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




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