Viktor – The Evil Dead!

Dead of July (Small)

My novel is almost ready for its last visit to wonderful editor, Leslie Miller.

Sixty pages of reading and ‘fixing’ to go. Much of this story is pulled from fact. I still have the photo album referended in this story. This poem was written by me in 1974, and proudly remains in the front of the album. Yes, I am Sheila and forty years later I still have premonitions and I still see dead people.


I was too agitated to sit still. Although I didn’t really want to touch the photo album, I had to. I wanted make it mine again I picked it up and looked at the first page. Tears stung my eyes as I remembered receiving the album as a gift from my mum in June 1974. I’d written the date in the front cover of the album, along with a poem to mark the occasion. It went like this.


Memories of happy days,

Should never be allowed to die

And this, my album, I hope displays,

How in my heart they lie,

Golden moments of laughter and fun,

Are captured for all to see,

When I am not quite so young,

Just how I used to be.


            I’d been taking photographs from the day I was old enough to hold a camera. It was a hobby. The first two photos were treasured memories of my first David Bowie Concert at Earls Court, London in May 1973. The third photo was of my first vacation in Rimini, Italy. Those were happy carefree days and I wanted them back. I looked around to see Les looking at the photos too.

“Don’t let what happened today spoil your memories. Viktor is a vile unhappy spirit, but we will be rid of him soon. Father Ernie and Major McCarthy will send him to hell where he belongs.” He said and hugged me again.

Badly Beaten and Afraid

Dead of July (Small)[4] Color 1


‘Dead of July’

The girl on the bench stopped crying immediately and froze before looking at me with a terrified expression. I took a couple of steps towards the path, which gave me a clear view of the gate. A very angry-looking man stood there. He had dark disheveled hair and a thick mustache. He looked directly at me and I knew I didn’t want an encounter with him, especially here in a park. Impulsively I grabbed the girl’s hand, “Anna?” I asked.

“Yes he looking for me. I make him mad” She said. I saw the fear in her eyes.

“Lets go.” I said and we turned ran towards the other gate. We slipped through silently. The angry voice was still raging behind us, but it didn’t seem to be getting any closer. When we stopped to catch our breath I turned and looked at Anna. She pulled her hand away from me and said Danke, I must go. Him cannot see us together. He will be angry with you too, she said.


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There was a loud crack of thunder followed immediately by lightning meaning the storm was almost overhead. The first enormous drops of rain started to fall on the dry pavement. It was a wonderful smell, but I was going to get soaked if I didn’t move quickly. I hurried along Oesterholtzstrasse and was almost home when a light green Mercedes pulled up on the side of the road next to me. Damn, the German Police been must have been watching me. I was going to be in trouble now for interfering. The passenger side window opened and someone shouted my name. The rain was falling pretty heavily so I couldn’t get a good look at the person behind the voice, but I knew it wasn’t Herr Becker or Herr Schmidt so I hesitated for a moment.

“Sheila, come here. We need to talk to you. We can give you a ride home while we talk”

What choice did I have? If I didn’t talk to them now, I would have to explain myself later. I knew I was in trouble.

I just didn’t know how much.

I walked hesitantly towards the car and despite the rain a man stepped out and opened the back door for me. He was dressed black pants and a black leather jacket. I didn’t recognize him and he looked a little too stylish to be a Police Officer. He ushered me towards the open door. I peered into the car hoping to see a familiar face before getting in. When I recognized no-one I took a step backwards, but before I could turn and run, I was pushed roughly through the open door and onto the back seat, banging my head on the way. A pair of firm hands grabbed my wrists as the door was slammed shut and the car sped away. I tried to scream, but a hand was clamped firmly over my mouth.

“If you want to live stop screaming.”

I recognized that the heavy accent of the man who was driving the car. I felt sick as I realized he was speaking Russian and not German. I grabbed the door handle and managed to open the door, but only a crack. I screamed as loud as I could.

“Help, somebody please help me”

The man sitting next to me grabbed my arm roughly and yanked me closer to him, putting his hand over my mouth again.

The driver spoke again “Sheila, did you not hear what I said? If you want to live, sit still. I would love to hurt you. I would very much like to squeeze your neck and watch your eyes bulge as you die, but I promised my mother I would bring you home. I think she wants to meet you. I think she may have a job for you.”

Dead of July will be released later this year 

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Sandra Thompson interview.mp4

Scared of Myself

There, I admit it, I am a little scared of myself! It started when I was five, and told my Aunty I had been talking her grand-daughter. I don’t want to mention names. It made my aunty cry, really cry. My mum scolded me when I got home that night and I asked my why I would say such a thing. I wasn’t invited back for a while. What was the problem? Her grand-daughter had died of leukemia a year earlier.

Not long after this I realized that I had other gifts. When I started school, I knew the name of people I had never met, before the were introduced to me, the names just popped into my head. Weird right!

In my teens, my granddad visited me one night, waking me up. I was curious as to how he had gotten into my bedroom, as he lived with another aunty several miles away, and suffered from Parkinson’s Disease. He was in his nineties. “I know how much you like books, Sandra, so please take the ones from my house. I want you to have them” he said. Was I dreaming this? The next thing I knew it was morning and my mum was waking me up, her eyes red from crying. “Your granddad died last night, he couldn’t live with Parkinson’s anymore and drown himself. He laid his cane, coat and hat by the quarry and walked into the cold dark water.”

As I got older, my power evolved. In the early seventies I worked in an office and became friendly with someone who had been trying for a baby for a long time. She eventually got pregnant and was extremely happy and excited. She couldn’t understand why I didn’t share her happiness. I couldn’t I had an overwhelming feeling of sadness for her unborn child. I knew it wasn’t going to go well. The baby only survived for a month or so and never left the hospital because it was born with an awful birth defect, something that could not be fixed.

Sometimes I absolutely know who is going to win a soccer match.

I can be watching a crime on the local news and although I can’ tell you the name of the person who committed it, I know the age of that person or some thing about them. This has happened several times now.

Is it instinct or something more?

Whatever it is, it makes me a little scared of myself.

What I have shared with you is just the tip of the iceberg. I would love to hear from anyone else who has similar experiences.

Below is a link to a couple of books I have written around the things that happened to me. You could say they are fiction based on fact. They started out as notes and then turned into short stories. These books will be available in their current form until the end of the year, when I am going to take them down and re-write them.

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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