Haunted House!

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photo from davidstillman.blogspot.com

All I could think about was the sad face that haunted my dreams at night, and my thoughts all day. The face that was taking over my life. Why? I didn’t know her. If it was the old man’s daughter, she was long since dead. My day at work was painfully slow. Finally, eager to talk to the old man, I made and excuse to leave early.

January dusk soon fell, cold and uninviting. I was grateful for my heated car seat after being chilled to the bone walking across the parking lot. It was dark when I pulled onto the drive way of the ranch. There wasn’t a light to be seen in anywhere in the house either. Wishing I’d brought a flashlight I opened the car door. The breeze was no longer gentle.

Watching my step I walked in the direction of the huge shadow which loomed ahead of me. It’s all I could see of the house. I approached the front door and tapped on it nervously, feeling like an intruder smothered in a blanket of darkness.

The door swung open slowly, creaking as it did so. Doors always creaked in these situations.

“Hello, is anyone home?”

No answer, no movement. The air was deadly still. I took a step forward into the house. The temperature dropped several degrees when I did so. How could it be colder inside than out. My breath formed a cloud in front of my face.

“Hello.” I said softly.

A floorboard creaked. The sound came from above. I looked in the direction of the stairs, but thought the better of going up there.

What if he’s dead? 

Standing just inside the doorway I wondered what to do next. I had no business walking around the house uninvited. People did that in movies and it always ended badly. Turning around I pulled the door shut and walked back to the car. Should I leave a note?

Footsteps crunched on the gravel drive way and I looked up expecting to see the old man. The steps continued, but there was no one to be seen. Instinctively I locked the car door. Footsteps crunched past me, stepping onto the porch. Looking in my rearview mirror, I watched the front door open and close on its own.

Time to get out of Dodge! 

I started the car and floored the accelerator, pebble dashing the front of the house with gravel as I left.

Thank God I didn’t go upstairs! 

To Young to Die!

swale-at-sunset

“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.

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

 

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.

http://amzn.to/1aXh4Md

Dead of July by Sandra Thompson

 

The Office at Night (and beyond) Part Three

 

I stepped out onto the cobbled street and into a dream.

It was dark and very quiet outside. I hear the clock in the market square chime. I can’t remember the number of times, but I knew it was the early morning. I looked around me, not scared, but very confused. Nothing was how it should be. I wandered up the steep hill to the to of Frenchgate, all the while looking around me. I couldn’t be dreaming because I felt everything intensely. I was out of breath from the steep climb. My high heels pinched my toes. When I reached the top of the hill, where Frenchgate met Richmond Road, I sat down on the ancient stone steps and rubbed my eyes again before looking down at the deserted street. Well almost deserted street.

A man walked a cow down the middle of the road, instinctively I knew he was taking it to market. He had the street to himself. There were no cars anywhere. The cobbles were worn with time, but not with tyres.

A light flickered on behind the window of what looked like a butcher’s shop. It was not bright enough to be an electric light. It was a candle or gas lamp. I heard a door slam and the sound of someone shoveling coal into a bucket. The town was waking up around me.

Would I wake up too?

I stood up and walked to the top of the steps, to Richmond Road, but there was no road. Not the kind of road I was accustomed to anyway. It was a rough, well-worn track. No car had ever been driven there.

How could this road have changed so much? I drove this road every day. I walked this way to school.

The house across the road was familiar to me, but different. It was covered in climbing roses and ivy. The front door beckoned me, there was a light shining from a bedroom window. I saw a face looking down at me for a fleeting moment, and then it was gone.

What should I do? I was starting to panic. What was happening to me? Surely this was a dream. I walked in the direction of the Market Square in the hopes of seeing someone. The  air around me felt oppressive. I could hear a distant buzzing sound, like a radio that wasn’t tuned in.

Richmond Market Square had the familiar cobbles and town clock. The familiar market stalls were being erected ready for the day. I could see Richmond Castle behind the square.

Nothing else was familiar.

The sky grew a little lighter and more people appeared. Unfamiliar people in period dress. I sat in the market square, as I had when I was younger, and waited. In my youth I waited here for my bus home. There would be no busses today. People passed by me as though I were invisible, which was a relief. How would I explain my short skirt and high-heeled shoes to the sombrely dressed passers-by.

When was I going to wake up?

PARTYING POLTERGEIST?

AND NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT!

I found this under ‘Watercooler Stories’ at UPI.com and had to share. I made me chuckle.

 

Woman blamed party noises on ghost

HULL, England, April 9 (UPI) — Neighbors of a British woman who was evicted for ignoring a noise abatement order said she claimed the constant party sounds were caused by a “poltergeist.”

Leanne Fennell, 20, who was evicted from her Hull, England, home and ordered to pay $586.86 in fines and $793 in legal costs to the Hull City Council, told neighbors who complained about the late-night loud music that a party-loving specter was behind the noise, The Sun reported Monday.

“She told us a poltergeist would keep switching the music on really loud when she was in bed,” said a neighbor who asked not to be named. “Some of the neighbors had a terrible time. There were always bottles and bottles of wine and cider just chucked in the garden.”

“She had at least four huge bonfires to burn some of the rubbish that was in there,” the neighbor said. “Some people complained and then she was warned by the council, but she didn’t listen. Eventually, it went too far and we’d had enough.”

Hull Magistrates’ Court found Fennell guilty of four breaches of the noise abatement notice and failing to abide by another notice ordering her to remove the trash from her garden.

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STOP TALKING TO ME

TRAVEL TALES AND MISHAPS

Watch out for my upcoming novel ‘Dead of July’ (Preview) Dead of July which will be released later this year. It is currently being edited. I am having so much fun with this 1982 Russian Mafia/British Military/German Ghost Story that I know you will enjoy it too. Happy Reading (and Ghost Hunting).

Beaten and Abused – Dead of July – Sneak Preview

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. 

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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. 

Peter Pan – Why I write – 1961

I loved Peter Pan when I was a child. I loved that he could fly with Tinkerbell. I wanted to fly for as long as I can remember. Fly away to a new world. I would take my mam with me.

I have snippets of childhood memories. Not many of them are good and some of them are downright scary.

I remember my fourth birthday. We played hide and seek in the dark because my mam had no money to pay for electricity. She lit candles and made a game of it. I had a pink cake with a pink roses on the top. It looked pretty but the icing was hard. I heard someone say it was ‘old’.

I thought the cake was beautiful. My mam’s friend at the Baker’s shop down the road gave it to us.

My Gran gave me half a crown for my birthday. That was a lot of money. The coin was silver and shiny and she pressed it in my hand. My mam took it and told me she would keep it safe for me.

Just after that the lights came back on and I knew my nice shiny ‘half crown’ had been fed into the electric meter. It was okay though, it meant we could see to eat the sausage rolls and sandwiches my mam had baked. They were delicious and I didn’t want to waste a single crumb.

My brother’s were much older than I was and didn’t live at home anymore. One was in the Air Force and the other was married and living somewhere else. I hardly knew them.

We played ‘pass the parcel’ for a while, and musical chairs, and then my dad came home from the pub. He was drunk again and not in the partying mood. Stella, my mam’s friend, rounded up the kids and took them home. They all lived on our street. My dad put the TV on and sat in front of the fire. He didn’t watch the TV, but fell asleep. The TV was still on though, and he was wasting electricity that my bright shiny coin had paid for.

Half a crown

My mum looked at my dad in disgust as she ran a bath for me. Our bath was in the kitchen, we didn’t have a separate bathroom. The kitchen was a little extension in the back yard of our little two up, two down terraced house. The toilet was outside, across the yard and not a very nice place to go in the winter.

I sat in the bath while my mum cleaned the party things away, putting the left over sausage rolls and sandwiches on a plate for my dad to eat when he woke up.

My dad had forgotten it was my birthday I think.

I got dried in front of the fire and my mum hugged me tight and gave me a big kiss on the cheek. “Happy Birthday sugar” she said.

“Things will get better mam” I said “and if they don’t we will fly away like Peter Pan and Wendy”

Her eyes filled with tears and she picked me up and carried me upstairs to bed. I could have walked, I was four years old  after all, but it was nice to be carried. I loved my mam.

She took me into the big front bedroom and put me in the big double bed where I slept with her. My dad slept in another room because he snored. I lay in bed with my eyes closed, listening to my mam and dad in the room below. They were shouting at each other again. There was a bang, and then silence, other than the television. I closed my eyes and hoped I would dream about Peter Pan. I left my window open a crack so Tinkerbell could get in.

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Girl on the Beach (UK)   Girl on the Beach (US)   Guy at the Bar Amazon   Guy at the Bar Amazon UK  are my first attempt at writing. They are short stories about the very strange life of a young girl raised in the North of England.

(Preview) Dead of July My upcoming novel is about the very strange life of the same girl after she was married and whilst she was living in Germany.

Yes that strange girl turned into a slightly crazy and very eccentric writer……ME