Viktor is back from Hell and full or rage. He is looking for revenge in the worst possible way.
Evil Lingers in the shadows! The sequel of Dead of July is underway!
Viktor is back from Hell and full or rage. He is looking for revenge in the worst possible way.
Evil Lingers in the shadows! The sequel of Dead of July is underway!
The voice was close to my ear. I turned quickly, expecting to see another restless spirit, but instead I came face-to-face with the old Gypsy I’d seen a couple of days earlier. I touched her wrinkled cheek. It was warm. She was real. She grinned a toothless grin and pushed a sprig of purple heather into my hand. My skin tingled at its touch. I remembered the heather that filled my living room a few days earlier.
Was she trying to help me?
Looking into her eyes, I saw strength, and wisdom. I looked back at the fading glow of the young gypsy girl and my heart began to ache.
“Don’t go!” I pleaded in a voice that didn’t sound like mine.
The smoking man appeared behind her, reaching out his arms, trying to hold her, but she was barely visible.
Laughter bubbled from behind me. It was nasty and malevolent. I turned around almost losing my balance, and looked upon pure evil, in the form of a man. Horns were all he needed to make him look like the devil itself. I knew he was long dead, I could see it in his eyes, but he looked strong. The smirk on his face was terrifying.
“You can’t help them, they’re my playthings.”
I tried to speak, but my mouth wouldn’t open.
His laughter surrounded me.
“Every year they suffer. It’s what they deserve. He took her from me. He took her from the Romany way of life. Stole her. Common thief that he is.” He spat on the ground. The grass died around him and the air turned putrid. “I’m going to take you too. Every year I add a wonton creature like yourself to my collection. Young girls who fall under his spell, all too stupid to resist his pathetic charms. I get them all in the end.”
There was movement behind him. A dozen or more young girls huddled together. Some naked, all unhappy! Snatched from life and made to suffer by this evil, restless spirit. I didn’t want to be one of them.
“Why do you want me? Let me go. What good can I do?” I whispered, trying to sound brave.
“I don’t want you, I didn’t want any of these pathetic creatures,” as he spoke he turned around. They all cowered away from him. Could he still hurt them in death?
“I want her! I’ll give them all to him, in exchange for her. ”
I looked back at the fading light that was the beautiful young gypsy girl. I could barely see her now.
Another voice came from the darkness. I’d forgotten about the old woman.
“She’ll never be yours Luca. She didn’t love you.”
Her voice brought a look of fury to the ugly face. A bird fell to the ground at his feet.
“I didn’t want her love. I wanted her body! Love is nothing. I needed her beside me to bear my children.” His voice boomed like thunder. He smiled an awful smile and licked his lips, “I wanted to play with her a little too.”
“People like you should never be allowed to breed. If you’d given her a child it would have died in her womb.” The old girl cackled. Her voice was strong.
“I’d have torn it from her body before that happened.”
More birds fell to the ground behind him. I could smell fire. Maybe it was the fires of Hell. Somewhere close by a tree fell smoldering to the ground.
The heather I held tightly in my hand became so warm I wanted to drop it.
A voice from deep within my head whispered to me.
Make him angry now. Distract him! Let Mala escape. Let him focus his anger on you and me.
“I’m scared.” I answered. “He’ll kill me!”
A pain ripped through my skull.
“Be quiet you old Hag, I hear you”
“Someone help him, it’s Michael. He’s drowning.”
Without hesitation two cops rushed forward and jumped into the river. Lindsay tried to stand, ready to jump in the water herself, but Barbara pulled her back.
“Look, they’ve got him, what could you do?”
“Is he alive? He has to be alive.”
In a matter of minutes Michael was pulled onto the riverbank. The nurse went to work on him immediately, “Give us some space.” She yelled. “Back off.”
The crowd stood back giving Lindsay a clear view. She watched in fear praying Michael would open his eyes. Did his eyelids flicker? Lindsay held her breath willing him to live. The crowd watched silently and when the nurse finally gave up, tears in her eyes. She looked back at Lindsay defeated.
“I’m sorry, there’s nothing else I can do. It’s too late.”
The sound of distant sirens broke the heavy silence; people drifted away, nothing more to see. Lindsay shuffled weakly across to where Michael lay and looked down at his lifeless body, tears dripping from her chin.
“No, this can’t be. Everyone around me is dying.” She laid her head on his chest and cried. No one spoke. No one moved. The sirens grew closer, but they were too late. Barbara put her hand gently on Lindsay’s back.
“Come on, leave him, you can’t do anything now.”
Lindsay didn’t move. “I should be dead, why am I still alive?”
“Hey! Stop where you are!”
Lindsay looked up when she heard Barbara shout sternly at someone. She couldn’t see who approached, but the other policemen ran towards him urgently. When Barbara stood aside she recognized the grief-stricken face.
“John, I’m so sorry.” She began to cry again.
John fell on his knees by his brother’s body.
“No, no! Dear God NO!”
Lindsay put her arms around him and they cried together, tears mingling.
John spoke, maybe to his brother, maybe to Lindsay, maybe to God. “It’s all my fault, I brought him to to bloody country. I should have left him in Ireland with the kids. I shouldn’t have tried to interfere with Patrick. It did no good. Now your friends are dead. It cost me my brother. ”
Lindsay held him tight. “You know Patrick was planning to kill again, who knows how many this time. Michael’s dead, but who knows how many people he saved. It could have been hundreds. How many more bombs was Patrick going to make?”
They clung to each other a little longer before Barbara helped Lindsay to her feet. A couple of paramedics approached. “Come on, let’s make sure you’re okay,” she said as she guided Lindsay to them.
“John had nothing to do with this. He was trying to stop Patrick.”
“We still need to talk to him, but not now.”
As she walked away Lindsay looked back over her shoulder and saw Barbara kneeling on the ground next to John, her arm around him soothing him. Oh dear God why Michael?
She take no more, her legs gave way and she sunk to the ground.
Yes, another short story almost over, sorry its so sad. Life doesn’t always have a happy ending so make the most of every day. If you enjoy my writing, check out my first Dead of July on Amazon http://amzn.to/1aXh4Md.
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.”
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.
My dad was dead and I blamed myself, but life continued. My mum, bless her heart, was a pillar of strength. Her concern for me kept her going. I was trapped in a deep depression. My friends tried to help me, babysitting me for a while, but eventually they gave up and avoided me. I was relieved when they did. I didn’t want to talk to anyone.
A year passed and my depression lifted, or maybe I’d just become accustomed to it. A dark cloud distorted my vision. When I was alone my mind took me to dark and disturbing places. Although there was no sign of the Angel of Death, she was on my mind constantly. I became a hermit, a bottle of wine at home (a little too often) was the only company I needed. It was on one of my regular trips to the liquor store that I bumped in to Reverend Laybourn, our local Vicar. I hadn’t seen him since the funeral.
“Lucy it’s good to see you,” he said. He wasn’t looking at me as he spoke, but focused on something behind me, and then looked above my head. I guiltily clutched the liter of wine I’d just bought, wishing I could hide it from view. Was he judging me for drinking? Were his eyes raised above my head in prayer? “It’s good to see you too. I’m having friends around for dinner, I must hurry,” I said, eager to explain the wine, and wanting to get home and drink it.
He looked at me and smiled, but with obvious concern. “You don’t need to explain why you are drinking. You’re troubled, I can see that. Drinking isn’t the answer though.” He focused on something behind me again. “Your mum asked me to talk to you, how about tonight?”
“I have friends coming around for….” I began.
“I don’t think you do. I’ll share a glass of wine with you.” he said. Reverend Laybourn had known me for ten years or more, he’d visited us often. Life was like that in a small village. He’d helped me through my teenage years, often popping round for tea and scones, sometimes just after my mum took the scones out of the oven. I often wondered if he could smell them from the church, which was at the back of our house. He was a good man.
The Reverend’s piercing blue eyes looked directly into mine. “Lucy, I can see whats troubling you. You must rid yourself of the evil that clings to you before it poisons your soul.”
The pressure on my chest was intense, squeezing the air from my lungs. I was suddenly very angry. Why is this stupid man of God interfering with my life. I don’t want or need him. He is going to spoil everything.
I gasped for breath, my thoughts scared me. Where did they come from? Beside me Reverend Laybourn’s lips moved in silent prayer.
I have so many stories to write I’m not sure I have enough time left in my life to write them. My book Dead of July, is currently available on Amazon. Not sure if ‘Dark Angel’ will ever make its way into a book, but it’s fun for me to blog. Enjoy!
I write, I read, I breathe!
If I watch a movie, I need to be thrilled, dangled in suspense, scared and immediately hooked. What I don’t need is to be disgusted with blood and gore.
Who didn’t love this movie. I may have to watch it again it’s been a while.
I would NEVER watch this movie again. The plot was great and it was full of suspense, but it was way too graphic. It’s not entertaining to watch dismembered bodies flailing on the floor in agony as they slowly die.
So herein lies my dilemma. I write. How do I find my writing balance?
My first two short stories were fairly amusing ghost stories, I didn’t want to scare everyone away. I wrote from my heart.
My first story ‘Guy at the Bar’ is based on an event that happened to me when I was 18 and a drunken stranger followed me home from my local pub. As I fled, terrified, I wished him dead. In the story my wish comes true and he comes back to haunt me…..or does he?
This book was on Amazon for a while, but I have taken it down for editing. I see mistakes that I didn’t see when I first published it. Nothing obvious, but I am more particular now.
Girl on the Beach is still for sale on Amazon, although I may re-edit it next year.
This is a story about a seven-year old girl who has disturbing premonitions and sees people after they have passed. I have received some very complimentary reviews on this story.
My upcoming novel is called ‘Dead of July’, and is set in Germany in 1982. It tells the story of a young Army wife who gets into trouble the Russian Mafia, both dead and alive. What would you do if you were being chased by an Evil Cossack who showed up in impossible places? Who would you turn to for help if you were being haunted?
Dead of July will be available on Amazon in March, watch out for it.
My next novel, after ‘Dead of July’ is set in London in the 1940’s. It is a bit of a challenge as this is a book my late father started whilst on active duty with the British Army during the London Blitz. I am finishing it in his honor.
Where does the balance between good and evil come in? I want my stories to be thrilling, but not awful. I want them to have a touch of Evil, but in a good way. I don’t want blood and gore, but I don’t want to write something that could become a ‘Chick Flick’.
It’s a tough life being a writer, but I am enjoying the ride.
This story is set in Dortmund, Germany and the year is 1982.
(The Girl in the Park – Chapter One)
Impulsively, I ran forward to the bench and grabbed the girl’s hand. “Anna?” I asked. She nodded her head and looked at me with fear in her eyes. We ran in the opposite direction from the gate and away from him. She needed no persuasion; she just followed me. We ran to the other gate and I opened it quietly. We slipped through silently. The voice still raged behind us, but it didn’t seem to be coming any closer. I felt pretty uncomfortable running with two beers and a bratwurst not quite digested in my tummy, so we ran a little farther and then stopped. I turned and looked at Anna, who had stopped crying and seemed a little more composed. I let go of her hand and she looked up at me.
“Danke,” she said, and then talked to me in broken English. “Viktor is betrunken” she said. She saw the confusion on my face, so she used hand gestures to try to make me understand. “Betrunken,” she said again as she made a drinking gesture.
“Oh you mean drunk. He is drunk,” I said.
“Yes drunk. Him likes to drink.” She tried to smile, but I could see it was difficult as her top lip looked swollen. A bruise was beginning to form around her left eye. She also had bruises in the shape handprints on her right arm. She saw me looking at them.
“Com sie mit,” I said to her. She shook her head.
This is taken from the first chapter of my upcoming novel ‘Dead of July’, which will be released later this year. My first two short stories are available on Amazon. I was a novice to writing when I published these, and will re-edit and re-publish them at a later date. They are still very special to me because they were my stepping-stones to becoming an author.
I live in Franktown, Colorado and if you are reading my blog, please pray for the families and victims of the shooting at the movie theater in Aurora. My heart goes out to them.
My editor and I are working together to polish my story ‘Dead of July’. I really like the way it is turning out.
Below is an excerpt from Chapter One, when Sheila first met Anna in the park. A chance meeting that changed Anna’s life for the better. A chance meeting that put Sheila in the path of EVIL.
“Anna!” someone was yelling. Actually, it sounded more like a growl than a yell.
This gruff male voice was yelling more than just her name, but all I could understand was “Anna.” She immediately stopped crying and literally froze. She looked at me with a terrified expression on her face, so I could only assume that the person who was growling her name was the same person who had made her cry. The man standing at the gate was now yelling loudly enough to scare us both. I took a couple of steps towards the path, which gave me a clear view of the gate, and saw a stocky man standing there. He had dark hair and a very rugged, angry-looking face. For some reason he made me think of a Russian Cossack and I knew I didn’t want an encounter with him, especially here in a park alone.
Impulsively, I ran forward to the bench and grabbed the girl’s hand. “Anna?” I asked. She nodded her head and looked at me with fear in her eyes. I took her hand and we ran in the opposite direction, away from the angry man. She needed no persuasion; she just followed me. We ran to the other gate and I opened it quietly. We slipped through silently. The angry voice was still raging behind us, but it didn’t seem to be coming any closer. I felt pretty uncomfortable running with two beers and a bratwurst not quite digested in my tummy, so we ran a little farther and then stopped. I turned and looked at Anna, who had stopped crying and seemed a little more composed. I let go of her hand and she looked up at me………
To find out what happens next keep checking in to my blog or Follow me on Facebook !
‘Dead of July’ will be released later this year.
I started my writing career with two short stories, both of which are available on Amazon. They have received great reviews, even though I realize the editing could be better.
‘Dead of July’ will be perfect. My amazing editor has helped me create my first full length novel A novel I am proud of.