Bill hugged Jean’s family as though he meant it, putting on a good show for the mourners. He hadn’t wanted Jean dead, but he hadn’t wanted Jean anymore, the novelty had worn off, he was moving on. Death, although not planned, did make their marriage final. Tied up loose ends. Lissa, his new girlfriend, was rich and beautiful. Ten years older than him, but that was a good thing. It made her more desperate, willing to give him things. He could make this one last a while. Long enough to take her money anyway!
“Will you come back to the house with us Bill? It’s only going to be a small gathering. Close family?” Jean’s mum asked.
“No! I just want to be alone with my memories.”
Bill wiped his eyes, there were no tears there, but he looked convincing. Lori studied his handsome face. She didn’t see evidence of sleepless nights or tears. His eyes weren’t bloodshot from crying. In fact he didn’t look sad at all. She was suspicious.
“Our family will expect to see you there” she said, “They’ll worry about you if you don’t show up.”
Lori’s dad spoke up. “Leave him Lori. Bill, I’ll call you during the week. Maybe we can get together.”
“Yes, let’s do that!” Bill turned and walked away, just a little too quickly, looking at his watch. He knew Lissa would be waiting for him in the hotel room. She’d be wearing something expensive that exposed lots of skin. A bottle of champagne would be sitting in a bucket of ice next to the bed. She was an adventurous lover, which made her quite irresistible.
How long can I respectfully wait to re-marry?
With that thought in his head he jumped into his red Audit TT. The one Lori helped him choose, but Lissa paid for. Life was good, or so he thought. He didn’t know he had a passenger. His dead wife sat unseen in the back seat.
Your days are numbered Bill! I could kill you right now, but I want to see you suffer!
A small group of mourners left the graveyard. Jean’s parents, her sister and her husband. The look on her parents face was that of grief and raw disbelief. They clung to each other, tears streaming down their tired faces. Lori, her sister was sad and confused. Bill, her husband, wore a mask of guilt.
“I’m so sorry!” he said as they walked away.
No you’re not sorry now, but you will be!
Jean was raised a catholic, suicide was not tolerated, yet her lifeless body lay in a wooden box in the ground. Overdose! Shame to the family! She wasn’t at rest though, she crouched in the shadows watching. Bill looked sorry, but it was for show, for the funeral, for the family. His girlfriend waited for him in a hotel close by. Jean knew the place well, she’d followed him there a week ago.
Watched them through the window, saw them leave the restaurant and get into the elevator. Jean approached the front desk and asked for a spare key, said she couldn’t remember the room, but her husband was waiting for her. Gave her name.
“Ah yes, Mr. Richardson, room 102”
She mounted the stairs and stood listening outside the bedroom door. She heard their sighs, whispers, moans.
Opening the door she stood and watched.
Naked bodies so absorbed in love-making they didn’t notice her.
She fled, Bill was her whole life, she was pregnant with his child. Barely able to see though her tears, she drove home.
A bottle of Riesling and a thirty sleeping pills did the trick. Death came quickly and she was thankful, but it wasn’t over.
Hiding in the bushes by the graveyard Jean’s was no longer asleep. Her troubled spirit angry, and it wanted revenge!
It was dark a cold. Lynette quickened her pace. Central Park was quiet and deserted. A short cut home after a date gone wrong. Computer dating wasn’t such a good idea after all.
Pop, tinkle, tinkle!
She stopped dead in her tracks. Silence. Lynette walked as fast as her heels would allow. She’d have taken her shoes off if it weren’t so cold.
Pop, tinkle, tinkle….
She didn’t stop this time, but pulled her coat tightly around her and kept going. The night became even darker as the street light ahead of her exploded. It popped and then the bulb shattered on the ground.
It has to be the cold temperature making them explode!
She continued walking, trying to reach the lights ahead, but they too exploded before she got to them. Surrounded by darkness she stood still and held her breath.
Why is it so quiet? I’m in the middle of New York? What happened to the traffic?
FOOTSTEPS – FAST HEAVY FOOTSTEPS!
Oh GOD, please help me.
Lynette began to run, looking over her shoulder as she did so.
Leave me be, who ever you are, just leave me be.
Twisting her ankle, she hit the ground hard and squealed in pain. He cell phone slid across the icy path beyond her reach.
A monstrous black army boot stomped down on it. Lynette looked up slowly, terrified of what she would see. Long jean clad legs, a pair of gloved hands, wide shoulders, and then the face. Recognition! Her disastrous date had followed her….
Yup, this crazy old British gal is writing again. New book coming out soon, but in the meantime enjoy my short bursts. I have to get them out of my crowded brain. Check out my very cheap first book on Amazon. Never going to be a top seller, but I’ve been told its fun!
Dead of July
His lips touched my earlobe as he spoke. The feeling made my body tingle. It was strange, but exciting. It was also terrifying. I was thirteen and his touch stirred emotions I’d never felt before. Repulsion and excitement coursed through my body. I pulled away from him.
“I’m fine, I can walk on my own”
His dead eyes came to life. They shone with amusement, excitement, lust! He was using my mum to get to me. He wanted something from me? What was it? What did I have that he wanted?
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!
“Roberto is that wild garlic?” Mum asked, looking at the white pungent bunch of flowers he held.
“Yes, Phoebe, it is, I picked them along the path by the river on the way here.”
He turned around to look directly at me menacingly.
“I hear it keeps vampires away!”
He smiled at me hungrily licking his lips, which were no longer dark against his perfect milky skin, but blood red. I knew it was my blood he wanted, not my mum’s. Terrified I fled the living room and slammed the door to the stairs; I shut my bedroom door too. My so-called Uncle wanted to hypnotize me. He wanted drink my blood.
I knew Garlic wasn’t going to protect me.
I’d planned to have this book released by Christmas 2017. I know, it didn’t happen. I love writing so much I don’t have time to publish, and I certainly can’t afford a publisher. Oh well, when it eventually does get released later this year it’s going to be a bargain book for those of you who love England, especially the north-east. The stories packed into this book include;
Ghosts on the Sand (set in Blackpool)
Guy at the Bar (set in Brompton-on-Swale and Richmond)
Camera (set in Brompton-on-Swale and Richmond)
The Engineer (set in a fictitious village in County Durham)
Why are most of my stories set in the North East? Because it’s the best part of England. Northerners are genuine, down to earth and fun!
I was born in Bishop Aukland, lived in Shildon until I was 4 years old. I then fled with my mam to Etherly and Butterknowle to escape my violent dad. Mam finally found a job and house in Summerhouse, county Durham, where we lived until 1967. When she remarried we moved to Brompton-on-Swale, the village that shaped my life. Even though I live in the United States now (well until I retire to Italy), Brompton-on-Swale is on my mind a great deal. I wish I could become a famous writer. If I did I’d make sure to let everyone know where I came from. I’d tell them about that down to earth little village, where everyone knew everyone else and looked out for their neighbors. Many folks were born there and never moved away. They are the lucky ones. My wandering spirit won’t let me stay in one place too long. I pop back every now and again. Yes, it’s changed, but I still think of it as home.
Norah gasped and sat up! The pack of wild dogs stopped chasing her. She was safe in her own bed. It had all been a bad dream, but it was over. Lacie lay on the chaise under the window fast asleep.
Thank god! That was some nightmare.
The digital clock on the bedside table said 7:15. Time to get up and make some coffee.
I love Sundays.
She swung her legs off the bed and headed for the bathroom.
“Come on Lacie, rise and shine, time for breakfast.”
Lacie didn’t move.
Norah put some toothpaste on the Sonicare and walked over to her sleeping dog as she brushed her teeth.
“Come on lazy bones.”
Lacie felt cold and stiff. Something was wrong. Her dog stood up slowly, clumsily, as though drugged, she looked at Norah, a thread of blood and saliva dribbled from the corner of her mouth as she tried to growl.
Dropping her toothbrush Norah stared at her dog, then turned and ran.
“John, come quickly, there’s something wrong. I think Lacie’s sick, she may have rabies. JOHN!”
Her husband sat on the sofa with his back to her. He was wearing headphones and watching soccer on the television. He did that sometimes on a Sunday morning, so as not to disturb her, the European games were early. She ran in front of the television to get his attention. Then she froze.
Oh dear lord help me. Am I still having a nightmare. Wake up, please let me wake up.
Her husband stood up and smiled at her. It was a one-sided smile. The left side of his faces was missing. She saw movement over his shoulder. Janine, the teenager from next door limped clumsily out of the kitchen. She was naked from the waist up, her skin was torn and decaying. The once beautiful young girl looked at Norah and licked her lips. Then she hissed and stumbled towards her, arms outstretched. Norah willed herself to wake up, but this wasn’t a nightmare. She took a step backwards, but there was nowhere to go, she backed into the television. John took a step towards her. Norah turned to run, but pain pierced her ankle. Lacie sunk her teeth into Norah’s foot and pulled a chunk of flesh away. The noise was sickening.
Make the most of it Lacie, it’s the last breakfast you get from me!
Norah was thankful when her brain fogged into darkness. She’d had enough!
I hope you enjoy my short horror stories. Sometimes I have to empty my brain before I go back to my real writing. “Ghosts on the Sand” is a compilation of short stories, and I will be releasing it later this year. There are no zombies or vampires in this book, but it is a collection of chilling tales that I think you’ll enjoy. Watch out for it on Amazon.
When Norah opened her eyes there was no sign of her precious pup. She tried to call her name, but her mouth wouldn’t work. She pushed herself into a sitting position and immediately felt nauseous.
Lacie? Where are you?
Blue light still spilled through a gap in the curtains from her house, but other than that, she was surrounded by darkness. Thankfully the oppressive sickening buzz had disappeared. Norah lay still on the cold wet grass, praying her nausea would subside. Her head spun as though she were on a fairground ride.
What was that?
A nebulous light flitted just within her range of vision. She turned her head slightly to follow it and immediately threw up again.
I have to beat this, I just have to.
Above her the curtains opened. Her husband held their lifeless dog in his arms. He Chewed hungrily on its ear, blood dribbling down his chin. He looked down in the grass and saw Nora lying there, easy prey. Food to feed his hunger.
Norah looked up to the sky. The light had steadied now, hovering above her.
What the hell is that?
The dizziness eased and she stood up, unsteady on her feet, but she managed to remain upright.
“Lacie, Lacie, come on girl, where are you?”
With her back to the house, she looked into the darkness.
Why is it so dark? Where did you go Lacie, you could barely walk, where did you go?
She turned around and looked towards the house again. John stood in the window. He smiled and waved at her. Lacie was in his arms.
How did she get in the house? Has this all been a dream?
Norah hurried to the front door, which opened as she approached. John opened both arms to greet her, dropping the lifeless bundle of fur to the ground as he did so. Lacie bounced down the porch steps, blood dripping from her head where her ear should have been. Norah stopped in her tracks.
What the hell!
“John what’s wrong with you? Lacie!”
The furry lifeless bundle rested on the bottom step, eyes wide open. Norah picked her up. Sobbing she hugged her.
What happened to you Lacie. Was it a coyote? A rabid dog?
Norah looked up at her husband, hoping for answers. His lips were smeared with blood. He picked a dog hair from between his front teeth and lurched towards her.