Revenge!

 

 

1973-Pontiac-Funeral-Coach-Superior

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!

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You’ll be Sorry!

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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!

The End!

EasbyStAgatha2Lindsay couldn’t remember if they gave her something to help her sleep, or if she was so traumatized she blocked everything out, but she didn’t recall getting in the ambulance. When she opened her eyes she found herself in a hospital bed with the worried face of her mam looking down at her.

“Oh thank God. I was worried you’d never open your eyes again,” she said as she planted a kiss on Lindsay’s cheek. “I had no idea what was happening or we’d have come back sooner.”

Lindsay smiled weakly. “It wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“I spoke to Mel’s mam at the funeral, she….”

“The Funeral! I missed the funeral? How long have I been in hospital?”

“Since yesterday afternoon, the funeral was this morning.”

“I wanted to go, I wanted to say good-bye.”

“You can say goodbye any time. It was a lovely service. Reverend Stegall made it very personal, he christened her you know, back in 1959.”

“He shouldn’t be burying her yet though, she’s too young, why did this happen?”

“It’s the bloody IRA, why do they do anything?”

“It wasn’t the IRA mam, the man who did this was grief-stricken at losing his sister. Cross fire with the British Army and the IRA. He lost his mind.”

“Yes, lost his mind and killed over a hundred people.” Lindsay’s mam said bitterly.

No one spoke for a while.

“There was a policewoman at the funeral, she asked after you.”

“Barbara? She was helping me.”

“Helping you with what?”

“Don’t worry about it now, I’ll tell you another time. You wouldn’t understand.”

Her mam’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You’re not in trouble again are you? Please tell me you weren’t smoking that cannabis stuff again. Didn’t you learn your lesson last time.”

“No mam, I haven’t smoked any cannabis, I told you I’m over that.”

A nurse walked into the room, saving Lindsay from a conversation that was making her anxious rather than soothing her.

“Hi Lindsay, the doctor’s coming in to check you out, he’ll probably give you the all clear to go home.” She looked at Lindsay’s mam. “Could you leave us for a few minutes please while we examine her.”

A young Indian doctor appeared in the doorway. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Tired,” Lindsay replied.

“It’s shock, you have been trough a lot in the last week and sometimes, in these circumstances your brain shuts down because it can’t cope with anymore. It makes you tired. Sleep blocks out the pain. Sometimes its a good thing.”

The doctor pointed a light into Lindsay’s eyes as he spoke. He checked her pulse, put a stethoscope on her back, took her temperature and asked her questions. Lindsay answered automatically, but her attention was focused on the doorway.

“Was anyone else admitted to hospital with me, did anyone else survive?” she asked.

The nurse hung her head as she answered, “No, sorry pet, were they your friends. Two young men died at the scene. There was an explosion, they were dead before they hit the water.”

Lindsay continued to stare at the doorway where Michael stood. No one else saw him. He smiled at her. It was a beautiful smile.

“Michael, I’m sorry.” She said.

Both the doctor and the nurse followed Lindsay’s gaze, but all they saw was an empty doorway.

“We may have to keep you in for observation.” The doctor said with a worried look on his face.

“Did you find anything wrong with me?” Lindsay asked.

“No but….”

“Then I’m going home.”

And another short story comes to and end. My head is full of them, so pretty soon another will begin. I hope they give you some pleasure, I certainly enjoy writing them. I’ve provided a link to my first novel below. It took me a couple of years to write and perfect, but I think it was worth it. It may be the best $0.99 you’ll ever spend, who knows?

Dead of July

Dead of July by Sandra Thompson

Does it alway rain at funerals? – Dark Angel

My dad’s funeral was the worst day of my life. Worse by far than my accident and hospital stay. The pain of his loss was unbearable. When my doctor asked me if I wanted Valium to get me through the day I didn’t hesitate. “Yes please,” I said “how many can I take before I sink into a coma?” She looked at me with concern. “I’m only going to give you two, and I want to see you back here next week,” she said.

My mum put on a brave face as we stood by the graveside, but she didn’t know what I knew. She hadn’t seen the awful black shadow hovering outside my window. Why did the Dark Angel linger? Why did she torture me? If she wanted to take my life, let her take it. I didn’t want to see anyone else die.

Does it always rain at funerals? It was miserable, but the raindrops hid my tears.

My brother put his arm around me. “Come on, be brave. He wasn’t a well man. This was his third stroke. We knew this might happen eventually.”

“I never got chance to say goodbye.” I said. My brother hugged me tight. “Say goodbye now, I’m sure he’s watching.”

“Bye Dad, I love you.” I said and looked to the sky. The clouds were dark and ominous. I looked away. My grief tainted my vision and made me imagine things that weren’t really there, or so I hoped.

Dark Wings

 The short stories I post on my blog are writing exercises for me. Dead of July, my first novel is available on Amazon. I’m currently working on a compilation of short stories and then I will write a much requested sequel to Dead of July.

http://amzn.to/1aXh4Md

Dead of July by Sandra Thompson

Clearing the Demons – A Ghost Story (Part 2)

As I walked slowly, but purposefully to the cemetery, the  old woman’s dry whisper echoed in my head Go and visit your mother! Old womanbrompton-on-swale-01

Why was I paying any attention to the ramblings of an old lady I’d met briefly in a pub? An old lady only I could see! Was I finally losing my mind? After the year I had just struggled to survive, it wouldn’t surprise me. What had the old woman meant when she said  I had called her? I pinched myself, just to make sure I was awake. I wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

Opening the wrought iron gate leading into the cemetery I walked through, wondering as always, if the gate were there to keep the dead from wandering into the village. Cemetery’s always made me uncomfortable. I imagined I heard whispers and saw shadows. I rarely attended funerals for the same reason. My parents funeral was different. At their funeral I listened intently praying thew would whisper to me. I had things I needed to say to them. It wasn’t to be.

My feet crunched on the gravel as I walked along the path, past the War Memorial. I paused  in front of it. When I was much younger I visited this cemetery with my Dad. He told me about the two World Wars and how his father served in World War I and he had served in World War II. My Dad proudly told me he had been a Desert Rat. “You were a Rat?” I asked him shuddering at the thought. He laughed. “I’ll show you the photos when we get home,” he said.

My eyes filled with tears as I continued my walk to my parents final resting place. My dad had been dead for over twenty years, but it felt like only yesterday. When I reached the small double headstone that marked where my parents ashes were buried and sank to my knees oblivious of the damp earth.

“Oh Mum, I miss you.” I said out loud “Why didn’t I spend more time with you? Why didn’t I heed your wise words? My life is a mess, I’m lost.”

A breeze whispered gently through the branches of the old trees that shaded the cemetery.

No pet, you aren’t lost, you have just strayed a little. 

Was that my mother’s voice? It came from behind me. I turned to look, but couldn’t move.

Shhhh, it’s going to be alright. 

I felt a hand touch the side of my face, another rested on my shoulder. The world as I knew it faded away……….

A German Ghost Story

My new novel is available from Amazon by clicking on the book cover.

Luke – I love you!

Lucia lay in her coffin looking alive and beautiful. Was she really dead?  Friends and acquaintances passed by, smiling down at her resting body. “She looks alive” a college said. “She looks like she could talk to me”

Lucia indeed looked radiant in her coffin. She died at the young age of thirty from a brain tumor that had lurked in her head for years undetected.

Lucia found herself looking up into the dark blue eyes of Luke, her fiance of eight months. Wait a minute, why was she looking into his eyes, wasn’t she dead? “Hey Luke, don’t be sad, I’m here. They thought I was dead, but look, I’m not. Thank God! They made a mistake.”

Lucia sat up and kissed him on the lips. Luke wiped a tear from his eye and walked away. “Hey, wait for me, I’m here. Wait.” she said as she ran after him. Why didn’t he hear her?

They closed the lid on the casket. Lucia stood and watched confused.

coffinThe room was silent as Luke and his three brothers walked back into the room. She smiled as she always did when she saw them together. They were a handsome family.

The four of them picked up the coffin. “Hey guys, I’m here, there had been a mistake. HELLO!”

They lifted the coffin effortlessly. “There is nothing in there, that’s why it’s easy to lift” She thought.

Luke and the coffin bearers passed right through her. Lucia shivered and followed them outside as they walked the short distance from the funeral home to the freshly dug grave.

She stood next to her beloved Luke as her coffin was lowered into the ground. Why was she still here? Why was she watching?

Lucia felt herself fading as the first handful of dirt was thrown onto the coffin, and she heard the noise it made as though she were lying there in the silk lined darkness.

She put her arms around Luke and held him. He could smell the scent of her body, a smell he loved. He inhaled deeply closing his eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks. Luke’s mother squeezed his hand.

“She wouldn’t want you to be sad” she said.

Lucia was looking at Luke from a long way off now, looking down a tunnel at him, watching him throw a single rose into the grave.

“Luke, I love you” she whispered.

“Lucia, I will never forget you.” he said and then turned away, unable to look as the earth covered her.

Check out my short story which is available on Amazon. 

My upcoming novel ‘Dead of July’ will be released in March 2013. For updates Follow me on Facebook

My first Novel ‘Guy at the Bar’ is back with my editor and will be re-released in late 2013. It’s a great story, but needs the TLC of a good editor.