era’s version of memes).  I depicted myself as anything but how I really was, which was shy, insecure, quiet, and lonely.  This anonymous persona I created was fun and fearless; attributes I wished I exhibited more in real life.  I was Jekyll and I had found my way to become Hyde.    By the way, my mom’s username that I commandeered? Hyde114.  Yeah, this was fate as far as I am concerned.

Of course, I wasn’t the first person to use the Internet as a way to become someone else.  Yet, as I have grown older, the charm and excitement of this premise have faded.  It has become a trope that has been recycled and played to stereotype levels, but I did notice I took away a very useful trait from the hormone raging, sex-driven creep that was Hyde114:  Iwas able to express myself far better on paper than in person.  You see,I mumble as well as rant; a combination that does no one, especially me, any favors.  But as Hyde114, I was as cool as the other side of the pillow. Being late to the party does not mean you don’t partake at all.  As a matter of fact, the strongest area of participation in pop culture for me is movies.  I grew up on some of the most classic films ever made, and yes, those films were made in the ’80s.  Oh, how I was fascinated with them!  How did they make them?  How did they come up with those stories?  What if I had the chance, could I come up with such stories?  If only I could…

If there was something you wanted to do for the rest of your life what would that be?  That was an actual question asked of me in high school by a mentor.  When I told him I wanted to write for film, he told me that that he didn’t think my parents paid all this money to come to this prestigious boarding school for me to be a screenwriter. I was 14 years old.    He was the adult.  What did I know? I moved on from that dream, but Hyde114 helped bring back that dream to me. Roberto Alvarenga wasn’t aggressive enough to be what he wanted to be.  Hyde114 was plenty aggressive. 

Like all popular trends, they run their course.  Chat rooms evolved into DMs.  AOL usernames became Facebook profiles that may or may not result in being catfished. AOL emails became very unsecure and Hyde114 ran his course, too.  While Hyde114 didn’t last too long once the new millennium began, his parting gift was sending me on a journey to become a writer. This parting gift, however, comes with a rub.  You see, I come from a household where two amazing, hard-working parents instilled in me that my lot in life is to find a good job, put in your time, earn a pension, retire- and along the way try and have a family.  Good goals and achievable with a focused work ethic.  Problem with that mandate is that writing is not a job that fits into that model.  No, I went and chose probably one of the most difficult professions to make a living. So, what does that mean?  It means that this journey has included times where I have been discouraged and ridiculed for what I want to be by some of the people that I love more than anything in this world.  

The writer in me has been hidden from almost everyone.  The few that have known this side of me know only what I want them to know.  There have been times where I have hidden the writer from myself to do what society needs me to do to make a living.  I hid the writer until a time I thought I would be ready to unleash him, but what I have found is that I have held him back.  The writer is who I really am.  The writer is my Hyde.  I have realized I don’t need a potion to transform into him in order to release him in the world.  I just have to write and find a way to keep writing- no matter what and no matter who- I need to hide this from because the time to unleash Hyde the Writer is now.

So what comes next? The short answer is I keep writing. I want to use this platform to for you, the reader, to get to know me through the stories in my life and the stories I will write.  I will share and talk about my journey into screenwriting and all the amazing experiences along the way.  Horror will also be a major topic for that is my favorite genre to write but it won’t be the only genre I delve into.   Finally, I want to use this platform to find my voice in writing. I’m looking to connect with you. So leave comments, critique me, challenge me because the reader determines a good writer.  I know who I am now.  Now you will know too.

The post Hyde the Writer appeared first on Roberto Alvarenga.