Does it alway rain at funerals? – Dark Angel

My dad’s funeral was the worst day of my life. Worse by far than my accident and hospital stay. The pain of his loss was unbearable. When my doctor asked me if I wanted Valium to get me through the day I didn’t hesitate. “Yes please,” I said “how many can I take before I sink into a coma?” She looked at me with concern. “I’m only going to give you two, and I want to see you back here next week,” she said.

My mum put on a brave face as we stood by the graveside, but she didn’t know what I knew. She hadn’t seen the awful black shadow hovering outside my window. Why did the Dark Angel linger? Why did she torture me? If she wanted to take my life, let her take it. I didn’t want to see anyone else die.

Does it always rain at funerals? It was miserable, but the raindrops hid my tears.

My brother put his arm around me. “Come on, be brave. He wasn’t a well man. This was his third stroke. We knew this might happen eventually.”

“I never got chance to say goodbye.” I said. My brother hugged me tight. “Say goodbye now, I’m sure he’s watching.”

“Bye Dad, I love you.” I said and looked to the sky. The clouds were dark and ominous. I looked away. My grief tainted my vision and made me imagine things that weren’t really there, or so I hoped.

Dark Wings

 The short stories I post on my blog are writing exercises for me. Dead of July, my first novel is available on Amazon. I’m currently working on a compilation of short stories and then I will write a much requested sequel to Dead of July.

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Dead of July by Sandra Thompson

Mr. Mercedes – Stephen King

Anyone who follows my blogs knows I am a HUGE Stephen King fan. I’ve read all of his books (some twice), and attended his book launch for Dr. Sleep in Boulder last year. It was an entertaining evening as he talked about his experiences as a writer, and read from his new book for us. He is a humble, down to earth and entertaining character. Dr. Sleep was a fantastic book and a great sequel to The Shining. Mr. Mercedes is another huge victory for Stephen King. The chapters are short, but gripping. I usually read in bed, and this book is robbing me of sleep. When I finish a chapter I say okay, I’ll read just one more, but one more becomes several more. Great book. His writing style changes a little in this book, but it works.

In my opinion Stephen King is a true master of writing. I read a great deal, but no one pulls me into a story the way he does. He could write about anything, but horror is his calling. The day he stops publishing will be a sad day for me.

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In a million years I will never achieve Stephen King’s mastery of writing, but I will continue to try. My first novel Dead of July is currently available on Amazon.

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Dead of July by Sandra Thompson

Delayed Tragedy – Angel of the Night

Three months passed and my body healed. Dampness and rain made my bones ache, but for the most part my recovery was complete. Had the Dark Angel left me? I hoped so. I searched the shadows in the darkest corners of my room, but none of them bore wings. Dare I hope the evil winged one had moved on to someone else? My relief was short-lived. I sat in the window seat of my little apartment, listening to the breeze rustling through the leaves of the Aspen Trees. Leaves that were just beginning to turn gold, when the phone rang.

“Hello sugar, your dad forgot to bring the chocolate cake I made for you.” I’ll pop by with it in the morning if that’s OK.

It was my mam’s voice.

“Alright, I think I can wait until tomorrow for a piece of chocolate cake.  I didn’t know he was coming to see me tonight, did he just set off?” I asked

“No, he left about an hour ago, maybe he stopped off at the pub on the way. He thinks I don’t know that he pops in for a sneaky half of bitter sometimes. He’ll be there soon.” My mam replied and laughed.

“I’ll smell his breath when he arrives,” I said as I looked out of the window. Then I froze and almost dropped the phone.

“Lucy, are you still there?”

“Yes mum, I’ll call you back when dad arrives.” I said trying not to show the fear in my voice.

Across the road in the fading light stood the solitary figure of my dad. He was overshadowed by the dark awful image of an angel, a dark angel. Her wingspan was huge and everything beneath it shrivelled and died. A shower of leaves fluttered to the ground and instantly turned to dust.

I closed my eyes and and prayed my dad was safe. When I opened them again, I saw only falling leaves. I waited and waited, but my dad never came.

autumn

 

My first novel Dead of July is available on amazon.

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Dead of July by Sandra Thompson

Dark Angel – An Awful Shadow

I was confined to my hospital bed for three long weeks while my body healed. I saw the dark angel no more. Had I imagined her? Did the combination of pain and drugs cause me to hallucinate? I hoped so, my life was better without her awful image. When I was finally released from hospital, it was not to my own little apartment, but to my parents home with the instructions that I must rest for another three weeks.

My body healed quickly, youth was on my side. My parents cared for me, enjoying having me home, but I felt smothered. I loved them and appreciated all they did, but I was 20, I needed to be back in my own little apartment, surrounded by my own things. Eventually I was given the  all clear to look after myself. My dad drove me home and got me settled, but was hesitant to leave me.

“Are you sure you’re alright? You know you can come home anytime you like. I don’t like leaving you here alone. What if you fall?”

“Dad, I barely need my crutches anymore. I’m fine. I can go back to work next week. I loved being with you and mum, but I need to start taking care of myself again. I’ll call you if I need you.”

“OK”, my dad said as he hugged me. I tried not to show him how much pain I was still in when he touched me. I think he knew, but said nothing. “You take it easy, call us every day so we know  you are alright.” My dad shivered as he spoke.

“Are you cold?” I asked.

“No, someone just walked over my grave I think.” He kissed me on the cheek and left. I watched out of the window as my dad got into his car. A storm came from nowhere, making me nervous. I didn’t like storms anymore. Lightening forked from the darkened skies. I rubbed my eyes, did I see an awful shadow where my dad’s car had been parked? I closed the shutters, not wanting to look anymore. I’m just tired, thats all.

Angel Shadow

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Dead of July by Sandra Thompson

 

 

 

 

This Way Madness Lies

I’m reading the last couple of chapters of a book by Thomas William Simpson entitled ‘This Way Madness Lies’. This book was loaned to me by a friend and fellow writer. I’ve never heard of Thomas William Simpson, but am captivated by his unique writing style. This is one of the best written and most intriguing books I have ever read. It’s amusing and clever. I would recommend it to anyone.

Stephen King’s new novel, Mr. Mercedes is tantalizingly waiting for me on Kindle. Usually I drop whatever I am reading when a new Stephen King book arrives, not this time. I have to see how this book ends.

If you want to read something a little different, try ‘This Way Madness Lies.’

This way madness lies

The Winslow clan of Far Hills, N.J., is your not-so-average dysfunctional upper-crust American family. The current generation includes Mary, a historian who communicates with ghosts of the family’s ancestors; Henry, who’s spent 21 years posing as his twin brother, Bobby, who switched places with him and got killed in Vietnam; Ginny, an emotionally ravaged failed actress; Barton, a closet homosexual sculptor and recluse; and Joseph, a Colorado cocaine playboy. “Wild Bill” Winslow, their father, a blustering 70-year-old real estate tycoon whose first wife died 15 years earlier falls down the stairs but doesn’t die, disappointing his gold digger second wife Bettina. He asks that his children be called home; it takes nearly 100 pages to convene the scattered siblings, partly because their ancestors, from colonial times to the near-present, are very much part of the action as both seen and unseen presences. Another Winslow scion, psychotic, estranged Edward, is a loose cannon, providing an element of suspense. A writer of great originality, first novelist Simpson creates scenes of dramatic power and fine ironic humor. Ultimately, however, the fatalistic connections between ancestors and living family members seem imposed and artificial. Literary Guild alternate. 

 

And then there is my humble first novel!

One day I’ll be famous!

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Dead of July by Sandra Thompson

I’m Alive!

I opened my eyes, but saw nothing. Was I blind? I was confused! Where am I? 

And then I remembered the tornado, the crash, my death. My death? Where did that thought come from? My eyes began to focus and I recognized the stark impersonal surroundings. I was in hospital. My legs were elevated and wrapped in bandages. At least I have still have them. I thought. My back hurt a little, and my shoulder, but it was bearable. What am I forgetting? A memory scratched at the inside of my head, but I didn’t know what it was. Maybe I didn’t want to remember. The crash was awful, what could be worse than that? I moved my hand slightly and felt something in it. With difficulty I moved my head and saw a buzzer. Did I want to ring it? Did I want help?

Suddenly I was afraid. I didn’t want to be alone anymore. I pressed as hard as I could and then shut my eyes and waited, longing to hear the sound of footsteps. Instead of footsteps I heard slowly flapping wings. I felt a breeze against my skin and a chill on my face.

I opened my eyes.

Standing by my bed was the Angel of Death.

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“What do you want from me?” I asked.

She leaned forward and whispered in my ear, her breath as cold as ice. “You owe me your life. I will take it later, or that of another. You choose!” and then she was gone.

Alarms sounded and nurses ran into my room. I couldn’t breathe. Was I dying?

“Hello, Lucy, talk to us. She’s in shock. CLEAR.”

I felt a jolt of electricity and I began to breathe again. I was alive, for now anyway.

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Dead of July by Sandra Thompson

Not my Guardian Angel.

I wasn’t sure if I were alive or dead. I saw shadows, dark shadows. I heard the sound of whispering, but didn’t recognize the voices. Then, for a while I saw nothing but darkness, it enveloped me. I knew I wasn’t in Hell because Hell would be hot and red. Suddenly I saw the light. Should I move towards it, or turn away from it? I’d seen so many movies, go to the light, but surely that would mean death. Run away from the light, but did that put me in Hell?

I felt pain in my chest, my body jolted, I heard a loud buzzing sound, pain, my body jolted again, and then I opened my eyes. I was in a brightly lit room. I was in hospital. Nurses bustled around me. “She’s awake, I think she’s going to make it.” a voice from above me said. I looked up into the shiny, perspiring black face of a nurse. “Stay with me now.” she said as she shone a light in my eyes.

Where am I likely to go? I thought as I looked at my legs, which were suspended by wires from the ceiling. I couldn’t move, I wanted to scream in pain, but I couldn’t open my mouth.

“Don’t be scared sugar.” The nurse said. “You’re gonna make it.”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to. In the corner of the room was a shadow, a dark shadow with wings. The shadow didn’t have a face but I knew her.

“Her heart beat is steadying.” said the nurse. “I think she’s going to be okay. It’s been a rough couple of days, but I think she’ll make it.”

Couple of days? I thought. Its been a couple of days?

“Give her another shot of morphine.” It was a male voice this time. I couldn’t see where it came from, but I was thankful. I didn’t want feel anymore pain, but more than anything else, I didn’t want to see the black shadow crouching in the corner of the room. She may be and Angel, but I had a feeling she wasn’t my guardian, she wanted something from me. The room faded to darkness again.

Emergency Room

I live to write, and my short stories keep my brain and writing skills sharp. My first full length novel below is available on Amazon. If you find time to read it, please be so kind as to give me a review. I’d love to know what you think. A compilation of my short stories will be available later this year. In the meantime, I have my daughter’s wedding to plan. Thanks for stopping by. I hope you pass this way again to see what happens with the Dark Angel.

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Dead of July by Sandra Thompson

 

Dark Angel

I raced along the highway going way too fast, but I was scared. I looked in my rearview mirror as the funnel cloud touched down on the road behind me. It was a full-blown tornado now. Roaring and twisting, it chased me, getting closer with each passing second. Hail pounded my windshield and bounced off the road around me.

“Dear God, help me. I don’t want to die.” I floored the accelerator as I tried to beat the storm. My life hung in the balance. Would I be killed in a car crash or become the victim of the tornado that loomed over me? I saw a bridge ahead of me squeezed my foot down as far as it would go, racing for the bridge, hoping it would shelter me.

Racing a tornadoAlmost there! Noooooooo! I stomped on my brakes and screamed as a dark shaped loomed ahead of me. An overturned truck blocked my way and I could do nothing to avoid it. I didn’t feel the impact, I felt nothing. I was dead!

No longer afraid of the tornado, I floated above my mangled car. A man lay on the ground below me. He moaned in pain, but I couldn’t help him. I looked down at myself, or what was left of me, a bloody mess of mangled flesh. I couldn’t cry. I was dead.

Movement caught my eye and a dirty light glided towards me. I wasn’t alone anymore.

Dark-Angel-rip-severus-snape-13696266-1280-800

 

My ears buzzed and my head hurt. How could that be? I was dead.

“You, whats your name?”

“Me?” I asked.

“Who else could I be taking to?” said the harsh voice that approached me.

I looked at the now silent body on the ground.

“I’m not taking to that fool, he’s dead”

I shuddered. The shape that approached me had wings. Could this be an angel?  Surely not, she was dark, and her voice was cruel. I shielded my face with my arm as she grew close, her brightness hurt my eyes.

“Am I dead?” I asked.

“No, it was you or him, and it pleased me to let you live….for now anyway.”

Her light went out and I was alone, trapped in my car. I felt no pain, just fear. Sirens approached, help was at hand. I thought of the dark angel and wondered if I’d be better off dead.

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Dead of July by Sandra Thompson

 

Three Ghosts – Alice Hobson

As I got ready for bed, thoughts of my parents were heavy on my mind. How they’d loved me, cared for me and tried to understand me. Their life had been so much different from mine. Their challenges were food rations and surviving the second world war. I was born in the late fifties. When I hit my teens there were different challenges to face, all involving temptation. Free Love, drugs, rock festivals, sounds selfish doesn’t it? My parents survived the second world war and I survived the free love and drug epidemic.

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I’m sure my mum and dad never slept while I attended these events. A handful of my friends died from drug overdoses. Many jumped off bridges or from windows after taking LSD and imagining they could fly. Hey, I tried things, who didn’t, but luckily I don’t have an addictive personality. I could, quite easily say NO, and after a few experiments, I did.

I lay down in my bed, knowing I wasn’t going to sleep, so I picked up my iPad and began to read. I couldn’t concentrate. I was saw lights dancing and flickering on the wall outside my bedroom door. It looked like candle light. I was about to get out of bed and take a look when I heard a gentle voice. I closed my eyes and imagined the face of my Grandma. Wow, I hadn’t seen that face in over thirty years. I smiled, she was a character.

The Fell

“Remember when we walked across the fell from Butterknowle to Cockfield? We saw your granddad by beck, he died before you were born, but he still watches you. We both do.”

“Grandma, I’m in America now, how do you see me?”

“We’re always with you, and your mam. Don’t trouble yourself anymore about your past. It’s behind you and you survived. Your mam was no angel pet, and she knows it.”

“I can hear you.” It was my mum’s voice. I heard laughter too.

“Remember Gordon?” My grandma said.

“The boy I went to school with when we lived on the fell?” Laughter. “He was nasty, he used to torment me.”

“You soon fixed that Ethel. Shall I tell your daughter what you did?” More laughter. “Alright I will. Your mum grabbed a handful of his hair from the top of his head and spun him around like a top. Took most of the hair from the top of his head in the process.”

My mum joined in, “He squealed like a pig and ran all the way home. He never bothered me again though.”

“No, but I had his parents to deal with.”

I heard laughter from both my mum and my gran. It felt so good. Alice and Ethel together again. The came back to cheer me up.

The laughter faded and I knew they were gone. I wondered if they had come to take me with them. but I slept well that night with a smile on my face, and woke up the next morning ready to meet whatever life threw at me. I knew I was never alone, my family may have faded into the background, but they still watched over me. They’re probably behind me right now, reading this and laughing. I hope so!

 

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Dead of July by Sandra Thompson