Legacy of the Lake

shadow

The pregnancy hadn’t been a good one. Juliet had been bedridden for most of it. The birth was a struggle too.  Afterwards she barely found strength to hold Sacha. The beautiful baby girl was named after Jake’s grandmother.

“Do you want me to go? I can leave you to get some sleep if you like.” Jake asked.

He worried as he looked at her exhausted pale face, and the dark rings under her eyes.

“No, stay. Dad will be here soon, stay until he leaves. Talk to him for me. I’m just so tired, but I want him here, I want him to see Sacha.” her voice trembled, “Wish mum was still here.”

Jake reached out and put his hand over Juliet’s. “She’s here, she’s watching you.”

“But I don’t feel her. How do I know?” She shivered. “It’s so cold in here.”

Jake took another blanket from the closet and tucked her in. There that should keep you warm. “I’ll be back in a second,”

He found a nurse “Whats wrong with her? Why is she so weak? It’s 24 hours since she had the baby, shouldn’t she start to feel better? I’m worried, I don’t want to lose her.”

“We’ll watch her, she’ll get better everything looks fine, but she’s exhausted. The trauma of losing her mother isn’t helping. Did the police ever figure out what happened? Was it suicide?”

Jake hung his head. “Can’t see she’d kill herself, but why would she get so close to the lake in her wheelchair? Tragic accident is what they’re saying.”

The shadows in Juliet’s room gathered unseen around the crib. Sacha slept, swaddled in blankets as a dozen eyes looked down at her. She’s perfect they whispered she’ll be ours soon. The keeper of the lake.

Juliet didn’t hear them, she was slipping away into a drug induced haven, blocking out a terror she didn’t yet know, just like her mother before her. The family legacy continued and Sacha was next in line.

 

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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! 

Barely Breathing!

flames_88__inferno_by_eris_stock“It looks to me like you’ll never have her.” I whispered. “I think the old hag has you beaten. She’s kept you away from her daughter for a long time now. Maybe it was never meant to be.”

I moved closer to him, the smell of his body was overpowering. He hadn’t breathed for a long time, but hot putrid air surrounded him.

Distract him; take his focus away from Mala. Give me a chance to set them free.

I heard her thoughts, what if Luca heard them too?

I looked into his eyes and smiled, it took all of my courage and energy, but I was convincing.

What if he kills me, what then?

He looked down at me, fascinated. “You’re awfully brave! How can this be? I usually have to fight to get my pleasure. Why aren’t you fighting?”

I was terrified, barely breathing, but something spurred me to play his game. You’re doing great, keep his focus. It’s working.

“Maybe I’m tired of life.” I said, my voice sounding stronger than I felt. “I get up and go to work every morning, but for what? Its time for a different, more exciting life. Tell me what you have to offer?”

The creatures behind him gathered close together as they watched me.

“You can ride the night skies with me” he asked. “You  can look down at the world of pathetic humans and see them, like ants, running around as they live out their futile lives?”

He moved closer to me, our bodies merged. I was terrified.

Although his hands didn’t move, I felt violated; I knew his intentions and felt him touch me.

“Ahh, lets play a while.” He said.

I have him, please do what you need to do and then help me.

My fear spiraled out of control. I was completely enveloped by evil. Terror paralyzed my body.

I’m dying! Help me!

The life was being sucked out of me. I was lost!

I’m barely breathing. Help me!

I was vaguely aware of a light, a light that grew slowly stronger and sent wispy branches shooting off towards the sky as the poor creatures that had been held captive escaped. Behind me I heard bells. The sort of bells you associated with Christmas, heralding the arrival of happiness.

I knew these weren’t Christmas bells, but Romany bells and I smiled. I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have smiled.

“You witch, you sorceress, you temptress. I’m going to squeeze the life out of you now.”

I looked up to see his face. I’d fooled him for a while and and he was full of lust for a live willing body. Something I wasn’t prepared to give and he knew that now.

He tossed me aside like a doll. I hit the ground hard, knocked senseless for a few seconds. When I opened my eyes I saw the old gypsy, she chanted and danced in a circle around the smoking man and his Romany love. They were wrapped in tender embrace for the first time since death claimed them. They faded to nothing, poof, gone.

“You old witch, you’ll pay for this.”

God please let him not be talking to me; I have no fight left in me.

I looked at the distorted face of evil and saw him focus on the old Gypsy. She smiled. “Come on then, make me pay, I’m old and fragile, but I beat you at your own game. You can take my life now, but you can’t touch my daughter anymore. You can’t go to the place she is now. She’s safe from you, safe forever!”

He was on her in less than a second. Moving around her, his face contorted in anger. She didn’t budge, but stood her ground and smiled. I wanted to help her, but I couldn’t move.

“Please leave her alone.” I whispered, but no one heard.

It’s all right; I’m ready to die. I’m old!

She put her arms out and started to chant again. I watched the evil presence of Luca shrink slightly. He became still. He looked confused, unsure of himself. The old gypsy’s head snapped back. She closed her eyes, opened her mouth and inhaled deeply.

Noooooooo!

The awful shape of evil disappeared into her mouth and down her throat. When there was nothing of him left her lips snapped shut and she exploded into a fiery mass. I saw them fighting in the flames, but he was lost, no match for a cunning old gypsy. His evil was no match for her love.

I watched until there was nothing left but calm.

Dead or Alive – she’s mine!

headlight in the darknessThe temperature dropped. Icy fingers tightened their grip on my heart.

“You’ll never have her. You couldn’t have her in life and she’s not yours in death. She was promised to me. She’s mine.”

Surely they’re not talking about me! I strained my eyes trying to see through the darkness. It was thick and dense, a black fog.

“You killed her!” The voice was harsh, evil.

“No, you did, you killed her when you messed with my brakes. You ended her life.” This voice was full of sadness and love.”

“You should have died alone. You took what was mine.” The evil voice boomed through the darkness. It scared me.

“Mala wasn’t a possession. She didn’t love you.” It was almost a whisper.

The darkness was penetrated by the sound of a horn. It was loud. Rushing towards me.

A single beam of light pierced the darkness from another direction.

A truck roared towards the crossroads. Oh God, slow down, won’t someone slow down. Screeching brakes and burning rubber filled the air.

The truck tried to stop.

The motorcycle swerved.

For a fleeting moment I saw the face of the beautiful gypsy girl riding behind the smoking man. She closed her eyes, and hugged him tight.

Her lips moved, “I love you.” I wondered if he heard.

The impact was deadly.

Then there was silence.

“Why am I here?”

The sound of my voice hung in the darkness.

The Icy Grip of Death!

I hit the ground hard. Gasping for breath I sat up. Help! Where am I. I heard the screeching of brakes and smelled burning rubber. Glass shattered. Where am I?

I was light-headed and my vision was blurry. A nebulous shadow hovered in front of me.

And then I saw smoke rings.

smoke rings

The smoking man looked down at me and smiled. I shivered as I felt his love overpower me.

“Its time to come with me. I’ve waited so long.”

He sad eyes filled with longing. This man’s life had ended a long time ago, but he couldn’t rest, he was waiting for someone. Surely he wasn’t waiting for me. I didn’t know him.

“I don’t know you. Why do you want me?”

I was cold, shivering, but I knew I was still alive and I wanted to stay that way. I tried to stand, but I was weak and oh so tired. Fight it, come on, fight it now.

The tinkling of bells seemed far away, but I heard them. Rings on her fingers and bells on her toes, from where she comes, nobody knows…

The beautiful face of the young gypsy girl filled my thoughts. I smelled roses and lavender! My body was light. A tingling started in my chest and radiated through my body. It was a happy feeling. Can this be death? Am I dying? If I am I like it!

Then a dark oppressive presence overshadowed me. The tingling stopped. The smoking man looked behind me. Anger spread across his face and for the first time I heard him speak. His words were angry.

“Leave us be, its time to leave us be!”

Icy fingers surrounded my heart. It was more than fear, it was death!

To read my first novel go to Dead of July

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

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

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