Wait at the Gates of Heaven for me – Terry!

98387720_-band-transistor-radio-fm-am-marine-sw-shortwave-batteryPete went to turn the radio off, but it wasn’t switched on. He removed the batteries. It still played.

“Take it outside, put it in the dustbin, I don’t want it in my flat anymore.”

He was hesitant to touch it, and I didn’t blame him, it had to go. With the radio under his arm, he ran downstairs, I watched for him through the window, but he didn’t appear in the back yard where the bins were located. Where was he? I stood at the top of the stairs in silence. No sign of him. Five agonizing minutes passed, during which I chewed on my nails, and willed him to come back.

The door at the bottom of the stairs opened and he appeared.

“Are you alright?” I asked him.

“Yea, I’ll be fine.”

“What happened? Where did you go?”

“I ran down to the building site, you know the one, just off Frenchgate.”

“Yes, they’re renovating some old homes, close to where I work. Why’d you go there? I was worried.”

“If I’d put the radio in the dust bin in the back yard we’d still be hearing it now. So would the people in the rest of the building. They’d wonder what was going on, plus it would freak you out!”
“Was it still playing when you dropped tossed it in the skip?”

“Yes, it was playing a different tune? It switched to that old song by Twinkle.”

“I only know one song by Twinkle.” I said. My heart was beating faster now, “it’s the one called “Terry”, about a boy who dies in a motorcycle accident.”

Pete looked at me, “It’s playing over and over again.”

I thought about the guy in the leather jacket as the song played out in my brain. Please wait at the Gate of Heaven for me, Terry!

“I don’t know what to do, or how to help you. Why aren’t you freaking out more?”

“Stuff like this happens to me, I’m used to it. I told you about it before. My gran sees things too, I guess it skipped my mam’s generation and I’m stuck with the gift. This is a bit different though. Usually its family I see. Who ever is haunting me now sought me out.”

“The guy on the motorbike, is he real?”

I thought about it, “I’m not sure yet. I thought he was, but now I’m beginning to wonder. Shame because I fancied him like crazy.”

Pete laughed. It broke the tension. “What about the gypsy?”

“She’s not real. Sometimes I see her as an old woman, and sometimes a beautiful young girl. The two are definitely connected.”

“Who’d you see first?”

“The guy, in fact I feel like he’s in my head the whole time now.”

We were both silent for a while.

“You’d better get ready for work, I’ll walk you there. What time do you finish?”

“Five o clock”

“I’ll meet you outside too. I’m going to stay until this is over. It may move on with Fairground people. Seems to be tied to them. I still have a key so I’ll bring some of my stuff over.”

“Thank Pete, I’d like you to stay. I don’t think I’m in danger or anything, but it would be nice to have some living breathing company.”

I got washed and dressed and we walked to my office in silence. I arrived a little late, but that was OK, I was still first in. Cindy had a doctor’s appointment and Jan was still sick, it turned out to be Bronchitis. I powered up the computer and then grabbed a cup of coffee. Before sitting down at my desk I wandered over to the window and looked out to the car park, where I’d first seen the irresistible leather clad biker. Only the familiar cars were parked there, no bikes, no smoke rings no…

He said to me he wanted to be near to me
He said he never wanted to be out of my sight
But it’s too late to give this boy my love tonight
Please wait at the gate of heaven for me, Terry.

He said to me he wanted to be close by my side
We had a quarrel, I was untrue on the night he died
And it’s too late to tell this boy how great he was
Please wait at the gate of heaven for me, Terry.

He rode into the night, accelerated his motorbike
I cried to him in fright, don’t do it, don’t do it, don.t do it.

He said to me you are the one I want to be with
He said to me you are the one who my love I shall give
One day he’ll know how hard I prayed for him to live
Please wait at the gate of heaven for me, Terry.

He rode into the night, accelerated his motorbike
I cried to him in fright, don’t do it, don’t do it, don.t do it.

He said to me you are the one I want to be with
He said to me you are the one who my love I shall give
One day he’ll know how hard I prayed for him to live
Please wait at the gate of heaven for me, Terry.

Terry, Terry, Terry.

I dropped my cup!

Dead of July, my first novel, is available on Amazon for $0.99. If you like my blog, give my book a try. Thanks for stopping by.

Will you Still Love me Tomorrow? Even if I’m Dead?

I lined pillows down the middle of the bed between Pete and I, a “do not cross” line. Not that it would prevent him from making a move if he wanted to, but just to make a point. I needn’t have bothered, the Brandy’s did the trick, and we both fell asleep immediately. As I drifted into oblivion, I heard bells tinkling softly.

“Do you want to buy some lucky Heather lady? Spare a few coins and buy some.” I looked into a pair of dark ancient eyes. “Spare a few coins for an old lady buy some lucky Heather.”

I was dreaming, but it felt so real.

Wake up, wake up.

The dark yes mesmerized me. As I gazed into them they filled with tears. “Be lucky, make me lucky too.” The eyes were no longer ancient, but young and desperate. They filled with tears as they faded into the nigh. “Buy some lucky Heather for me and my love. Bring us luck.”

What?

Will you still love me tomorrow?

When I opened my eyes it was morning. The line of pillows was the only other thing sharing my bed. Pete was gone! There was a chill in the air. Wrapping my robe around me, I went to close the window. Ouch! I bent down and rubbed my foot. What was that? A tiny silver bell glimmered in the early morning sunlight. A gypsy bell! How’d that get there? And then I remembered my dream.

I looked out of the window and across to the market place where the fairground folk were just waking up. It was too early for the stalls and rides to open, but they busied themselves sweeping and cleaning. One or two sat together drinking from huge steaming mugs.

How did the bell get in my room?

A tap on my bedroom door made me jump. “Hey, are you decent, I made coffee and toast.”

“I’m coming.”

Whats happening to me?

“What’s with all the heather, how much good luck do you need?” Pete asked.

“What?”

I followed his gaze to the table behind my sofa. The top was covered with purple and white heather. I almost dropped my cup.

“Steady on! Are you alright?”

“Is this a bloody joke, if it is, it’s not funny. You were supposed to be here to make me feel safe, not play games with me.”

“What?”

“The Heather, you must have gotten out of bed pretty early to find this. Did you think I’d fall into your arms with fright?”

“Slow down, what are you talking about?”

“It’s not funny. You put the Heather there and it’s not funny.”

“Do you really think I’d do that? Come on, this is me, I’m a joker, but wouldn’t go to that much trouble. Odd though, I didn’t notice it last night.”

The radio burst into life, it was full of static, we could barely hear the song.

Dried-Flower-Bouquet-Lucky-Heather

I’m at the beginning of my writing career, my first novel Dead of July is available on Amazon for $0.99. I’ve been writing stories since 1970, and finally plucked up the courage to publish them. I hope they entertain you.

Get Rid of Him … Rock On… with the DEAD!

Richmond at nightWe finished our drinks and walked back to my flat are in arm. Pete was easy to be around. I enjoyed his company even more after we stopped dating.

“Do you want a cup of coffee or anything?” I asked.

“No thanks! I may jump in the bath though, I still feel grimy from work, want to join me?”

I didn’t answer, just threw a clean towel at him, and a robe he’d left here over a year ago.

I opened the window in my bedroom, enjoying the cool breeze. It was quiet outside, the rides and their music, had to shut down at then o clock during the week. They made up for it on Friday and Saturday, when the little market town rock and rolled until midnight. I made myself a cup of Horlicks, I needed to sleep and it usually helped.

Pete emerged from the bathroom in a halo of steam, smelling fresh and looking relaxed.

“I think you’ve lost weight, that robe was much more snug last time you wore it.”

His face beamed at the compliment. “You’re the only person who’s noticed, I’ve started running, and I work out.”

He made to open his robe, “want a closer look?” he asked hopefully.

I turned my head and held up my hand. “Stop now!” In truth I was tempted to look. I’d always have a soft spot for Pete. I think all his ex girlfriends would (and there were a lot of them) he was that kind of guy.

He looked at the sofa. “How about you let me in your bed? I promise I won’t touch you. Well maybe a cuddle, but the sofa is too short, I’ll never sleep on it.”

“OK, you can sleep with me, no cuddles though, and no wandering hands. Please put something on, I don’t want to wake up and see you naked! I think there is still some of your underwear in the top drawer; I never got around to………”

I never finished my sentence. The bedroom door slammed shut and I heard what sounded like laughter.

“What the heck?” Pete looked alarmed.

“I opened the bedroom window, I’m sure it’s just the wind.”

“Oh and the wind has developed a laugh now has it?”

We walked together towards the bedroom door and I stood back while Pete opened it and went in.

“It’s safe,” he said putting the light on.

“Why wouldn’t it be, its my bedroom, I’m on the second floor, if anyone came in here they’d have to walk through the living room and I didn’t see anyone, did you?”

“You told me you were being seduced by a ghost….”he continued talking, but I wasn’t listening. I was mesmerized by the music wafting through the window.

The darkening streets outside were beckoning me.

Hey kid, rock and roll
Rock on, ooh, my soul
Hey kid, boogey too, did ya

Hey shout, summertime blues
Jump up and down in my blue suede shoes
Hey kid, rock and roll, rock on

And where do we go from here
Which is the way that’s clear

Get rid of him…tonight should be ours………….Rock on! Lets Rock On!

Check out my other blog Travel Tales and Mishaps.

Also take a look at the reviews of my first novel on Amazon Dead of July.

Lucky Heather? Or NOT!

Lucky heatherPete listened intently without interrupting. He was very interested in the beautiful gypsy girl I’d seen just before he showed up.

“How come I didn’t see her?” he asked.

“I told you she vanished.”

“Its going to take another drink or two for me to get my head around this,” he said, “I’ll buy this time, another Brandy and Coke?”

I nodded, telling my story had taken some effort, but Pete hadn’t laughed, not yet anyway.

I rested back in my chair and shut my eyes, wanting to block the world out for a while. Was there really a  handsome, intoxicating, stranger in a shabby black leather jacket, or was I imagining him? Maybe I’d been working too hard, or drinking too much, or both. Oh let him be real, he’s exciting. I want him to be real. 

Something landed on my lap, jerking me back to reality. I stifled a scream when I saw a tiny bunch of purple heather lying there.

“Jesus Christ, what the hell?” I said a little too loudly.

“Hey calm down, sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I just brought you some lucky heather, thought it might make you feel better.”

“You bloody moron, where did you get this?” I stood up so quickly I knocked over the chair I’d been sitting on. “Where is she?”

“Where’s who?”

“The goddamn gypsy, the one who sold you this, the one who turned into a beautiful young woman before disappearing. Is she here?”

Everyone looked at us to see what all the fuss was about.

“Calm down,” Pete said as he set the chair back up on all four legs, “I didn’t buy the heather off anyone, it was lying on the bar. I thought you’d like it.”

I almost fell back down onto my chair and took a big gulp of my drink.

“You really are a bag of nerves. Why don’t I stay at your place tonight, I think you need the company.”

I emptied my glass without even tasting its contents. Pete pushed his drink across the table in my direction. “Here, drink this, I’ll get two more.” He said and went back to the bar.

I looked at the heather which now lay on the table. This wasn’t a coincidence. Someone was sending me a message. What the hell was going on? Not wanting to touch it, I bent down and sniffed at it, no idea why. It was fragrant, almost overpowering, making me feel weak and dizzy. Or was that the Brandy?

“Here, I think this should be your last drink, you’re at work tomorrow aren’t you?”

I looked up at my ex boyfriend. “I’d like it if you stayed at my place tonight. Would you mind?”

Pete smiled in a way that made him irresistible. It was the smile that got him, and whoever he was with, into trouble. I laughed out loud. “Don’t get any ideas, you’re sleeping on the sofa. Don’t even thing of trying anything, I need protecting, not molesting.”

“I’ll be your knight in shining armor, no ghost will seduce you tonight. “Drink up, let’s get you to bed,” he said hopefully.

I can’t lie, I’m enjoying this story. it reminds me of a young girl that used to live in North Yorkshire a long time ago. All of the characters I use in my blogs, and in my novel, are based on memories and people I knew. Bringing them to life again (yes some of them are no longer with us), makes me smile. Life passes too quickly. I want to remember my past, enjoy the present, and look forward to the future. We’re all dead a long time.

If you’d like to try my novel ‘Dead of July’, its available on Amazon for $0.99. Yes it’s cheap, but when you write your first novel, no one knows you. Cheap is good!

Dead of July

Remember the Cemetery?

Easby cemeteryThe Black Lion was the closest watering hole, and one of my regular haunts. Pete opened the door for me and then guided me to a table. Why wasn’t he this nice when we dated?

“I’ll get the drinks,” he said.

“But I’m paying,” I replied as I pressed a five-pound note into his hand. He didn’t object. I was relieved the evening rush hadn’t found its way to the pub yet; I didn’t want to have to shout above the noise. Pete soon returned with two large Brandy and Cokes.

“I ordered some fish and chips too, you shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach.”

“You sound just like my mam,” I said smiling weakly.

“As long as I don’t look like her too, no offense, she’s a fine-looking woman, but I don’t want to see her face looking back at me when I look at myself in the mirror.”

I laughed remembering the days when we dated, my mam had liked Pete. If only she’d known what a womanizer he was.

“OK, spill, what’s wrong?”

I tried to organize my jumbled thought, wondering where to start.

“Try starting at the beginning,” Pete prompted, “It usually works best.” He always seemed to know what I was thinking.

“Alright, but open your mind, remember how scared I was when I ran from that cemetery at Easby Abbey?”

Pete laughed. “When we all went on a midnight Halloween Ghost hunt! You were really freaked. You started seeing things!”

“No I didn’t START SEEING THINGS! I saw a woman sitting on a grave crying. She looked at me and held out her arms. Then she was snatched away by something dark!”

“We’d been smoking pot!” Pete was laughing now.

“Pot doesn’t make you HALLUCINATE, anyway, I’m not going to argue with you, if you can’t keep an open mind, I can’t talk to you now.”

“Ok, I’m all ears! I’m sorry.”

“Pete, I have a gift. It’s a gift I’d give back if I could, but unfortunately I’m stuck with it. I attract restless spirits, among other things, and I have a feeling I’ve attracted a dark handsome dead stranger (My heart fluttered just thinking about him). He’s playing with me.”

“How?” Pete wasn’t laughing anymore. He ordered another round of drinks and listened attentively as I told my story.

I love to tell stories and I love to travel. Check out my other blog Travel Tales and Mishaps. Learn about the places I visit and the everyday adventures of my ordinary (and sometimes not so ordinary life).

I published my first book Dead of July, in December 2013. You can buy it on Amazon for $0.99. Give it a try. There are more books to come when I find time in my busy life to publish them. Thanks for visiting this crazy lady. I hope you’ll come back one day.

Falling in Love with a Ghost?

I was overpowered by feelings I didn’t understand. My head was too heavy for my neck. I swayed a little. From nowhere a strong hand grabbed my arm steadying me, keeping me upright. Nothing felt real. Slowly I turned my head. A masculine hand, almost hidden by shabby black leather, rested on my arm. I almost swooned so strong were my emotions. It had to be him; it had to be the smoking man. Weakly I reached out wanting to hold on and make him stay. His presence was intoxicating. Before I could feel my skin against his, he was gone.

A cold breeze kissed my cheek.

“Hey, what’s up, are you OK?

I turned around to see the solitary figure of Pete, one of my old boyfriends, walking down the narrow deserted street towards me.

“Not really! Something weird just happened.”

“Have you been at the cannabis again?” he asked, a look of genuine concern on his face.

“No, I don’t do that anymore.” Now I was irritated.

“Sorry, you just look really out of it. I tell you what, if you buy me a drink and I’ll lend you an ear?” he said with a big grin on his semi-handsome face. I say semi-handsome because he was irresistible when he smiled, but plain as a pikestaff when he didn’t. He was smiling as he approached so I couldn’t refuse. He took my arm and linked it in his.

“How about Brandy and sofa?” He said.

At least he made me smile, “lets skip the sofa shall we? I’ll take a Brandy and Coke instead. Who’s sofa are you drinking Brandy on these days?” I asked.

“That would be telling!”

“Oh, so she’s married?”

“Come on you’re the one with problems, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I stopped walking and looked at Pete, I hadn’t thought about that. Was I falling in love with a ghost?

This installment is long overdue, but I’ve been traveling and gathering ideas for my books. Clearing my mind of all the thoughts that got stuck there this year and making room for fresh ones. I think it worked. I’m raring to go. Don’t give up on me, I’ve plenty more stories to tell.

Check out my first novel Dead of July. Its only $0.99 on Amazon.

http://amzn.to/1aXh4Md

Beautiful and Haunting – Gypsy!

gypsyWednesday passed by with no sign of my mysterious fantasy man. Every time I heard someone kick-start a motorbike my heart missed a beat. It was never him though never the leather clad, cool smoking man! I bought ‘Rock On’ by David Essex, but I should have saved my money because even when I wasn’t playing it I couldn’t get the song out of my head.

Richmond fair opened on Thursday evening. The rides were much cheaper that night.  Everyone called it test pilot night. You rode cheaply, but at your own risk. I didn’t usually visit the fair on test pilot night. Not because I was afraid of dying while testing out the rides, but because I had to get up for work the following day. A night at the fair almost always involved lots of alcohol, greasy food, and a hangover. When I left work on Thursday, I bypassed Richmond Market Place altogether, not wanting to push my way through throngs of ‘test pilots’. I was almost home when I encountered the old wrinkled gypsy again.

“Hey pretty lady, buy some lucky heather.” She said in a husky voice. Her accent was deep and guttural. A true Romany maybe!

Gypsies, with their superstitions and potions, scared me so I opened my handbag and found my purse, hoping I had some change to give her. I grabbed twenty pence, which would do nicely. A cheap way to prevent being cursed!

“Here you go,” I said looking up. I stopped dead in my tracks. The old hag who sold the heather was gone and a beautiful young woman stood in front of me. Was it a trick of the light? Her black curly hair rested on her bare shoulders. Even though she stood still the bells on the bottom of her skirt jingled in the breeze. She shivered and pulled her shawl tightly around her. Her dark searching eyes focused on me. They were hypnotizing. I held out the change I’d pulled from my purse.

Looking at the hauntingly beautiful face I whispered. “For the lucky heather.”

She frowned and opened her mouth to speak. I felt her breath, it smelled like lilies and then she disappeared right in front of my eyes.

The plot thickens, disappearing man and now a gypsy! Stay tuned, my next post will be on the road from Italy. Maybe the Italian air will inspire me. Thanks for stopping by!

My first novel Dead of July is available on Amazon for 0.99.

Invisible Man?

c6876cc69401343gypsy21f8134cb719e073dIt was pretty hard to keep my mind on work. Lunchtime didn’t come soon enough.

“We’re going to the Red Lion for a Ploughman’s, do you want to come?” Cindy asked.

“No thanks, I think I’ll grab a sandwich and find myself a seat by the river.”

She gave me an odd luck. “You okay?”

“Yes, why?”

“You’ve just been a little distracted the last couple of days. If you need to talk, I’m always here you know that.”

I smiled “I have things on my mind, but I’m not ready to talk about it yet.”

“Would it have anything to do with a certain someone in a leather jacked?”Cindy asked.

“Maybe,” I said, giving nothing away. She was satisfied with my answer and left “See you later then.”

I didn’t have a book to read, and I didn’t want to sit by the river. I wanted to find the bad boy in the black leather jacket.

I walked up to the market place, which was a hive of activity now the fair was arriving. Huge lorries looked out of place in the medieval market square. It was a riot of color with the brightly painted gypsy caravans. An old woman tanned dark brown and jingling with beads swept past me. She was a familiar sight at the fair, a fortune teller and possibly a hundred years old, but fit as a fiddle. She hesitated for a moment. I shivered, a sudden chill penetrating my blouse. Nausea swept over me. I hope I’m not getting sick.

The old woman stopped again a few paces in front of me and cackled, “You’re not getting sick, you’re getting a visitor. She’s coming!”

“What?”

She continued her ear piercing cackle and walked away. “You’ll see!”

“Hey wait.” She disappeared behind a huge truck. Did she read my mind? Who was coming? My imagination again? I tried to follow the old gypsy, but she was nowhere to be seen. I’d find her again, when she was open for business, she’d be more than happy to take my money.

Wandering among the throng of lively fair ground folk was uplifting. They shouted and laughed among themselves as they unloaded their equipment. I envied their freedom. The following day the trucks would be gone and the market place transformed into a gaudy playground.

There was no sign of the motorcycle, or its leather clad rider so I bought a sandwich and wandered along castle walk , where I found a bench in the sun and ate my sandwich, wishing I did have a book to read, something to occupy my mind. Maybe I should get away for the weekend. I thought of the old hag that spoke to me in the market place? What did she mean about a visitor? Probably nothing, she was here every year, charged as much as she could to tell your fortune, saying only what you wanted to hear. If she didn’t like the look of you, she’d tell you something horrific, just to scare you.

Then I heard the music again.

And where do we go from here?
Which is a way that’s clear?

A motorbike revved up somewhere below me! I looked down to the road by the river Swale. Nothing! I could hear the noise of an engine as it travelled along the road and cross the bridge, heading up towards Hudswell, but there was nothing to see.

I broke my sandwich into pieces and fed it to the birds. I just wasn’t hungry anymore.

Will I ever find my bad boy? Stay tuned to find out. 

One of my other stories Dead of July can be purchased on Amazon for $0.99.

Dead of July by Sandra Thompson

Hey Shout Summertime Blues, Jump Up and Down in your Blue Suede Shoes – ROCK ON!

FairgroundCindy arrived mid-morning. “Still no Jan?” she asked.

“No, no phone calls either, maybe she’ll be in later.”

Cindy settled herself behind her desk. “You look tired, are you alright? You aren’t getting sick too are you?”

Shall I tell her about my dream? Will she think I’m losing my mind? I looked up, but she was already focusing on a computer print out, pencil in hand. The moment of confession passed by.

“I’m fine, just didn’t sleep well.”

“You ‘d better get as much sleep as you can tonight, the fair will be here by tomorrow. I don’t know which is worse, the noise they make setting everything up, or the blaring musing and screaming kids on the rides. I don’t know why they put it in the market place; it should be in a field out-of-town. It must damage the cobblestones.”

I smiled, “its tradition Cindy, the fair has been here over Whit Weekend for over a hundred years hasn’t it?”

“They didn’t have waltzers and dodgems over a hundred years ago though.”

Oh dear, she’s getting old! I hope I never get tired of things like the fair!

I put my head down and got on with my work. I don’t remember singing to myself; I don’t remember it at all. 

Hey kid rock and roll
Rock on, ooh my soul
Hey kid. boogey too, did ya
 

Hey shout, summertime blues
Jump up and down in my blue suede shoes
Hey kid you rock and roll, rock on
 

And where do we go from here?
Which is a way that’s clear?

Still looking for that blue jean, baby queen
Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen
See her shake on the movie screen, Jimmy Dean (James Dean)

“What is that song? I’ve heard it before. I really like it!”

I looked up to see Cindy staring at me. “What song?”

“The one you were just singing.”

Like a mist in my head, the tune hung there. I could hear it, but I didn’t know what it was. “I don’t know, I didn’t even realize I was singing.”

Then we both heard the song loud and clear. It came from outside.

And where do we go from here?
Which is a way that’s clear?

Still looking for that blue jean, baby queen
Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen
See her shake on the movie screen, Jimmy Dean
Jimmy Dean
Rock on

Rock on
Rock on
Rock on
Rock on…

I walked over to the window and looked out. The first of the huge lorries that would park in the market place and set up the equipment for the fair drove past. The music came from his open window. It was loud!

“Oh no, its starting! Peace and quiet shattered now.” Cindy said shaking her head.

I didn’t respond, I was too busy looking at the figure in black riding his motorbike behind the lorry. Was he looking back at me?

Hey kid rock and roll
Rock on, rock on
Hey shout, summertime blues
Rock on, rock on
Hey kid boogey too
Rock on, rock on
Hey kid rock and roll
Rock on, rock on

I was a child of the fifties and music ruled my life. Every memory comes with a tune. This is for those of you who remember David Essex when he was a young man. He melted my heart. This song still gives me the chills. 

The eighties were pretty good too! Dead of July is set in the eighties. 

Dead of July by Sandra Thompson

Buy it on Amazon for $0.99.