The Invisible Visitor by Lisa Burke

by Lisa Burke
(New Milford, CT USA)

Author Lisa Burke, of New Milford, Connecticut is celebrating the release of her first novel available November 15, 2008, The Invisible Visitor (70,000 words, Cacoethes Publishing, $13.75, ISBN 978-1-60695-030-2). The book has been nothing short of a Godsend for Burke.

“Writing this saved my sanity – I was going through a really tough time; the end of a relationship, an identity crisis, and a Saturn Return – which is an astrological transit that happens around age 30, and facilitates great regeneration whether you’re ready or not.”

“The Invisible Visitor” tells the story of a woman named Nora who is tortured by remorse regarding the mysterious disappearance of her childhood boyfriend, Stuart. The tale begins with Nora’s decision to commit suicide by swallowing some powerful pills she acquired from the Town’s drug pusher.

Nora is able to be saved from death and encouraged to live through a connection with her spirit guide named Cassock. Cassock is no ordinary angel; he is crass, sardonically witty, and at times, a bully. Nora’s fearfulness and reluctance to change continually clash with Cassock’s determination and omnipotence.

“Some of my favorite scenes are when Cassock blurts ridiculous things out of nowhere. He would make me laugh out loud as he spoke through my fingers tapping on the keyboard. At one point, after Nora hasn’t seen him for a few days, he appears suddenly in her living room and says, ‘I fell on the guilt trip lying along the threshold of your front door. Morals make questions, not decisions.’ He is, what they call, a character – in more ways than one.”

EXCERPT

I popped up with a jolt at the stranger’s voice. It was a bit too jolty, in fact. A feeling of being submerged by a wave overtook my head and sent my face crashing forward toward the floor. I steadied myself with my palms on the ground, and looked up to him, sitting in my bed. He was wearing a stained white button-up shirt and faded, torn jeans. He had brown eyes and dark hair. He was sitting on my bed cross-legged, like a sardonic Buddha. Lobsang Dorje, Buddha of wicked tongue and scornful eye.
“You are the essence that you so despise,” he was singing. He sang it mockingly, but it suited the melody. I couldn’t really appreciate it due to the shock of seeing some strange man on my bed after an evening of mysterious blue pills.
My heart raced and I tried to gently, but swiftly, scramble up and into a less vulnerable position. Wary on my feet, I looked at him again.
God, I must have fallen into some kind of stupor and brought him home last night. Christ, what have I done? This guy looks like a real prize. Oh, what on Earth was I thinking? Was I interested in him? Was he interested in me? I wish I could remember.
“Who are you?” I shouted, rubbing my eyes. “Did you stay here last night? Why are you here?”
He slowly uncrossed his legs and laid them over the side of the bed and lit a cigarette.
“Oh, I don’t know. I might be your guardian angel or something.”
“No, really, who are you?”
He took a long drag, exhaled slowly and replied, “I dunno, they just assigned me to you. They never really give you too many specifics on these things, you know.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ve been sent to show you a thing or two. I’m supposed to introduce you to my special brand of charm,” he said with a flourish of his hands, like a model displaying a new car.
I shook my head a bit, “Who are you? Don’t give me this bullshit nonsense, tell me your name.”
“My name is Cassock. Do you have an ashtray? Oh, that’s right. I forgot. I don’t need one. It’s gonna take me a while to get used to this.”
“Okay, Mr. Cassock, now how did you—”
“Not Mister Cassock, just Cassock.”
“Okay, Cassock, how did you—”
“I don’t have a last name because when you’re just a ghost you don’t have parents, therefore you don’t assume any surname. Therefore you only get one name. Purely for identification purposes.”
I didn’t expect this statement, and my heart collapsed in fear. I cast it aside as a joke, and plodded on.
“So, how did you get in my house?”
“Well, we get a number too. We get to pick our name and then they put a number at the end of it so we’re definitely individual. ‘Cause if someone else picked Cassock, then that would get confusing. I think I’m like Cassock 85692574 or something like that. I never really bothered to remember my number.”