Help – Viktor’s Back

Shadows in my car, I could see them.

You can’t hurt me, you’re dead. You can scare me, but you can’t hurt me.

Dead of July (Small)

“I need help,” I whispered.

Major McCafferty stopped and faced me.

“Why, whats wrong?”

“Viktor,” I whispered, “he’s back!”

Lingering Evil

 

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“Sheila, you’d better tell me what’s going on, why are you so stressed?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but couldn’t find the words.

“Come on, deep breath, talk to me.”

“Viktor,” I whispered, “He’s back.”
“What? Sheila he’s dead.”

“Death didn’t stop him last year did it?” I sobbed.
“Last year you were contending with his evil family, they were playing tricks with your mind, not Viktor. Viktor is dead.  His mother is also dead. Died in that horrendous fire, and hopefully burning in Hell.  Yuri is in prison, they can’t hurt you. Look at me Sheila, listen to what I’m saying. The can’t hurt you anymore!”

I knew it was no use arguing. Neither Shirley or Jill had had seen Viktor, I was the only person cursed with seeing the dead. Now Shirley thought I was crazy. Maybe I was.

Evil Lingers for a while. Lingering Evil,  my sequel to Dead of July is in the works, and coming along as nicely as Dead Russians will allow. 

 

 

 

 

Viktor – An insight!

Dead of July (Small)

Viktor never knew love. He was used by Marianna, his mother in ways you can’t even imagine, ways I can’t bring myself to write about. She was a monster! In the late seventies, when Vlad, Viktor’s  father was killed by a competing crime family, Marianna took revenge and then fled to Germany with her two sons, Viktor and Yuri. She became the Queen of a lucrative criminal world. A smart organized woman, she changed her business to suit the needs of the underworld. She traded guns, secrets and worst of all, women. No women is not the right word, she bought and sold young girls.

In her youth she was beautiful to look at, and took lovers as and when she pleased, male or female, it didn’t matter. If they pleased her she kept them for a while. If they didn’t satisfy her needs, they simply disappeared.

Marianna’s lifestyle caused her to age badly. Too much vodka, cocaine and sleepless nights turned her beautiful face into a grotesque mask. Willing lovers became few and far between, so she took her pick from the men who worked for her, and the young girls she traded. They were unwilling partners, and many were never seen again.

Yes Viktor was evil, but his mother was much worse, she was the Devil.

Shattered

Shattering window glass. Against a White background.

Shirley never finished her sentence.
The window just to the right of us exploded inwards. Splinters of glass flew towards us like tiny missiles. No time to move, we instinctively covered our heads with our hands and ducked. I felt tiny shards of glass hitting the back of my right hand, which was closest to the window. It only lasted a few seconds, but it seemed much longer. When I felt safe again I sat up Shirley’s head was on the table, she wasn’t moving.
The kitchen door burst open and Gay appeared. “Don’t move, I’ll call the medic’s.” Monica was right behind her, she looked at me “You okay?” she asked. “Yes, Shirley, are you alright?” Shirley lifted her head slowly, no blood on her face, her hands and hair had protected her head, but there was red mark on her forehead. She must have hit her head on the table.
She looked groggy. Her eyes wouldn’t focus!

Dare I sleep?

shadowy-figure

Tucked into my bed, alone! No part of me exposed to the air, hiding, scared, no sleep for me tonight.
When will I be safe again?
The air moves, I feel it.
“Who’s there?”
No reply.
I’ve come for your unborn child.
I know my fears are talking to me. I’m alone with my fear, conjuring up terrors that don’t exist.
The bedcovers slowly glide down the bed and onto the floor.
Icy air touches my skin. Cold, dirty air, tainted with an evil presence.
“Won’t someone please, HELP ME!”
I shouted to an empty room. No one heard.
I clutched my stomach and prayed.

Beware the Quiet Writer

I’ve been reading Stephen King as long as I can remember. From his very first story to his very last, and enjoyed ever single one. His last book, The Outsider, may have been my favorite. I say that and then I remember the Mr. Mercedes trilogy, and Dr. Sleep. Oh and then there are his novellas. His writing changed to suit the era, but I was drawn into every single book. When I read Stephen King I don’t open a book, I reconnect with old friends.

Why am I telling you this? Because I’ve been quiet for a while! My brain has been active though, and now, its ready to go. I’m writing for 1984, the era, the style, the times. My Dead of July sequel is progressing. You can’t rush, or force a good story. It needs to flow naturally. I want my readers to put it down, take a deep breath and think about me. I’m not Stephen King, I’m Sandra Thompson, but I want folks to remember what I’ve written, from Dead of July to….wherever it ends.

Stephen King, you had me at Carrie!

Dead of July (Small)

Lingering Evil – Shadows

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“Who’s there?” I asked again.

Whispers in the darkness! Distorted shadows moved past the end of the bed and deepened in the corner of the room.

Les sat up sleepily. “What’s going on? Are you having one of your dreams?”

I sometimes had dreams that turned out to be premonitions, Les was used to them, but they were unpredictable.

“No, someone touched me!”

I was wide awake.

The Ticking of the Engine

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Glancing back at my car, I expected to see Viktor sitting in the passenger seat, an evil grin on his face, but there was nothing there. What I’d heard was most likely the ticking of the engine cooling down. Alfa Romeos ran hot, just like the Italians, and I drove it hard. There was nothing to see, but I felt a sudden chill, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

“Come on, let’s get you inside, you’re shaking. You need a hot, sweet cup of tea.”

I barely heard Shirley’s words, but allowed her to lead me up the stairs to our office.

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Yes, I’m writing again. This is the follow-up to Dead of July which I published back in 2013. You can only write when the time is right!!!

The Pregnancy

 

cobs-product-pane-di-casa-loaf-650x458February and March of 1984 flew by. My body began to change and swell with pregnancy. It was uncomfortable, but exciting. Morning sickness visited me in the afternoon rather than the morning, which was fortunate because the only thing that seemed to soothe it was hot fresh bread. I craved it constantly. A British bakery food truck visited our area every couple of days, and I stood by the window every afternoon after work, waiting for it to arrive. I’d smell its delicious aroma before the truck arrived, and was usually down in the car park waiting for it.  The bread van was driven by an ex-squaddie who decided to stay in Germany when his time with the British Army was done. I was glad he made that decision.