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

 

German Ghost Story – Chapter 14

 

Paulo Rossi and Diego Maradona - you can still buy the mug!

 

One of the most exciting games in the 1982 World Cup was between Italy and Argentina – two great teams. Two football crazy, temperamental, hot-blooded teams. I enjoyed this game immensely. It adds to the atmosphere of my story, when this game ended in 1982, even though I knew the final score, I could have watched it all over again. If you want to buy an ‘Argentina v. Italy’ mug, you still can, even though this game was 28 years ago.

I have finally managed to get back to writing my story, which I hope to finish in the early spring. I may stick with the name ‘A walk in the park’ or I may not, lets see. Enjoy chapter 14.

Chapter Fourteen

This game ended about twenty minutes after Rossi’s third goal. I had been screaming so much that it was hard for me to talk, which made Les happy because he thought I talked way too much anyway.  He used to say that before I woke up on a morning, my mouth started warming up ready for the day ahead of me.  I just loved life and had a lot to say.  You may wonder why I have talked about football so much! I want you all understand the atmosphere of that summer in 1982.  This was all part of it, sun, music, football, wine, our youth and most importantly, World Cup Fever!  These times pass so quickly. It seems only too soon that we look back and wonder where our youth and those exciting times went. I am speaking from experience when I tell you this .

After Julie and Graham left, I cleared away the food (not that there was much left), while Les got ready for bed, still on a high after the exciting game.  We both were for that matter.

The next BIG games to watch were the semi finals on Thursday when West Germany against France and Italy played against Poland!  Of course because we lived in Germany, and worked and shopped and socialized with the local people, all we got told day in and day out, was that Germany “Vould Vin”.  There was no doubt in the mind of the German people, that the West German team would be the victors. I really hoped that the final battle would be between West Germany and Italy.  It would be a stomach churning, nail-biting final, but that would be one for the record books.  Viva Italia!  Les was already in bed, and I walked through the living room and dining room, closing the wide open windows as it was raining lightly. As I closed the living room window, I peered down to the corner where the dark stranger had been lurking the night before, but there was no one there. I came across to the dining room window and closed that one, and almost jumped out of my skin.  As I closed it I caught a brief reflection of someone was standing in the room behind me, I froze for a moment before turning around, expecting to come face to face with an intruder. I was alone in the room! I think it was just the combination of my overactive imagination, the black tower (wine) and the excitement of the evening.  He had certainly looked real for a split second.  I laughed and went to bed.  Les was already asleep and snoring, the night after guard duty coupled with alcohol always did that to him. I relaxed and got into bed, it had been a good night.