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

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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

 

Daemons!

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAThe church service was long and dreary, but I endured it for my mum’s sake. The dark winged shape lurked above me, but I felt her power was waning in the house of God. After a final hymn, the church doors were opened and the Reverend Laybourn stood just outside, talking to the congregation as they left. My mum left the church, glancing my way as she walked out into the sunlight. I looked at Jeff.

“Go with your mum,” he said. “I’ll stop by tonight.”

“You don’t know where I live,”

“Yes I do, I’ll see you around seven,” he said, and then left the church through the back door. I walked to the front of the church, not wanting to be in there alone. I kept my eyes fixed straight ahead of me, not daring to look up, afraid to see what was following me.

The Reverend looked genuinely pleased to see me, “Ah, Lucy, so glad you came to church today.”

My mum stood next to him, her eyes brimming with tears. She looked haggard. I reached out and hugged her, feeling her tears soak into my blouse. “I’m sorry mum, I’m really sorry. I don’t know whats wrong with me. I think I have daemons.”

Reverend Laybourn frowned. “Lets not talk about daemons,” he said. “Will you join me for a cup of tea and some chocolate biscuits? I think it would be nice to talk for a while.”

I didn’t want to talk about the thing that followed me. What if the dark feathered creature that followed harmed those I talked to?

My mum was talking now. “Please, come and have tea at my house, I’m there alone so often, I’d love you to come. I baked a chocolate cake this morning, I’ll never eat it myself.”

That pleased the good Reverend, he did have a sweet tooth. I couldn’t argue.

Reverend Laybourn locked the church doors “I thought the church was always open,” I said to him.

“Yes in a perfect world,” he answered “but, we’ve had some problems recently, a crow, or some other big black bird got trapped in here, there was an awful mess. I didn’t think black birds were carnivores, but I was wrong. There were two dead rabbits on the floor and blood everywhere.”

“Oh that’s awful,” I said, alarm bells going off in my head, “Is the bird gone now.”

“I don’t know, we never saw it.”

“Then how do you know it was ever there?” I asked.

“Black feathers everywhere.”

I staggered backwards, almost falling over. The Reverend grabbed my arm and steadied me. “Are you alright?” he asked. He wasn’t looking at me as he spoke, his eyes focused just above my head again, the same as they did when I bumped into him a few days earlier.

He looked scared!

Dead of July

Dead of July by Sandra Thompson

 

Spirits in the Basement?

Angel_vs_Demon_Tattoo_by_leedeeyahI’ve been followed by spirits for my whole life. They appear to me sometimes, and sometimes I just know they are around. On occasion I have wondered if they are responsible for hiding things, or just playing mischievous games with me. Often I wondered if a Guardian Angel hovers, protecting my family, as it seems we have had many lucky escapes.

This year has been a little different, with all of the activity happening in the basement.

1. On the second week in January water started to appear on the floor of my new bathroom in the basement. Caught it before too much damage was done and discovered it was a faulty valve.

2. On the last week in January, more water, bathroom vanity ruined, another leaking valve. Really?

3. On the first week in February frozen pipes, first time in 18 years of living in this house. I was home sick when I discovered the problem and thank heavens they didn’t burst.

4. Last Monday evening I walked into the basement and stopped dead in my tracks when I smelled burning. I’ve become and expert at dealing with water, but fire is a whole new ballgame. My tumble dryer had caught fire. I unplugged it, put the fire out and pulled it apart to make sure no flames lurked hidden underneath. I think my Guardian Angel sent me downstairs before the house exploded (the tumble dryer is gas), but who on earth is in my basement causing these issues. This is much more than coincidence.

To read about my fight with daemons, click on the cover below.

dead-of-july_coveronly_300dpi_6x92.jpg

 

 

 

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.

Follow me on Facebook to find out when my first full length novel ‘Dead of July’ will be released

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

Conversations with a ghost?

When my daughter was young, and I mean very young, she would wander around the house in the night. I have no idea why, but it would scare us to death. She is 27 now and I know if she reads this it will embarrass her, but she would have conversations with invisible people before she could even talk. Seriously!

The first time this happened we heard a noise downstairs and realised it was the childish giggles of a one year old. My husband and I jumped out of bed and ran downstairs wondering if someone else was there. Our baby girl was standing on a chair, looking out of the window and talking to the moon. She jumped up and down and down on the chair, unaware of our presence. She talked in child talk and then stopped as thought she was listening to someone talking back. Then she would giggle. We stood for a few minutes amazed as we listened to what seemed like her side of a conversation. When I scooped her in my arms, she didn’t object, and I tucked her back into bed, where she slept soundly for the rest of the night.

The next ‘night time’ conversation was a week or so later. I heard my baby girl get out of bed and ran to her room to stop her from clambering down the stairs again. I picked her up and put her into the middle of my bed, between my husband and I. If she tried to go downstairs she would have to crawl over one of us and we would wake up and stop her.

She didn’t try to crawl out of bed, but instead laid on her back, her arms animated as though she was conducting an orchestra. She proceeded to have a conversation with someone whilst looking at the ceiling. There was nothing there but shadows. I lay awake and listened to her childish giggles and baby talk for thirty minutes or so before she fell asleep. I wished I could hear the other side of the conversation, I would love to know who she was talking to. Who was making her giggle so much?

I wondered if she had inherited my gift, and the gift my grandmother had before me. We saw people who no one else could see, but it didn’t happen to me until I was five years old. My daughter was only one year old!

She vaguely remembered these incidents until she was about fifteen. There was one more occasion when she a freshman in high school. She came home from school sick. She lay on the sofa and remembers seeing a woman sitting in the corner of the room looking at her, maybe even watching over her until I got home.

If my daughter still has this gift, she no longer talks about it. Maybe it’s hard for her to come to terms with, it was for me too. When she is older she may open her mind again. I believe someone is watching over her. I hope so anyway.

You can purchase my two short stories from Amazon. They are based on paranormal experiences I had as a child, and then as a teenager. They are my first attempt to talk to the world about what happened to me. I am still learning how to put my stories together. Later this year my first novel ‘Dead of July’ will be released. This novel is being edited by a wonderful editor called Amy Eye and I believe with her help, it will be a great read. It is based on things that happened to me whilst living in Germany in 1982. It is a German ghost story.

 (Preview) Dead of July

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My two short stories can be purchased from the links below. 

Girl on the Beach (UK)

Girl on the Beach (US)

Guy at the Bar Amazon

Guy at the Bar Amazon UK

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The Argument!

I got married in 1977 and the haunting started soon after. Lots of things happened, which I thought were attached to my husband. Some of them saved his life, but I will talk about those in another blog. This one is about ‘The Argument’

We had been married a year or less, and lived in Dorset. A beautiful county steeped in History.

We loved living there, but being newly married and young, there was obviously the odd argument. I can’t remember what we argued about on this particular night, but we went to bed without making up. This is never a good thing, and something I hate doing. On this particular night it was indeed a bad idea.

As we laid in bed we heard things move about downstairs, and then pictures fall off the wall one by one.

Back in those days there was no heating in our bedroom and the cold room felt icy. We hid under the covers of course.

We may have stayed in bed without moving until morning if it wasn’t for our black cat. Yes, my new husband agreed to let me have a cat. I know he regretted it later as he and the cat did NOT get along and tormented each other in all sorts of ways, but that’s a story for another blog too.

As we snuggled together under the bed covers a little afraid, and wondering what was going on downstairs, we heard another noise. It sounded like a child shouting “mamma, mamma” and it was coming from the top of the stairs.

We didn’t know if we needed to run because some Devil Child was coming to get us, or get on our knees and pray.

Cautiously we got out of bed and crept across the room to see where the noise was coming from.

There at the top of the stairs was our Black Manx Cat. It’s eyes were huge and crazy and were fixed on something at the bottom of the stairs. It was making a noise I had never head a cat make before “mamma, mamma”.

Our cat ran and hid under the bed, the way cats do, leaving my husband and I to go downstairs and tackle what ever was there.

We switched on every light in the house and walked from room to room. There was no-one to be seen, but the damage was done. Several photos had slid down from the wall and onto the floor.

My husband’s mother died when he was young, and I wondered if she was with us and maybe watching out for him. She may have been warning me to be nice to her son. Who knows? I will let you judge for yourselves as I share more of these stories with you.

 I have published two short stories which you can read as e-books or in print by going to the links below.

Watch out for ‘Dead of July’ my first full length novel – Coming Soon.

Dirty English Pigs – German Ghost Story

Not my van - but you get the idea

To buy a personalized copy of ‘Girl on the Beach’ visit my website

Words from beyond

The next installment of Sheila’s German encounter is below. Things are heating up and she is being scared and threatened. The incidents become more frightening and happen more often. What has she done to deserve this?

‘Girl on the Beach’ Free e-book (Smashwords)

Dirty English Pigs!

On Thursday, I drove to work, dropping Les off on the way.  It was an unusually muggy morning, with thunder rumbling in the distance. The clouds hung low in the sky. It wasn’t raining but the air felt damp. It was one of those mornings when you felt like you wanted to stay in the shower because the minute you got out you felt grimy again.  The roads were slippery with the rain so I had to be careful, especially when crossing the tram lines. I could feel a headache coming on too.  Not the best start to the day. I drove along the ‘hellweg’ wishing I had taken the day off work, I just felt ‘out of it’. When I arrived at work I was greeted by the Military Police. After the drama of the last two days, I imagined the worst, a murder or something! The MP’s asked for my ID as I drove onto camp and as I parked up, I could see more Military Police around my yellow van.  I wandered across to see what was going on. It looked like a crime scene as there were so many Military Police. Sophie, my boss came bustling across to me.

“Oh dear me, what a mess, no driving for you today, you can help in the restaurant instead, look what they did!”

This was offensive

My van truly was a mess. It was covered with offensive graffiti about the British Army and the British in general. ‘Dirty English Pigs’ and ‘Army Bastards’ being the least offensive of them.  Some of the phrases were in German too, and I was glad I didn’t understand them. There were a couple of swastikas sprayed on the side of the van, which I found very offensive. Someone was really upset. As we stood there one of the MP’s drove the van away. Sophie told me they were taking it to the REME to get it painted.  I was familiar with the REME guys.  I sometimes had minor repairs that needed to be done to the van, where I had broken a mirror, or scraped the paint. They would fix the van for me quickly and efficiently charging nothing more than a few beers or a bottle of ‘Asbach’. I wandered inside the building with Sophie. Her husband, who was a senior officer in the infantry, was waiting in her office.  He gave her a hug and was making sure she was OK.

They were a funny pair. He was a really nice quiet unpretentious guy.  She was loud and dramatic; in fact when she wasn’t with him you would not imagine her to be married at all, she seemed too independent. When she was at his side she was a kitten. I left them talking on the stairs and went into the bustling kitchen to see what I could do.  I was about to start helping with the breakfasts when Sophie showed up again. She tossed a set of keys at me and said:

“Tea and coffee obviously won’t work today, but make some sandwiches and a tray of doughnuts and take my Volvo. You can get a lot in the back of that”.

To review or purchase other stories by Sandra Thompson click on the links below:

Girl on the Beach (UK)

Girl on the Beach (US)

Guy at the Bar (Smashwords)

Guy at the Bar Amazon

Guy at the Bar Amazon UK