Breaking Through!

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I’d almost given up on myself. I love to write, been doing it since I started High School. I wrote when I was unhappy. I wrote when I was happy. So much in my head! I’ve only published one novel I’m proud to admit is mine. It’s never going to be on the best seller list, but I’m not ashamed of it. It was my introduction to publishing.

Dead of July – Amazon

I have three more stories finished and ready to put into a compilation, “Ghosts on the Sand and other Chilling Tales”. Whats holding me up? My last story “The Engineer”. This story started with nothing but a title floating around in my head. At first it was set in Northern Italy, but it moved across Europe to North Yorkshire, before getting lost in my brain. The Engineer is back now, struggling to be free,  hammering at my temples, scratching the back of my eyeballs, fighting his way out. I need to get his story finished before he finishes me. I’ve heard he drinks blood!

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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! 

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

 

Fighting Back – Dark Angel

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Although I was still sitting on my sofa, everything around me had changed. The room was dark and full of writhing whispering shadows. Objects floated before me, indistinguishable at first, and then one by one, they came into focus. I was back under the bridge, lying on the ground, dying! I watched the life trickle away from me. A man lay dying next to his truck, moaning, clinging to life. A dark shadow crossed his face and he breathed no more. I saw a woman standing by a grave, crying. I knew it was his wife. A little girl held her hand, her face full of grief.

“No, stop I can’t watch this.” I yelled.

“Hush be still, I’m here.” Jeff whispered. I looked at him, he seemed to glow. He looked strong.

A cold harsh laugh pierced the darkness of the room. “Who dares to call me?”

Jeff spoke, and although I heard his gentle calming voice, I knew not what he said. It sounded like a prayer, but in a language I’d never heard.

“Go away, you can’t hurt me with your mumbling.”

Jeff continued to chant. Objects flew towards us and I cowered, my hands in front of my face, but nothing reached us. Some hidden force field protected us. Jeff continued to chant.

The voice of the Dark Angel laughed, shrieking. “You’ll never escape me, until I’m done with you. I kept you alive. You ungrateful bitch.”

“I’d rather be dead than owe you anything.” I shouted, trying to be brave.

“Oh I want to pleasure myself a little longer, you haven’t suffered enough yet,” the evil voice responded.

Jeff continued to chant. We were in the eye of a storm in my own home. I saw things I didn’t want to see. People writhing in pain, world-wide disasters. Were these visions things that had already happened, or a preview of what was yet to come. I grew dizzy……..the phone rang.

Everything stopped moving. Jeff stopped chanting. The dark fog that filled the room faded away.

“Answer the phone,” Jeff said, as thought nothing had happened.

“What?”

“The phone, answer it, it’s the vicar!”

I picked up the phone. “Lucy, I think I’ve found someone to help us with your problem. Can you take the day off work tomorrow. I think we’re running out of time.”

I gulped, “Yes, I’ll call in sick.”

I put the phone down and looked at Jeff, who was packing his canvas bag. How did he know who was calling?

“What the hell just happened?” I asked.

“We’ve begun our fight against the evil that haunts you. We have quite the battle on our hands. It seems you owe it your life.”

I looked around me, everything was still neatly in place. No sign of the chaos I’d just witnessed, except a scattering of dark feathers on the rug. Jeff followed my gaze and walked over to them. “We have to keep working at this. Whenever you see a dark feather, burn it. It weakens her.”

He gathered the feathers, counting them as he did so. There were seven. He dropped them in the sink and put a match to them. The odor they emitted as they burned smelled of decaying flesh. I covered my mouth and nose while Jeff washed away the ashes.

“Please will you stay with me tonight?” I asked.”I’m scared!”

Jeff smiled, “I’m moving in for a while, it’s not safe for you to be alone anymore.”

My first novel, Dead of July, is available on Amazon and Smashwords, see the links below.

Dead of July – Smaswords – formatted for most eReaders

http://amzn.to/1aXh4Md

Dead of July by Sandra Thompson

 

 

 

 

 

 

Coming soon, a new short story  by Sandra Thompson – Fire and Darkness – more info to follow soon.

DEAD?

Cindy screamed, but didn’t run from the shape blocking the doorway. She was scared, but she was also confused as she looked into the eyes of her dead husband. “Jeff, is that you? How can this be? What happened?”

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Standing in front of her was something that looked like a scarecrow. His feet were made of wood and straw. He wore long black coat. Protruding from the sleeves of which were dark hands with long pointed fingernails. The scarecrow had a scythe tucked beneath his arm. He stood motionless in the doorway, blocking her exit. Cindy wanted to look at his face again, but daren’t.

“What do you want?” she said looking at the ground. “What do you want from me.?”

The figure made no sound, but shuffled closer. Cindy wanted to run, to flee out of the back door, but where would she go?

The car, she had left the car keys in the car, she could escape. After stepping back a couple of paces she turned and ran towards the back door.

The door opened slowly before she reached it.

Moonlight shone brightly on a scene she didn’t want to acknowledge. The backyard was full of stationary figures. Cindy stood in the doorway, terrified, unable to move.

She looked in horror at the scarecrows, who all looked back at her, grinning a manic evil grin, maggots dripping from their hideous mouths. She swung  back around, hearing movement behind her, and came face to face with the most frightening figure of all. A scarecrow with the face of her husband.

It was the last straw, she fell to the ground gripping her chest. The pain was excruciating. Everything went black. Was she dying?

Cindy is having a tough time. How will it end? Wait and see.

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TRAVEL TALES AND MISHAPS

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SCARECROW

tornadoes1-300x181Fascinated by tornadoes, Cindy decided to take a trip to Kansas in the Spring. She wanted to be a storm chaser. Tornadoes both terrified and fascinated her. Of course coming from California, she had only seen them on the television. Twister was her favorite movie. Cindy wasn’t young, she was a 57-year-old retired widower working on her ‘bucket list’.

Cindy rented a small house in the country,  miles from anywhere, but she didn’t care. Since her husband died the only company she needed was her two cats ‘Twister, and Noodle’. She packed her truck and on May 1st, she set off on an adventure. The journey was pleasant and uneventful, except for her unhappy pets who weren’t at all impressed.

It took her two long days to drive to Kansas and they arrived at their temporary home early on  a
Kansas farm houseSunday morning. It was a beautiful Spring day with not a cloud in the sky. Was Kansas really the place to chase storms? Maybe she should have gone to Oklahoma. “Come on girls” she said as she released the unhappy cats.

Cindy had paid someone to shop for her before she arrived and was happy to find the cupboards and refrigerator fully stocked. Before she started to unpack, she found pans and began to cook eggs and bacon. It was her way of ‘christening’ the house. As she sat down to eat her breakfast, she looked out of the window at the miles and miles of open space surrounding the house.

What was that noise? 

She got up to investigate what sounded like footsteps on the porch! She opened the door slowly to see Twister and Noodle standing looking at the cornfield, backs arched, hair standing on end, hissing at something.

She followed their line of sight. “You silly cats, have you never seen a SCARECROW before she said?”

I don’t remember seeing that when we arrived” she thought to herself. “I need to take a nap” 

In the distance, unseen by anyone, the Scarecrow smiled.

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My first novel, ‘Dead of July’ will be released later this year. 

Dead of July – A German Ghost Story

My book ‘Dead of July’ took me a little over a year to write. I was extremely proud of myself when I finished it in April of last year. I found an editor who took my money and promised, that it would be ready to publish in October. The promise was not kept, so I rescheduled for March. You guessed, the promise was not kept. “Okay” I said “Lets get it ready for July, after all it’s called ‘Dead of July'” You guessed, the promise was not kept.

What was supposed to be one of the happiest times in my life was spoiled by someone who was paid to edit a book, but decided, after she took my money, that she couldn’t produce the goods. Someone I trusted, and paid, let me down.

My book will still be published, and it will be a great book to read, but I have learned a valuable lesson about editing. An editor should be able to produce the goods in around three or possibly four months. Not give excuse after excuse as to why it’s not published for a year. Hopefully ‘Dead of July’ will be published by September after being edited by someone who keeps their promises and cares about their reputation.

Keep following and learn from my mistakes. I haven’t given up on my book, but I have given up on the editor who promised me the world, but never gave me one finished chapter.

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Dead of July

Why ‘Dead of July’?

When I started writing this story I named it ‘A Walk in the Park’ because the story started when a young English girl, married to a British Soldier took a walk in a small park near her home in Dortmund, Germany. A pleasurable afternoon of sunbathing, reading and enjoying a beer and a bratwurst, turned into something sinister.

This is a thrilling story of drugs, guns, and human trafficking with a paranormal twist. There are a few laughs along the way because you can’t be around the British Army (especially off duty) without having a little fun.

This thrilling story with its twists and turns starts and ends in July, so my friend Jennifer Candee Zaharewicz, suggested I call it ‘Dead of July’. A perfect title. When will it be released? In the dead of July of course.

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