Making Bombs by the River

plumpton01The Military Police arrived first. They screeched to a halt a couple of hundred feet away from the pub. A crowd had already gathered there. Lindsay and Michael sat on a fence a ways back from everyone else and watched.

“I don’t think there’s anything to worry about, if that had been a bomb it would have exploded by now.” Michael said.

“Are you sure you should be here? I mean with your Irish accent and all. You know they’re going to be suspicious. The Irish aren’t too popular in these parts at the moment.”

“If I leave now it will be even more suspicious.”

A voice came from the bushes. “Michael!”

Lindsay and Michael looked at each other.

“Over here, it’s me, John.”

Michael didn’t look over his shoulder. Instead he kept his eyes on the Military Police as he answered quietly.

“What are you doing here? Get away or they’ll think you did this.”

Lindsay froze! She wanted to look around, but daren’t. The MP’s were heading their way.

“I just want you to know this wasn’t me.”

“John I know, Patrick’s around, we saw him. Now go”

They didn’t hear John disappear, which is just as well. A local Police car pulled up in front of them and Barbara, along with another Policeman got out.

“I see you two have become friends.”

“Hi Barbara. Not exactly friends, we’re helping each other.” Lindsay replied. She looked at Michael, who looked uncomfortable and ready to run.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Yes, Michael has nothing to do with any of this.”

Barbara fixed her gaze on Michael. “What do you have to say for yourself? Do you deserve Lindsay’s trust?”

Michael looked up. “I hope so. I’m trying to help her. I need to get my facts straight before I talk to you. I don’t want to waste your time. I mean no harm.”

The Policeman accompanying Barbara looked at Michael suspiciously when he heard him speak. He put his hand on his radio. Barbara saw the movement. “Stuart it’s okay, we don’t need backup, and I know this kid. He means no harm.” Then she looked a Lindsay. “Mel’s funeral is tomorrow right? I’ll be there, in the background watching. I don’t think it’s a good idea for your new friend to be there do you?”

“No I don’t.”

“Dear God, do you think I’d really go? I have more respect for these families than you would ever know.”

Barbara looked at him suspiciously. “I want to see both of you in the Richmond cop shop before the end of the week. The day after the funeral would be good. If I don’t see you Michael, I’ll come looking for you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I’ll be there.”

Barbara looked at them both. “Now get out of here before I change my mind.”

They both swung their legs over the fence and disappeared into the bushes.

Barbara looked at her colleague, “Not a word about this, I think letting them do their own thing for now will help us. Lindsay lost all of her friends in that bloody disco. She’s not going to hand out with a terrorist.”

“Okay, it’s your call.”

Down by the river, in a secluded place, Patrick sat alone. He had a Tescos bag between his legs. It was filled with everything he needed to make another bomb. Anyone watching him would believe he was talking to himself and give him a wide berth. In view of the plastic explosives he carried, that would be a good idea.

“Colleen my love, I’ll be with you soon, but not before I blow a couple more of these bastards to oblivion.”

A voice whispered through the trees. I can wait! I love you!

Patrick smiled!

Dead of July

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Dead of July by Sandra Thompson



Vengeful Dead – An Irish Tale

“So why are you telling me this and not the Police? This man may be responsible for the death of over a hundred people for Christ’s sake. He’s a bloody murdering terrorist.”

“I don’t know that for sure. I need to talk to John, but he won’t talk to me anymore, doesn’t want to get me involved. He’s still grieving his wife.”

“I can understand that, but what about his kids? He should at least tell the Police what he knows and let them take over. They’ve already lost their mother. They need their father now.” Lindsay picked up her glass of whiskey and emptied it in one gulp. She needed warming up on the inside. Michael did the same.

“Another?” he asked.

“Yes, and make it a double.”

Michael went to the bar and Lindsay pulled her chair closer to the fire to ward off the chill she felt in her bones. There was movement outside the big bay window that looked out onto the street. When she turned her head to look, two faces looked back at her. A man she didn’t recognize and the face that had become familiar to her as Colleen, the face of a ghost. I thought ghosts only appeared at night. This isn’t fair. Lindsay ran outside as quickly as she could, knowing full well Colleen wouldn’t be there, but she needed to talk to the stranger. Was this Michael’s brother? Or was it Patrick, Colleen’s brother. Someone had to be the voice of reason and she felt that was her role, but she was too late. The street was deserted. She walked back inside just Michael put two more glasses of whiskey on the table.

“What was that all about?” he asked

Lindsay downed her second whiskey in one gulp.

“Your brother John, is he kind of heavy-set with dark curly hair?”

“No, he shaves his head, and he’s skinny like me. Why?”

“I just saw two faces at the window, Colleen and a heavy-set man, probably mid thirties, curly dark hair.”

“Colleen’s brother, dammit. I have to find John.”

“You’re concerned about the living, but not the least perturbed about the dead Irish woman?”

“She can’t hurt us, she can scare us to be sure, but that’s all. Patrick can hurt us, and there’s a good chance he will.”

“Do you really think he could have started the fire?”

“In his mind Colleen was killed because of the British Army being in Belfast. He’s over here to make trouble for them in their own country. He wants revenge.”

“His sister was caught in the crossfire though, no one was to blame.”

“In his mind the British Army are to blame.”

“Where are the boys, John’s boys? Who is looking after them?”

“Colleen’s ma, she moved to Dublin to be away from danger. The boys are safe. John lives there too, but when the Queens Regiment moved back from Ireland Patrick disappeared and John knew it meant trouble. He followed the regiment hoping to catch Patrick before anything happened. Neither of us expected anything like the fire that killed your friends. Patrick’s a good man, but his sister’s death tipped him over the edge. He drinks too much and…”

Michael never finished his sentence. A brick hurtled through the window and bounced off the table, landing in the middle of the room. Everyone in the bar ran. In the seventies, near an army camp, if something was thrown through a window it was usually exploded.


When I start writing I don’t really know where my story is taking me. It’s an adventure, an escape, and I enjoy every minute. Try my novel Dead of July. It’s set in Dortmund in the early eighties and follows the adventures of a young Army wife and the trouble she managed to get into. It almost killed her. 

Dead of July by Sandra Thompson



Irish Colleen Seeks Revenge for the Dead!

Lindsay’s house was invitingly quiet, but Michael wouldn’t set foot inside.

“I’ll stay here by the back door. Get yourself cleaned up or whatever you need to do and let’s go.” He was jittery and nervous.

“What are you afraid of?”

“Just get what you need and let’s go, I’ll tell you about it later.” He acted like a cat on a hot tin roof.

What the hell have I got myself into? How did this happen? Lindsay washed her face and put on some lipstick. She looked at her pale tired reflection in the mirror. God I can’t go to the pub looking like this. She quickly smudged dark eye shadow on her eye-lids and applied blusher to her cheeks. That’s better! A little mascara and she was done.

“Come on, we need to get out of here.” Michael was getting more and more agitated.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming,” Lindsay yelled as she washed her hands. When she checked her face in the mirror the face looking back at her wasn’t her own. For a split second she saw a beautiful image with big dark eyes and long black hair. The room had become icy cold. Lindsay ran to the back door where Michael was waiting.

“Are you alright?” Michael asked, “You’re as white as a sheet.”

“This woman, Colleen, does she have long black hair? Is she in her late twenties, beautiful.”

“Yes, she’s dead though. Died in Belfast, caught in the bloody crossfire. Why?”

“She was just in my bedroom. Why would she follow me?”

“Come on let’s get a drink. I think its time I told you everything.”

Lindsay wasn’t sure if she wanted to know everything. She has a funeral to attend the following day, a funeral for the charred remains of her best friend. How much more can I handle?

They found a table by the fire in the little village pub. Although it wasn’t cold outside, the old stone building didn’t warm up inside until July. The fire was welcoming and cozy. Michael went to the bar and came back with two glasses of lager and two whiskey chasers.

“I figured you might want a stiff drink.”

“OK Michael, no small talk. Let me know what’s going on, start with Colleen.”

“She was married to my brother. Neither of them had anything to do with the IRA, or Sinn Fein, but they were visiting Colleen’s family in Belfast. The Queens Regiment was on duty, patrolling the street as they always did. There was often trouble in that part of Belfast. There was an ambush. Shots were fired. Colleen ran outside, worried because she didn’t know where her boys were.”

“Her boys?”

“Colleen and John had twin boys, they were four years old.”

“Oh God, were they OK?”

“Yes, a neighbor grabbed them and hid them in her house when she heard the shots. It was a regular occurrence, everyone watched out for everyone else. Colleen wasn’t so lucky. She was caught in the crossfire. One bullet through the heart!”

“Michael that’s awful. She was killed in front of her parent’s house. Did the bullet come from an Irish gun or the British Army?”

“British Army, but not on purpose. It was a horrible accident. A tragedy. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Both of the British Soldiers were killed. It was kept from most of the newspapers. People are tired of hearing about the casualties in Northern Ireland. The Irish are tired of it too, they just want peace.”

“So what does this have to do with me? Why am I suddenly part of this?”

“Colleen’s brother! He wants revenge, and I think Colleen is egging him on. John is trying to stop him. He may have been responsible for the fire last week.”




Dead of July is my first novel and is available on Amazon. If you’re enjoying my blog, give my book a try.

Dead of July by Sandra Thompson





Please note this story is purely fictional. I was married to a British Soldier in the seventies and the death and sadness related to the fighting in Northern Ireland touched my heart. So glad there is peace now. No one should die in the name of religion. My heart goes out to both the Irish and the British Soldiers who lost their lives. 

Let the Dead stay Dead!

fire-garden-wheelbarrow“Okay stop, stop now!” Lindsay yanked her hand out of Michael’s grasp and stood still. “What the hells going on? Who’s following you? Who was looking over my shoulder? I saw a face in the river. I saw someone running away on the other side of the river too.”

“Not now! Come on, I don’t want to be alone down here. Do you have café in the village, or a pub? I think we need people around us.”

“No café, I don’t want to go to the pub looking like this. I have no makeup on.”

“Lindsay, makeup should be the last thing on your mind right now. Come on, lets got get a drink. Do you know the people in the pub?”

“Yes of course I do, I live in a village, and everyone knows everyone else.”

“Good, I think you need to keep friends around you.”

Lindsay smelled burning. It was strong. She looked around for signs of danger. OK it’s my imagination, but it wasn’t her imagination, smoke billowed from the garden of one of the cottages that backed onto the lane. She couldn’t handle anymore fires.

“Hi Lindsay!” It was Mr. Hodgson. He was burning dead branches.

“Hi!” Lindsay replied, forcing a smile. Then she stopped dead in her tracks. Through the smoke she saw the figure of her dead friend. Mel raised her arm in greeting; flesh sloughing off it and sliding into the fire. Lindsay bent double, throwing up immediately. She almost collapsed into the pool of steaming puke. Michael grabbed her arm, steadying her before she fell. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Lindsay pointed towards the fire, “Over there, by the fire, what do you see.”

Before he had time to answer she heard footsteps as another figure approached, “Oh God no.” Lindsay closed her eyes, terrified it was her dead friend.

“Lindsay love, are you alright, do you want me to call someone?” It was Mr. Hodgson, “You’re awfully pale, do you want to come inside and sit down a minute?”

She sighed with relief, “No, I’ll be alright. Something I ate I think,” Lindsay looked back at the smoke in the garden, but that’s all she saw, just smoke! I’m going crazy!

“I’ll make sure she gets home alright,” Michael said.

“What’s your name young man, I don’t think I’ve seen you before?”

“I’m Michael, a friend of Lindsay’s, I’ll watch out for her.”

Lindsay smiled weakly, “I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

“Alright then, say hi to your mam and dad, they get back from France today don’t they?”

“Yes, later tonight”

“And Lindsay, I’m so sorry about your friends, it was horrible. You’re very lucky to be alive. Awful tragedy. Any idea what started the fire yet?

Lindsay shook her head.

“Well if you need anything let me know. I’ll let this young man take care of you. Do I detect and Irish accent Michael?”

“Yes sir, I’m from Dublin, I’m visiting family in Richmond.” Michael lied. “I met Lindsay the night of the fire. I was just checking in on her.”

“Oh, I thought you had a softer accent, not harsh like Belfast. Awful business with the IRA isn’t it! Sad that so many people are dying and blaming religion. I wonder if it’ll ever be sorted out.”

“I hope so sir. You’re right, too many people dying, British and Irish alike.” A cool breeze chilled everyone as Michael spoke. Lindsay shivered and Mr. Hodgson pulled his jacket closed.

Michael run away, these non-believers will get you killed. Come home! Where’s Johnny?

“Well take care of Lindsay, and yourself.” Mr. Hodgson turned and went back to his fire.

“What was that all about?”

“I’m going fucking crazy, that’s what that was all about. I saw Mel at the other side of the fire. Her skin was smoking and dropping off her body. Now I’m hearing voices. I’m totally losing it.”

“Come on, we need to talk. Maybe you should go home first and wash your face, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I have seen a bloody ghost, and it’s not the first time. I truly wish I were dead. I can’t handle this much longer.”

I just can’t stop writing.  Dead of Julymy first novel is available on Amazon and will soon be joined by two short stories. 

Dead of July by Sandra Thompson


The Restless Dead

bigstock-beautiful-woman-with-stone-lik-12160685Lindsay and Michael walked along a back lane to the banks of the river Swale. Other than the sound of birds chattering, it was peaceful, almost like being on another planet. The fire and it’s aftermath still tormented Lindsay’s brain, but the surroundings were soothing. Neither of them spoke as they walked along the well-worn track by the river.

“There’s a clearing up ahead with some big rocks we can sit on, the river is shallower there so if this is a ploy to drown me, you’d struggle.” Lindsay said.

“Why on earth would I drown you?” Michael asked.

“I don’t know. Why are you here?”

They continued in silence until they found the clearing, and found a couple of boulders to sit on. Michael made pebbles skip across the glassy surface. It irritated Lindsay. She was on edge and wanted to know why he kept following her.

“We’re not here to play, what is it you want with me? And who the hell is Colleen? I can’t believe I’m even asking. I must be losing my mind. If it’s not bad enough seeing images of my dead friend, now I’m seeing the ghost of some Irish woman I’ve never met. Is this your doing?”

Lindsay began to cry again, a sad hopeless sound. Michael said nothing until her sobs subsided. He knew she wouldn’t listen. They didn’t know they were being watched. Eventually Lindsay stopped crying.

“Sorry! Sorry for everything. You wouldn’t be able to see any of this if you weren’t tuned in to that sort of thing. I’m not making you see anything. I’d give anything to turn back the clock and not have you suffer like this. I can’t! I’m just trying to help.”

“What are you trying to help with? Do you know who started the fire? Do you know who killed my friends? If you do, why are you talking to me instead of the police?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Nothing ever is with you bloody Irish. You try to blame religion for all of your hatred, but I don’t believe any of it. I thought God was about love not hate.”

Michael dropped his head into his hands and sighed.

“This has nothing to do with religion, or the IRA. It’s about me brother John. Colleen was his wife. She’s dead!”

“I’m sorry, how does that tie up with this….”

There was a loud splash in the water at the other side of the river. Michael jumped to his feet.

“Come on, we have to go.”

“Why it was just a fish jumping?” Lindsay stood up and looked into the water. Two reflections looked back at her. The head of a beautiful, but pale woman peered over her shoulder. Lindsay almost fell as she twisted around to see who was behind her. Michael was the only person there. She looked across the river to see the shape of a man disappearing among the trees. Michael grabbed her hand urgently. “Come on, we have to go now.” He said urgently.

Michael, Michael, where’s my Johnny boy. Why can’t I see him?

Dead of July Another book by Sandra Thompson. Buy it on Amazon.

Dead of July by Sandra Thompson


Fear the Dead

MooreC290724“Colleen?” Lindsay said, “This has something to do with you?”

Oh Michael, she’s bringing trouble to you? Leave her now. Where’s my Johnny boy? Where is he then? Johnny, save your brother, Michael strays.

“In the name of God leave us be, go away, nothing good can come of this. You’re a good Catholic Colleen, rest now.”

I’ll rest when I’m done Michael; there are lives to be paid for.

The room warmed up and the shadows shrank back into the corners. Lindsay was curled up in a ball, her head in her hands. When the impossible conversation stopped she looked up.

“What the hell was all that about. Did your brother start the bloody fire? Did he murder my friends? Am I imagining it or were you talking to the dead? I’m going crazy I have to be. Get out now.”

“Put your shoes on, let’s go for a walk.”

“No I don’t want to walk. I don’t want to be around you. How can I trust you? Who the hell is Colleen and why do I hear her voice in my house?”

“Lindsay, put your shoes on, lets walk. I don’t want to talk here inside. Lets walk.”

Lindsay reluctantly got up and found her shoes.

“Is there somewhere quiet we can walk, away from the roads and people?”

“I’m not sure I want to be alone with you, I feel safer with people around. Maybe you’re here to finish the job. I’m the only survivor.”

“I don’t want to hurt you Lindsay, I just don’t want to bring you anymore trouble. I love my brother, but I don’t want him to see us together. He’s not fond of the English.”

“Oh, great!” Lindsay said, “Lets walk by the river, you’re not likely to push me in are you?”

“No I’m not.”

They left through the back door and crossed the playing fields. A group of teenagers were kicking a ball around, football practice, but no one paid them any attention, or so they thought. Neither of them saw Michael’s brother Johnny. His green pants and sweater merged in with the hedgerow. He watched them walk towards the river.

Dammit, he thought, another soul lost to the unbelievers. My own brother!

You know what to do Johnny boy, take care of it.

Dead of July my first novel is about a young British Army wife and the trouble she got herself into in Germany in the early eighties. In that story she got into trouble with the Russians, not the Irish. Give it a try.

Dead of July by Sandra Thompson



Death in the Shadows

ColleenMichael gently backed Lindsay away from the door before closing it. He held her tightly until the tears subsided. It took a while. Eventually, when she was calm, Michael pulled away and gently lifted her head so he could look into her eyes. Lindsay wouldn’t look at him.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” she said.

“It’s alright, I guess I came just at the right time. You needed someone.”

Lindsay took a deep breath and let Michael go.

“I’m not sure if there will ever be a right time again.”

Michael led her to the sofa and sat down next to her taking both of her hands in his.

“Living through something like this isn’t easy. Believe me, I know.”

“I lost all of my friends,” she whispered, “that’s bad, but there are other things happening. It’s getting worse, much worse. I think the dead are coming back for me!”

She sobbed again, her whole body shaking. “Maybe it’s a good thing. Why should I be the only one left alive?”

Michael put his arm around her “Come on now, you are alive, and you should be grateful.”

“Michael I think I’m losing my mind. I keep dreaming about my best friend Mel, and when I wake up the dream lingers, I see her. Her awful burned face haunts me. I saw her in the interview room at the police station.”

“It’s stress and nerves. You feel guilty because you survived. It’ll pass.”

“No, I don’t think it will.”

“Lindsay, it will, I’m sure. Let me tell you something about my brother, he….”

“I don’t want to hear about your goddamn brother right now. I’m scared and I haven’t finished,” she spat the words out and Michael jumped, alarmed at her ferocity.

Lindsay picked up the pad from the floor and dropped it on his lap.

“Barbara, the young police woman, told me to write down my fears and emotions because I refused to see a shrink. Go on, read them.”

“Okay, this seems reasonable, I’ve heard of people doing this before, it usually helps.”

“Michael read the last line.”


“You’re asking for help.”

“I didn’t write that.”

“Who did?”

“I had another visitor, a young woman with an Irish accent.”

“What, just now, before I came? Who was she?” Michael asked.

“I don’t know, I never saw her face, only heard her voice.”


The room grew colder again and the shadows deepened.

The whispering began, it surrounded them “Michael, Michael, Michael. I see you……Michael where is he, where’s your brother. Where’s John, where’s my Johnny boy?”

Michael froze.


Try my novel Dead of July. Available as an ebook or paperback on Amazon.

Dead of July by Sandra Thompson


Dear Diary – They’re all Dead and Gone!

diaryLindsay’s world calmed down for a couple of days. No more visits from Michael, no more visits from the local police. She sat at home, alone, her head full of awful thoughts. Her parents were due home from France the day before Mel’s funeral, well what remained of Mel. It must have been an awful task for Mel’s parents, identifying the charred remains of their beloved daughter. Lindsay was glad she didn’t have to do it. She’d seen more than enough of Mel since the fire.

Barbara, the WPC, called a couple of times every day. “If you won’t go to see a therapist, or your doctor, keep a diary. Write down your fears and frustrations, that’s what I did when Scott was killed. It helped. It made me cry, but it helped.”

Lindsay took an old notepad left over from her school days and began to write.

Dear Diary,

I have no friends. I’m only twenty and I want to die. Mel was my best friend. Is it my fault she died? I didn’t start the fire, but I had bad thoughts in my head. I was jealous and it made me twisted. Mel was so natural and funny and popular with the boys. I never felt that way. I never found a boy I could trust. They all want to shove their hands in places they shouldn’t. I’m a romantic, I want more. Now all I want is to die. If my death would bring my friend back, I’d kill myself now. I don’t deserve to live. 

Lindsay sat back on her chair and thought Mel. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she continued to write.

Mel, I promise I will do all I can to help the police find out who did this. I miss you. You were pretty and funny and I loved you like a sister, even if I didn’t show it. You were the only person in the world who was nice to me. You put up with my weirdness. You knew why I was the way I was. I never told anyone about my dad and the things he did. I only told you. You were my friend and I wish I’d died instead of you.

The shadows in the room grew darker. Lindsay tried to get up and switch on the light, but she couldn’t move. She was paralyzed. The room became cold, darkness seeped from the corners to envelop the room. She could barely breathe. I need a therapist, the diary isn’t working! I need pills, lots of pills. Maybe I can end this misery with pills.

A gentle voice whispered her name. “Lindsay, I need your help.”


“The fire, it wasn’t meant to kill so many.”

“Who’s speaking to me? Were you killed in the fire too?”


Lindsay strained her eyes trying to see into the darkness, but to no avail. The room warmed up, the shadows faded and Lindsay sat alone. She picked up the pad she’d been using, not sure if she wanted to write any more.


Did I write that?

The pad slipped from her hands as she ran to the door, she needed sunlight and fresh air. When she yanked the door open Michael was standing there. Lindsay flung her arms around him and burst into tears. She needed someone right now and he would do.

I enjoy my blog stories, I hope you do too. My first novel Dead of July is available on Amazon. 

Dead of July by Sandra Thompson

Trusting the Irish!

“You have a visitor.” Barbara said, “His name is Michael and he wants to talk to you.”

No, I have two visitors. Lindsay wanted to say as she tried to focus on Michael and ignore the decaying body of her friend that lingered behind him.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, please don’t be scared of me, I’ve done nothing wrong.” He spoke with an Irish accent. Barbara disliked him immediately and is showed.

“Who are you and why are you following me?” Lindsay asked.

“Can I sit down? I want to explain myself.”

She motioned to a chair. Barbara sat opposite him, a hateful look on her face. To Lindsay’s relief, Mel was gone, although her stench remained. Why does no one smell it but me? Michael looked uncomfortable. He opened his mouth to speak several times, but no words came out. Eventually Barbara spoke.

“I saw you in Richmond earlier, you came to the car while I was in the chip shop, what is it you want with Lindsay?”

“It’s the fire, I don’t want to be blamed for it, I was there but it was nothing to do with me. I was outside the disco with me brother John that’s all. We were across the road when the car exploded.”

“Why haven’t you talked to the police?” Barbara asked.

“I wanted to, but John’s been in trouble before, he daren’t. He thought they’d blame him for the fire.”
“Do you know how many people died in that fire? Have you any idea? I lost most of my friends. Young soldiers who’d suffered enough in your bloody country were killed in that fire. What were you doing parked across the road? Did you enjoy watching? I don’t believe you had nothing to do with it.”

Michael stood up. “Please believe me, I had nothing to do with it. I’m from Dublin, not Belfast. I want no part in the fighting. I have to go before me brother misses me.”

“Why are you so afraid of your brother?” Barbara asked.

“He’s got a temper, that’s why he’s been in trouble with the police. He likes to use his fists. I have to go.”

Lindsay heard the voice of her dead friend clearly in her head. “Let him go now, he’ll be back, he can help you.”

“You’re not going anywhere. You’ll wait here until I call for backup. You need to go to the Police Station for questioning.”

“No, me brother will kill me.” Michael stood up quickly, knocking over his chair, and left through the back door before either girl could stand up. Lindsay was relieved he’d gotten away.

“He’s scared, but he’ll be back. He knows something, leave him be.” 

“Can I use your phone, I’m calling this in.”

“Leave it Barbara, we don’t want to scare him away. He didn’t have to come and see us. Lets give him another chance.”

The smell of burning flesh faded. Lindsay got a bottle of brandy from the cupboard and poured herself a big glass. Beer just wasn’t strong enough anymore. She wanted to drink herself into oblivion.









My first novel Dead of July is available on Amazon Preview Dead of July

Dead of July by Sandra Thompson