To Young to Die!


“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

Dead of July by Sandra Thompson

River of Death!

riverside bombThey walked down the back lane in silence oblivious of the danger close by. An unstable deadly bomb was being built by a man with an unstable deadly mind. He talked quietly as he worked. “I’ll get the bastards who killed you. I’ll get them, and their friends. They’ll be sorry.”


“How dangerous is Colleen’s brother?” Lindsay asked.

“I don’t know. He was all right until his sister was killed. Now he’s lost all reason. John’s suffering too, but his grief is private and not vengeful. I hope John finds Patrick and takes him back to Ireland.”

“Michael, Patrick killed my friends didn’t he. He made the car bomb that blew up the disco!”

“I don’t know for sure. John and I followed him to a pub in Richmond that night. He said he was going to the club. He was drunk and sad. He didn’t make much sense, but we thought the worst that would happen was he’d start a fight. We planned to meet him and go with him, just to keep him out of trouble, but he got away from us. We arrived just a the shit hit the fan and the car outside exploded.”

“Did you see Patrick at the fire? Was he there?”

“No, that’s why I can’t talk to the cops yet. I don’t want them to arrest him. If they do he’ll never get away because all of the evidence points at him. What if it wasn’t him?”

“I know you want to believe he isn’t responsible, but who else could it be?”

“Colleen!” Michael said quietly.

“Oh come on, you don’t really believe that. Colleen is a restless spirit. She’s a figment of our troubled minds.”

“Lindsay, you saw her at the window. You’ve heard her voice.”

“Yes, but ghosts can’t make bombs!”

“Quiet! Did you hear that?”

Lindsay and Michael stood still and listened.

“Its John.” Michael said. He ran towards the sound of John’s voice. Lindsay followed reluctantly. As she ran, she heard another loud angry voice. There was a loud splash and then silence.

Lindsay froze, something was wrong. She turned and came face to face with her dead friend. Mel was no longer burned and disfigured, but the vibrant happy young girl that Lindsay had grown up with.


The shadowy figure in front of her smiled and disappeared.

“MEL!” Dammit, I’m seeing things.

Lindsay set off after Michael again, but didn’t get far. There was an almighty explosion.  The ground shook, knocking off her feet, throwing her backwards into the old stone wall. She bounced off it like a rag doll, banging her head as she was flung precariously towards the river Swale. Lindsay grabbed at trees and clumps of grass to stop herself from falling into the water and finally made contact with a low hanging branch. She clung on for dear life, her toes dangling just above the river. Branches and leaves hurtled past her like missiles. Helpless and afraid, Lindsay clung to the branch and prayed.

Dead of July – Amazon – My first novel “Dead of July” was released in December 2013 and is available for $0.99 on Amazon. Yes, it’s a bargain, but I’m a relatively unknown writer and would like everyone to get to know me. I’d love your feedback. 

Preview – Dead of July



Body Count 160

Lindsay sat up in bed gasping for breath, disoriented and scared. Morning light streamed through the curtains as she collected her scattered thoughts. She was sweating, but cold, very cold. She looked around nervously, afraid of what may be lurking in the shadows. Finally she got her breathing under control,  swung her legs out of bed and slipped her feet into her slippers. Grabbing her robe she padded into the kitchen and switched on the kettle before slumping into a chair at the kitchen table and resting her head in her hands. She thought about the night before. Did I really see those horrific burned figures in my bedroom? Was I dreaming? I’m losing it! 

The kettle boiled and she poured the steaming water over a tea bag in her favorite mug and left it to brew while she opened the fridge. Damn, no milk. I really don’t want to leave the house today. Drinking her tea black (it tasted bitter), she walked into the living room and opened the curtains. A white car was parked outside. The same car she’d seen more than once since the fire. Lindsay squinted against the sunlight, looking for passengers. Looking back at her, through the window, was the same solemn white face.

OK, I need to know who this is. She ran to the front door and opened it wide, just in time to see the car disappear from view. What the hell is the connection? She thought.

A Police car pulled onto the street. Great! 

Two police officers got out, one male and one female. They had serious expressions on their faces.

Now what? 

“We need you to get dressed and come to the station with us.”

“Am I being arrested?” Lindsay asked.

They ushered her into the house. Shutting the front door behind her, Lindsay turned to look at the grim-faced officers. “Why do I have to go to the station? I’ve told you everything I know already.”

“One hundred and sixty bodies have been recovered, you were the only survivor. We need to know what you saw, and why you left early.”

Lindsay felt numb, 160 bodies. God in a small town like this, that was a quarter of the youth population. She stumbled blindly into the bedroom and got dressed. In the behind her, she saw the fleeting image of a charred body. What the hell is happening to me?

“You’re over 18 and old enough to be interviewed alone, but is there anyone you’d like to call?” The female officer asked.

Lindsay shook her head, on television in situations like this, she’d ask for her lawyer! She seriously hoped she didn’t need one.

“No one!” she answered.

Police Car








Yes, a young girl in trouble. It’s the theme of all of my stories, most likely because I was always in trouble myself. If you’re enjoying this, and have read my previous short stories, check out my novel Dead of July, which is available to purchase from Amazon.

Dead of July by Sandra Thompson


DED 1666

“Lindsay speak to me.” Pam said. “I’m here for you to cry, scream, whatever you need, I’m here. Don’t go silent on me.”

“Sorry! I feel like I’m in a living hell. I should be dead too. My friends are gone, burned to death and I’m here, still alive. Why was I spared?”

“Don’t apologize for being alive, be thankful. This was an awful tragedy, but its a reminder of just how precious life is, make the most of it. You’re here to live another day.”

“I know but….” Lindsay never got to finish her sentence, the doorbell interrupted.

“Shall I go?” Pam asked. Lindsay nodded “I don’t want to speak to anyone unless I have to, get rid of them if you can.”

“Sorry,” Pam said as brought a policeman into the kitchen, “I couldn’t get rid of him.”

“I’m Sargent Whitely, sorry to intrude. I can’t begin to imagine how you feel, but I need to ask you a few questions. It won’t take long.”

“Am I really the only survivor?”

“I’m afraid so, other than those who left the disco before you. Did you see anything odd during the evening, anyone acting nervous, suspicious?”

“No!” Lindsay answered.

“How about after you left the disco? My college told me you were walking home when you heard the explosion. Did you see anything at all that might be suspicious?”

“A car, I saw a car speeding along the road towards me.”

“What color?”

“I didn’t notice the color.”

“Could you see inside? Could you describe the driver?”

Lindsay thought about it, “Not really dark hair, young, big eyes, scared looking, but I don’t think I’d recognize him again.”

“So it was a man, was he driving or in the passenger seat?”

“Passenger, didn’t see the driver. I think the same car parked outside my flat later. I couldn’t see inside, it was dark, but something tells me it was the same car.”

“Are you sure?” Sargent Whitely asked as he frantically made notes in a small pad.


“Is there anything else?”

“DED 1666”


“The car that raced past me, its number plate was DED 1666.”








Dead of July – A Ghost Story by Sandra Thompson is available on Amazon.


Car Bomb?

march1973-55dea336d78d7508b666ed24d6128c5ed01020cb-s400-c85Lindsay watched the car for a long time. Although she couldn’t see the faces of the passengers, or the registration number, something looked familiar. Why did its presence bother her? Eventually, after making sure the doors to her flat were locked and bolted, she went to bed, but sleep evaded her for a long time. She lay awake, staring at the ceiling and wondering what had become of her friends. The friends she’d damned all to hell, for leaving her alone again. The friends that may have burned in a fiery hell on the dance floor. Eventually sleep enveloped Lindsay’s mind and body, but not for long. She awoke as the first slither of light pierced the darkness. Opening her eyes, she immediately thought of the horrific explosions and flames. Oh my God, let it be a dream.

Slipping into her robe, Lindsay padded into the living room and peered through the curtains to see if the car with its sleeping occupants was still outside. It was gone. She sighed with relief.

Lindsay switched on the radio. Instead of the music that usually greeted her, two local newsmen talked about the tragedy at the local disco. They talked in low respectful voices. She sat at the kitchen table sipping tea and listening to the sickening news.  No survivors! Surely she’d heard wrong. There were at least fifty people on the dance floor when she left. How could there be no survivors. On automatic pilot, Lindsay made herself a cup of tea and sat back down at the table to drink it. When the phone rang she almost dropped the cup.


“Lindsay, its Pam. Thank God you answered, you were at the disco last night, they said there were no survivors.

Lindsay couldn’t speak. She sobbed down the phone.

“I’m coming to see you right now.”

It was only minutes before the doorbell rang. Pam lived a couple of streets away and was breathless when she arrived. Lindsay, still sobbing, collapsed into her arms.

“What happened?” Pam asked.

“I don’t know. I left early. I was halfway home when I heard the explosion. If I’d still been there…”

“Shhh, you’re safe. Don’t think about what had happened if you’d still been there.”

The radio caught their attention.

News just in points to a car bomb, although no one has taken responsibility. Of course one has to wonder if the IRA were involved because the disco ‘Studio 2’ was close to an army camp. The IRA remains silent.

“The fucking Irish!” Pam said. “I knew they had to be involved, bastards.” She had good reason to hate the Irish since her brother lost both of his legs bombing in a London car bombing.

Car…..Lindsay thought of the car that raced past her after the explosions. Holy shit, the same car that parked outside last night. Could it be involved? She shivered. Should she call the police?

Dead of July is still for sale on Amazon…if you like my blog, give it a try.

Dead of July by Sandra Thompson