Tricks of Evil – Dark Angel – Haunting the Reverend

 

As soon as I walked into the kitchen of my childhood home I felt my dad’s presence. I even smelled him, his cigarettes, his aftershave, his hair creme; it was comforting and upsetting both at the same time. My mum seemed not to notice and busied herself with setting the table.

“Can I help”? I asked. She stopped what she was doing and looked at me. “Your being here is the only help I need. I’ve missed you, I feel like I’ve lost my husband and my daughter.”

I hung my head, ashamed of my recent behaviour. “I’m sorry mum, I really am.”

She turned her back to me, I knew she was crying, “everyone deals with grief differently,” she said, making excuses for me.

Reverend Laybourn appeared as he walked slowly past the kitchen window. He didn’t look so good as he came in and sat down. My mum poured him some tea and offered him a piece of cake. “How could I refuse, it looks delicious.” He turned and faced me. “People come from far and wide to our church bake sale, in the hopes of getting one of your mum’s chocolate cakes. She has quite the reputation.”

The cake on Reverend Laybourn’s place was alive with maggots, dark chocolate-colored maggots. Was I the only person who saw them?

His face was covered with a film of perspiration. He mopped his brow. “Oh goodness, I hope I’m not coming down with something,” he said. My mum didn’t seem to notice his demeanor. She was just happy we were both there. After twenty minutes or so the Reverend stood up, he looked unsure on his feet, and steadied himself. A dark maggot tried to escape the corner of his mouth. My stomach lurched, surely I was hallucinating.

“I must go, other parishioners to talk to,” he said weakly.

“I’ll walk with you to the corner,” I told him, wondering if he had the strength to walk that far.

By the time we reached the garden gate, I thought he would faint, but he kept going. I knew he was praying silently because his lips were moving. When I knew my mum couldn’t hear my voice I said. “Are you alright, what happened in there? Your cake, it was full of maggots.”

Reverend Laybourn took a deep breath and talked as we continued to walk to the corner of the street. “No it was not, but something wanted us to believe it was. It took all of my strength and faith in God to eat it. I didn’t want to alarm your mother, but I don’t think I should visit her again at home, something doesn’t want me in her house.”

I looked into his face, some of the color had returned. “You look much better now. Remember when you visited my flat?”

“Yes, I do, you weren’t pleased to see me were you? I heard you slam the door when I walked out.”

“I didn’t slam the door, I was nowhere near it. Reverend, I really do think I have daemons.I think they will harm you if you try to help me.”

The reverend looked at me, a troubled expression on his face. “Lucy, you are troubled, I see a dark aura all around you. Its something I’ve never seen before, but I don’t believe it’s a daemon. I’m going to talk to Father Romsey about this, there are special prayers to help troubled people. This could be something you are mustering up.”

“I’ve been called crazy several times in my life, but I don’t think I’m the sort of crazy that can conjure up maggots. I saw them too remember?”

The reverend took my hands in his own “May God Protect you.” he said. “Lucy, I will talk to Father Romsey and then I will call you.”

“I don’t want to put more people at risk.”

“Part of my job is dealing with evil, it’s what I signed up for.” Reverend Laybourn hugged me and then hurried away. I was scared for him.

As I walked back along the road to my mum’s house it grew dark, it was still early afternoon, but a storm was coming. The shadows grew longer. The air was full of dampness, and carried a nasty smell, it was the smell of evil. May God help us all, I said to myself. I knew I had a battle ahead of me.

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My first novel ‘Dead of July’ is set in Dortmund, Germany. The year is 1984 and a young British Army wife fights a battle against Evil. Does she survive? Click on the link below and find out.

Dead of July

 

Dare I ask you to show yourself?

In the middle of the night I woke up. It was cold. The window was closed, but I felt a draft. Its August, why is it so cold? Sensing I wasn’t alone, I looked around. The moonlight reflected a smudge in the corner of the room. Dare I ask you to show yourself? I thought. No need, a shadow developed. Did it have wings? Is my story becoming reality or am I falling into my story?

Shadow

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My current story, Dead of July is available on Amazon.

Dead of July by Sandra Thompson

A single black feather – An Omen?

black-feathers

Last night I tossed and turned in bed, my dreams were disturbing, frightening.

I was in St. Paul’s, a Church in a little North Yorkshire village.

Something was watching me.

When I woke up this morning, there was a single black feather on the floor beside my bed!

Should I be worried?

 

 

Dead of July

A German Ghost Story in the midst of the British Army

 

 

Daemons!

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAThe church service was long and dreary, but I endured it for my mum’s sake. The dark winged shape lurked above me, but I felt her power was waning in the house of God. After a final hymn, the church doors were opened and the Reverend Laybourn stood just outside, talking to the congregation as they left. My mum left the church, glancing my way as she walked out into the sunlight. I looked at Jeff.

“Go with your mum,” he said. “I’ll stop by tonight.”

“You don’t know where I live,”

“Yes I do, I’ll see you around seven,” he said, and then left the church through the back door. I walked to the front of the church, not wanting to be in there alone. I kept my eyes fixed straight ahead of me, not daring to look up, afraid to see what was following me.

The Reverend looked genuinely pleased to see me, “Ah, Lucy, so glad you came to church today.”

My mum stood next to him, her eyes brimming with tears. She looked haggard. I reached out and hugged her, feeling her tears soak into my blouse. “I’m sorry mum, I’m really sorry. I don’t know whats wrong with me. I think I have daemons.”

Reverend Laybourn frowned. “Lets not talk about daemons,” he said. “Will you join me for a cup of tea and some chocolate biscuits? I think it would be nice to talk for a while.”

I didn’t want to talk about the thing that followed me. What if the dark feathered creature that followed harmed those I talked to?

My mum was talking now. “Please, come and have tea at my house, I’m there alone so often, I’d love you to come. I baked a chocolate cake this morning, I’ll never eat it myself.”

That pleased the good Reverend, he did have a sweet tooth. I couldn’t argue.

Reverend Laybourn locked the church doors “I thought the church was always open,” I said to him.

“Yes in a perfect world,” he answered “but, we’ve had some problems recently, a crow, or some other big black bird got trapped in here, there was an awful mess. I didn’t think black birds were carnivores, but I was wrong. There were two dead rabbits on the floor and blood everywhere.”

“Oh that’s awful,” I said, alarm bells going off in my head, “Is the bird gone now.”

“I don’t know, we never saw it.”

“Then how do you know it was ever there?” I asked.

“Black feathers everywhere.”

I staggered backwards, almost falling over. The Reverend grabbed my arm and steadied me. “Are you alright?” he asked. He wasn’t looking at me as he spoke, his eyes focused just above my head again, the same as they did when I bumped into him a few days earlier.

He looked scared!

Dead of July

Dead of July by Sandra Thompson

 

A single black feather – Dark Angel

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I can’t remember the last time my mum had slapped me, but it got my attention. I looked at her tearful scared face. She looked old. She’d aged since my dad died. I wanted to say sorry, but I couldn’t speak. My head hurt, but it didn’t hurt as badly as my heart.

“I’m going into church now,” she said “If you aren’t joining me, you can wait in the car.” she handed me the keys. Her hands were shaking. “What’s wrong with you Lucy?” she asked. Then she turned her back on me and walked away.

I leaned against the wall, exhausted, not knowing what to do. The church gate behind me creaked and I stepped to one side, making room for who ever wanted to pass. A hand touched my arm and I looked around to see a young man standing next to me. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t remember his name. “Lucy, it’s me, Jeff.”

“Jeff? I’m sorry, have we met before?” I asked.

He laughed, “You know me as Bones.”

I looked closely. “Bones, it is you. You’ve changed. You had long hair and a shaggy beard. You’ve cleaned up.” Bones used to wander the roads alone. He’d smoke pot and then take bones from a pouch he carried on his belt and throw them on the ground, claiming he saw the future from the way they landed. My mum always said he was crazy. I knew he wasn’t. He was just a gentle lost soul. He smiled at me and pulled a tattered leather pouch from his jacked pocket. “Yes, I still have them,” he said as he guided me along the path and into the church. “Sorry to hear about your dad. Come on, your mum needs you.”

Was I dreaming? I was dazed and not totally aware of my surroundings. Allowing Bones (couldn’t think of him as Jeff) to support me, I walked to the back of the church, hearing heads turn as I passed by the villagers (or was I imagining it?), nothing felt real. The congregation was singing Onward Christian Soldiers. Up in the rafters, almost hidden in the shadows, sat a dark shape with wings. It was watching me hungrily. Did Bones see it too? He held onto my arm. “You’re safe here. I’m going to take care of you.”

“Do you always come to church?” I asked him.

“No, only when someone calls me. I heard your call last night.”

“What?”

The dark shadow nestling on the wooden beams moved, it was right above me now. A dark feather fluttered to the ground in front of me. I closed my eyes in silent prayer.

One day this story may make its way into a book. My current book Dead of July is available on Amazon. Give it a try, I’d love to hear your comments. 

Dead of July

Dead of July by Sandra Thompson

A Young Girl, A Beach, and a Premonition

My very first book was called Girl on the Beach. It’s loosely based on my own life, and yes I’ve had some very strange experiences. As a newbie to writing, I put this book on Amazon and Smashwords five years ago. It was free for a while. As I became more experienced, I realized that although I got some great feedback on the story, the book needed to be re-written. For the past six months, I have been working on the re-write and I think I’m almost there. I need help with the title though because I’m not sure Girl on the Beach, does it justice.

Set in 1964, this young adult book is about a seven-year old who has a terrifying experience on the beach in the British seaside resort of Blackpool. She appears to be having a nightmare in the middle of the day, and is surrounded by darkness and death. The nightmare haunts her, even after her vacation is over.

Sheila is only seven years old, but has already come to terms with the fact that death isn’t the end of everything. A young cousin, who died of leukemia, visits her often. She is sensitive to wandering spirits, who tend to seek her out. A huge burden to bear for a youngster.

Back to titles. Here are some new ones I’m thinking of.

Nightmare on the Beach

Fear in the Sand

Bad Dreams in Blackpool

It’s probably hard to decide when you haven’t read the story, but any help is appreciated. When I re-launch the book do I change the cover too?

Girl on the Beach by Sandra Thompson

“You can always make money, you can’t always make memories”

Sandra:

Great advice.

Originally posted on Ankit Mishra:

“Travel, go as many places as you can. You can always make money, you can’t always make memories.”

I agree with the picture. Nothing compares with the memories that we can make together with our family & friends. It is something that we can always look back and reminisce.

We all know that “Time is limited” and we need to make the most of it while we can.  While we have the means and energy to enjoy these travels.

Nowadays, the word “travel” means expense.
Well, when you look at it, it is really expense but for me it is an expense worth spending.  It will help build a lasting memory and money cannot buy the memories that can be created in any of these travels made with family. Wouldn’t it be nice to look at a picture 5 years from now where you have traveled with you friends and family and in…

View original 30 more words

Please DON’T get me to the church on time – Dark Angel

“Mum, I really don’t want to go to church, I have too much to do.” I insisted.

My mum’s voice sounded weary. “Lucy, for me, please. I promised Reverend Laybourn you’d come. He’s worried about you.”

“Tell him to go and tend to the parishioners who need him, I don’t.” I said sharply. Did I hear my mum sob? I was tired. Sleep had eluded me for several nights. The truth was, I was afraid to sleep, afraid of where my dreams took me.

“For your dad, Lucy, go in memory of your dad.” That was a blow below the belt, but it got my attention and I felt guilty.

“OK mum, I’ll go to church. I’ll see you there. Ten o clock right?”

“I’ll pick you up at 9:30.” she said. Damn, there was no way of getting out of it was there? She hung up the phone before I could object.

St. Pauls ChurchI started feeling nauseous at around 9:15 and by the time my mum arrived I was quite sick. After waiting it the car for five minutes, she came up to see what was wrong. “You look as white as a sheet, are you alright?” she asked.

“Not really mum, I think I should stay here, go to church without me.”

She pursed her lips in determination. “You are going to church, it’s cool in there, it will make you feel better.” Fighting with her was pointless so I followed her down to the car. The closer we got to the church, the worse I felt. I could barely muster up strength to get out of the car. We walked slowly toward St. Paul’s, a place of worship I’d frequented often as a child and teenager. A place I didn’t want to go anymore. When we reached the gate, I could go no further. With my my hand on the wall to support me, I bent down and threw up. My mum stepped back. “Oh dear,” she said, “You really are sick, let me get you some water.” As he walked towards the church, I stood up, suddenly full of energy and snarled, “Just make sure it’s not holy water.” The laughter that followed, coming from my own mouth, wasn’t mine, and it scared me.

My mum turned around and looked at me, clearly shaken, then she stood in front of me and slapped my face, hard.

If you enjoy my short stories, give my novel Dead of July a try.

Now available on Amazon

Dead of July by Sandra Thompson