Death by Rifle?

Death by RifleJOY1690.0LI knew the old guy would most likely be at work, but I had to check. Someone was trying to make contact with me and I had a feeling it was his daughter. Why? Who the hell knew. Maybe I was the only person in the area who was open to her. I needed it over with. I needed my life back. Grabbing my coat, and stepping into my shoes, I set off up the road purposefully. I hadn’t gone far when my cell phone rang, it was Les.

“Hey, you didn’t call me back last night, still mad at me?”

“No, just tired, I went to bed. Not feeling great. I took the day off work.” Silence!

Ok say something! Ask me why I’m not feeling well! Give me some sympathy at least.

“You’re in the middle of another episode aren’t you?”

“Episode? What do you mean episode? You sound just like my mam.”

“I didn’t mean to. Are you going to be OK? It’s just hard to get my head around this stuff.”

“Why? When you’re mam died you knew it was going to happen. Explain that! You’ve seen things in this house that you can’t explain. Why is it so goddamn hard for you to get your head around this?”

“I know, I’m sorry. Just be careful OK!”

“I will!”

“Got to go, conference call starting. I’ll call later.”

With that he hung up. I ended the call and stuffed the phone back in my pocket. My fingers touched something cold. The pendant! I pulled it out and looked at it. I thought I’d left this with Bonnie in the Stagecoach! I opened it up and looked at the photos inside,they didn’t change the way they had last night. One side of the heart showed a young couple, and the other side was the face of a little girl, she was as cute as a button, her face beaming with happiness. I didn’t recognize any of them, but if I had to guess, I’d say the young couple were the old man and his wife. The little girl had to be his daughter. I choked back the tears. What a tragedy. Mother and child gone, and the old man wishing he were with them. It made me want to call Les back and tell him I loved him. Who knew what tomorrow held?

I walked along the driveway to the ranch, the neglected yard like a wilderness at either side of the rutted driveway. I approached the door cautiously, remembering what had happened the previous evening. The porch steps creaked as I mounted them. The door swung open slowly as a knocked. With a strong sense of deja vu, I stepped inside.

“Anyone home?”


Then just like the previous evening I heard a noise from above. I was about to turn and flee when the old man appeared, he was carrying a rifle.

“I was expecting you!” he said.

That was No Dream!


Image from ‘The Nightmare”

“Les, that was more than a dream”

Les looked at me quizzically, “what do you mean? You’re in bed and you’re screaming and thrashing like you’re fighting with someone. What else could it be?”

“Something’s wrong, the girl from the barn is calling me.” I told him.

“What girl?

“The dead girl. The girl who had the baby”

“What baby?” I could tell Les was getting annoyed. He wasn’t really interested, just going through the motions and thinking here we go again.

“She had a baby in that old barn up the road. It was a long time ago, she died giving birth. The old guy in the pub on New Years Eve is her dad. When he brushed by me I felt a connection. She needs my help.”

“What old guy? What the hell are you talking about? I’ve had enough of this, I’m getting a shower.”

“Les, you know I see things sometimes, it’s why I write. She’s reaching out to me and I have to find out why.”

“You write because you have an overactive imagination. Stop confusing reality with your imagination. People are going to think you’re crazy.”

“Remember the blood on my face that day, you helped me clean it off?”

Les rolled his eyes, “yes, you said you fell in the snow and scratched yourself on the bushes.”

“I lied, I was in the old barn. I saw a girl and a baby. Something in the barn scratched me. It could have been a stray cat, but I was in the barn that night. I went out walking and I was drawn to the barn. Now I know why, it’s the girl, she’s reaching out to me.”

“How do you know she died, where did you get the rest of the story from? Or did you just make it up?”

“Bonnie in the pub told me the rest.”

“Oh great! Another place we have to avoid now.”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t tell her about what I’d seen in the barn”

“There was nothing to see, get it into your head, this is a figment of your imagination, another plot for a book. Write a story and then forget about it for gods sake.” Les wasn’t shouting, but he was using that cruel cold voice that made me want to cry.

“I just asked Bonnie why the old guy was sitting alone drinking heavily. She told me his teenage daughter died giving birth to an illegitimate child in the barn. She’d kept it secret from them. She died. He’s never recovered.”

Les wasn’t listening anymore. He switched the shower on a closed the door.

Thanks a lot!  

I grabbed my robe and went downstairs to make some coffee. I wanted to cry. I felt scared and alone. We’d been married for fifteen years but Les still didn’t accept I was able to talk to the dead. He’d seen it first hand sometimes, but chose to erase it from his memory. Couldn’t he see I needed him? I gazed out of the kitchen window while the coffee machine heated up. A couple of tears trickled down my cheek. Gran I wish you were here. 

Then I remembered her voice, she was here, she’d helped me last night in my dream. 

At least someone was on my side.


The Spirit World – Just keep talking to me!

I was left alone in the darkness. Cold and exhausted I made no effort to move. If Luca materialized again I was done for! The moon had been hiding behind the clouds, but now appeared and cast a dim silvery glow on the earth. I looked around me, but there was nothing to see, no burning trees, no charred remains, nothing.

Was it a dream, a nightmare?

With the little strength I had left, I pushed myself up off the ground and onto my feet.


Something dug into the heel of my hand. I couldn’t really see what it was, but picked it up anyway. A small round shiny object glimmered in the moonlight. I smiled as shook it back and forth. It was a gypsy bell, the sort Mala wore on her skirt.

Headlights rounded the corner ahead of me. Dare I stand in the road and flag the car down? I had no idea where I was. Unable to make a decision, I watched it pass me by, tail lights disappearing in the distance.

Damn, where am I? I should have flagged it down.

Walking along the dark country road, I felt alone, but no longer afraid. Looking up at the stars I wondered what really happened after death. Were Mala and her love together now, forever? I’d never know, well maybe one day I would, but hopefully not for a long time.

Another car approached. It pulled up next to me.

“Hey there, are you alright, what are you doing in the middle of nowhere? Did your car break down?”

Bending down I peered through the open window and saw Liz, the landlady of the village pub in Brompton.

“Hey Liz, no I haven’t broken down, but I’d love a life home.”

“Oh, its you, what the heck are you doing out here? Jump in.”

I sat in the passenger seat of her sporty little MG. Before she pulled away she looked across at me.

“You look awful! Are you sure everything is OK?”

I started to laugh uncontrollably before tears gushed down my face.

“Oh no! It’s not that bloody dead guy again is it? The one you managed to pick up in my pub?”

I pulled myself together.

“No, he doesn’t bother me anymore. I managed to attract a gypsy this time. Actually, three of them, but it’s all over with now. All sorted.”

“I hope you’re right,” Liz said as she pulled away, “but I have a feeling these little adventures are going to be with you your whole life. How old are you?”


“Bloody hell, and how many dead people have you attracted, how many spirits have you sent on their way?”

I thought about it for a while before answering.

“Only two Liz, a couple are still hanging around, but they’re good company.”

If you want to read more about this budding ‘Ghost Whisperer’s’ adventures, keep following my blog. Dead of July, my first book, is currently available on Amazon for $0.99. I’m also working on two more short stories, which are both set in the North of England. One in Blackpool and the other in Brompton on Swale. Brompton is a small sleepy village in North Yorkshire. It’s the village where I spent most of my childhood. Writing is my passion and one day may become my retirement career. Everyone has to start somewhere. 

Thanks for stopping by.

Dead of July by Sandra Thompson