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


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

Let me die along with my friends!

BodyLindsay hung onto the branch for dear life waiting for the mayhem to stop. Her ears were ringing as though someone had sounded a tuning fork in her head. She was hit in the face by an object she didn’t see coming. Blood dripped into her eyes but she felt no pain. Dear God let this be over. She thought about letting go, ending it all. The sole survivor of the hellish fire, she wanted to die. Death must be better than this!

“Who’s there?” Lindsay asked, feeling she wasn’t alone. The hairs on the back of her neck bristled and she felt a chill running down her spine. Her hands slipped a little and her toes hit the cold water.

Just let go Lindsay, join your friends. You deserve to be with them. You’re as guilty as they are. You bloody English thing you own the world.”

“What?” Lindsay looked up and saw a shadowy figure standing above her on the path. It was Colleen. Her terrible beautiful face was contorted in pain and anger, her dress red with blood. A shadowy figure formed by her side.

“Come on Patrick, let’s go now. There’s nothing for us here!”

Patrick? The shadows faded, merged with the breeze. Back on the water, shapes appeared, a shoe floated past, part of a backpack, a plastic bag, a glove with something trailing out of it.

Oh God, there’s a hand in there.

“Help, can somebody help me.” Lindsay shouted.

She was surrounded by silence, but not for long. Voices approached, shouting in panic, followed by footsteps.

“Lindsay, hang on. Bill, Steve, make a human chain get her off that branch, it’s not going to hold much longer.”

She looked up to see Barbara and two other police officers. They were reaching down to her.

“Take my hand love.”

Lindsay obeyed, but daren’t let go of the branch.

“I’ve got you. You can trust me.”

She did as she was told and felt herself being pulled to safety.  She collapsed weakly to the ground and looked back towards the river. The glove had floated out of sight. A human shape had taken its place. It floated lifelessly, face down in the deep dark water.

Patrick? Could that be him? Is he with his sister now? For a moment no one moved.

One of the Police Officers sprung into action, pulling off his shoes and jacket. “I’m going in, I’m a strong swimmer.” He plunged into the cold water and made short work of reaching the shape, pulling it easily to dry land. Lindsay was aware of a gathering crowd, some of whom helped pull the lifeless body out of the river.

A woman pushed her way through the crowd. “I’m a nurse”, she said and tried in vain to resuscitate the man. Someone else bound the stump of his arm, where his hand used to be.

Lindsay knew it was too late. Patrick had joined his sister.

“Who is this, do you know him?” Barbara asked.

Lindsay opened her mouth to speak, but screamed instead. A second shape appeared in the water. It was Michael!

Oh the stories that rattle around in my brain. Check out my first novel Dead of July is available on Amazon for $0.99. Give it a try. 

Dead of July by Sandra Thompson




Vengeful Dead – An Irish Tale

“So why are you telling me this and not the Police? This man may be responsible for the death of over a hundred people for Christ’s sake. He’s a bloody murdering terrorist.”

“I don’t know that for sure. I need to talk to John, but he won’t talk to me anymore, doesn’t want to get me involved. He’s still grieving his wife.”

“I can understand that, but what about his kids? He should at least tell the Police what he knows and let them take over. They’ve already lost their mother. They need their father now.” Lindsay picked up her glass of whiskey and emptied it in one gulp. She needed warming up on the inside. Michael did the same.

“Another?” he asked.

“Yes, and make it a double.”

Michael went to the bar and Lindsay pulled her chair closer to the fire to ward off the chill she felt in her bones. There was movement outside the big bay window that looked out onto the street. When she turned her head to look, two faces looked back at her. A man she didn’t recognize and the face that had become familiar to her as Colleen, the face of a ghost. I thought ghosts only appeared at night. This isn’t fair. Lindsay ran outside as quickly as she could, knowing full well Colleen wouldn’t be there, but she needed to talk to the stranger. Was this Michael’s brother? Or was it Patrick, Colleen’s brother. Someone had to be the voice of reason and she felt that was her role, but she was too late. The street was deserted. She walked back inside just Michael put two more glasses of whiskey on the table.

“What was that all about?” he asked

Lindsay downed her second whiskey in one gulp.

“Your brother John, is he kind of heavy-set with dark curly hair?”

“No, he shaves his head, and he’s skinny like me. Why?”

“I just saw two faces at the window, Colleen and a heavy-set man, probably mid thirties, curly dark hair.”

“Colleen’s brother, dammit. I have to find John.”

“You’re concerned about the living, but not the least perturbed about the dead Irish woman?”

“She can’t hurt us, she can scare us to be sure, but that’s all. Patrick can hurt us, and there’s a good chance he will.”

“Do you really think he could have started the fire?”

“In his mind Colleen was killed because of the British Army being in Belfast. He’s over here to make trouble for them in their own country. He wants revenge.”

“His sister was caught in the crossfire though, no one was to blame.”

“In his mind the British Army are to blame.”

“Where are the boys, John’s boys? Who is looking after them?”

“Colleen’s ma, she moved to Dublin to be away from danger. The boys are safe. John lives there too, but when the Queens Regiment moved back from Ireland Patrick disappeared and John knew it meant trouble. He followed the regiment hoping to catch Patrick before anything happened. Neither of us expected anything like the fire that killed your friends. Patrick’s a good man, but his sister’s death tipped him over the edge. He drinks too much and…”

Michael never finished his sentence. A brick hurtled through the window and bounced off the table, landing in the middle of the room. Everyone in the bar ran. In the seventies, near an army camp, if something was thrown through a window it was usually exploded.


When I start writing I don’t really know where my story is taking me. It’s an adventure, an escape, and I enjoy every minute. Try my novel Dead of July. It’s set in Dortmund in the early eighties and follows the adventures of a young Army wife and the trouble she managed to get into. It almost killed her. 

Dead of July by Sandra Thompson



Irish Colleen Seeks Revenge for the Dead!

Lindsay’s house was invitingly quiet, but Michael wouldn’t set foot inside.

“I’ll stay here by the back door. Get yourself cleaned up or whatever you need to do and let’s go.” He was jittery and nervous.

“What are you afraid of?”

“Just get what you need and let’s go, I’ll tell you about it later.” He acted like a cat on a hot tin roof.

What the hell have I got myself into? How did this happen? Lindsay washed her face and put on some lipstick. She looked at her pale tired reflection in the mirror. God I can’t go to the pub looking like this. She quickly smudged dark eye shadow on her eye-lids and applied blusher to her cheeks. That’s better! A little mascara and she was done.

“Come on, we need to get out of here.” Michael was getting more and more agitated.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming,” Lindsay yelled as she washed her hands. When she checked her face in the mirror the face looking back at her wasn’t her own. For a split second she saw a beautiful image with big dark eyes and long black hair. The room had become icy cold. Lindsay ran to the back door where Michael was waiting.

“Are you alright?” Michael asked, “You’re as white as a sheet.”

“This woman, Colleen, does she have long black hair? Is she in her late twenties, beautiful.”

“Yes, she’s dead though. Died in Belfast, caught in the bloody crossfire. Why?”

“She was just in my bedroom. Why would she follow me?”

“Come on let’s get a drink. I think its time I told you everything.”

Lindsay wasn’t sure if she wanted to know everything. She has a funeral to attend the following day, a funeral for the charred remains of her best friend. How much more can I handle?

They found a table by the fire in the little village pub. Although it wasn’t cold outside, the old stone building didn’t warm up inside until July. The fire was welcoming and cozy. Michael went to the bar and came back with two glasses of lager and two whiskey chasers.

“I figured you might want a stiff drink.”

“OK Michael, no small talk. Let me know what’s going on, start with Colleen.”

“She was married to my brother. Neither of them had anything to do with the IRA, or Sinn Fein, but they were visiting Colleen’s family in Belfast. The Queens Regiment was on duty, patrolling the street as they always did. There was often trouble in that part of Belfast. There was an ambush. Shots were fired. Colleen ran outside, worried because she didn’t know where her boys were.”

“Her boys?”

“Colleen and John had twin boys, they were four years old.”

“Oh God, were they OK?”

“Yes, a neighbor grabbed them and hid them in her house when she heard the shots. It was a regular occurrence, everyone watched out for everyone else. Colleen wasn’t so lucky. She was caught in the crossfire. One bullet through the heart!”

“Michael that’s awful. She was killed in front of her parent’s house. Did the bullet come from an Irish gun or the British Army?”

“British Army, but not on purpose. It was a horrible accident. A tragedy. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Both of the British Soldiers were killed. It was kept from most of the newspapers. People are tired of hearing about the casualties in Northern Ireland. The Irish are tired of it too, they just want peace.”

“So what does this have to do with me? Why am I suddenly part of this?”

“Colleen’s brother! He wants revenge, and I think Colleen is egging him on. John is trying to stop him. He may have been responsible for the fire last week.”




Dead of July is my first novel and is available on Amazon. If you’re enjoying my blog, give my book a try.

Dead of July by Sandra Thompson





Please note this story is purely fictional. I was married to a British Soldier in the seventies and the death and sadness related to the fighting in Northern Ireland touched my heart. So glad there is peace now. No one should die in the name of religion. My heart goes out to both the Irish and the British Soldiers who lost their lives. 

The Restless Dead

bigstock-beautiful-woman-with-stone-lik-12160685Lindsay and Michael walked along a back lane to the banks of the river Swale. Other than the sound of birds chattering, it was peaceful, almost like being on another planet. The fire and it’s aftermath still tormented Lindsay’s brain, but the surroundings were soothing. Neither of them spoke as they walked along the well-worn track by the river.

“There’s a clearing up ahead with some big rocks we can sit on, the river is shallower there so if this is a ploy to drown me, you’d struggle.” Lindsay said.

“Why on earth would I drown you?” Michael asked.

“I don’t know. Why are you here?”

They continued in silence until they found the clearing, and found a couple of boulders to sit on. Michael made pebbles skip across the glassy surface. It irritated Lindsay. She was on edge and wanted to know why he kept following her.

“We’re not here to play, what is it you want with me? And who the hell is Colleen? I can’t believe I’m even asking. I must be losing my mind. If it’s not bad enough seeing images of my dead friend, now I’m seeing the ghost of some Irish woman I’ve never met. Is this your doing?”

Lindsay began to cry again, a sad hopeless sound. Michael said nothing until her sobs subsided. He knew she wouldn’t listen. They didn’t know they were being watched. Eventually Lindsay stopped crying.

“Sorry! Sorry for everything. You wouldn’t be able to see any of this if you weren’t tuned in to that sort of thing. I’m not making you see anything. I’d give anything to turn back the clock and not have you suffer like this. I can’t! I’m just trying to help.”

“What are you trying to help with? Do you know who started the fire? Do you know who killed my friends? If you do, why are you talking to me instead of the police?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Nothing ever is with you bloody Irish. You try to blame religion for all of your hatred, but I don’t believe any of it. I thought God was about love not hate.”

Michael dropped his head into his hands and sighed.

“This has nothing to do with religion, or the IRA. It’s about me brother John. Colleen was his wife. She’s dead!”

“I’m sorry, how does that tie up with this….”

There was a loud splash in the water at the other side of the river. Michael jumped to his feet.

“Come on, we have to go.”

“Why it was just a fish jumping?” Lindsay stood up and looked into the water. Two reflections looked back at her. The head of a beautiful, but pale woman peered over her shoulder. Lindsay almost fell as she twisted around to see who was behind her. Michael was the only person there. She looked across the river to see the shape of a man disappearing among the trees. Michael grabbed her hand urgently. “Come on, we have to go now.” He said urgently.

Michael, Michael, where’s my Johnny boy. Why can’t I see him?

Dead of July Another book by Sandra Thompson. Buy it on Amazon.

Dead of July by Sandra Thompson


Fear the Dead

MooreC290724“Colleen?” Lindsay said, “This has something to do with you?”

Oh Michael, she’s bringing trouble to you? Leave her now. Where’s my Johnny boy? Where is he then? Johnny, save your brother, Michael strays.

“In the name of God leave us be, go away, nothing good can come of this. You’re a good Catholic Colleen, rest now.”

I’ll rest when I’m done Michael; there are lives to be paid for.

The room warmed up and the shadows shrank back into the corners. Lindsay was curled up in a ball, her head in her hands. When the impossible conversation stopped she looked up.

“What the hell was all that about. Did your brother start the bloody fire? Did he murder my friends? Am I imagining it or were you talking to the dead? I’m going crazy I have to be. Get out now.”

“Put your shoes on, let’s go for a walk.”

“No I don’t want to walk. I don’t want to be around you. How can I trust you? Who the hell is Colleen and why do I hear her voice in my house?”

“Lindsay, put your shoes on, lets walk. I don’t want to talk here inside. Lets walk.”

Lindsay reluctantly got up and found her shoes.

“Is there somewhere quiet we can walk, away from the roads and people?”

“I’m not sure I want to be alone with you, I feel safer with people around. Maybe you’re here to finish the job. I’m the only survivor.”

“I don’t want to hurt you Lindsay, I just don’t want to bring you anymore trouble. I love my brother, but I don’t want him to see us together. He’s not fond of the English.”

“Oh, great!” Lindsay said, “Lets walk by the river, you’re not likely to push me in are you?”

“No I’m not.”

They left through the back door and crossed the playing fields. A group of teenagers were kicking a ball around, football practice, but no one paid them any attention, or so they thought. Neither of them saw Michael’s brother Johnny. His green pants and sweater merged in with the hedgerow. He watched them walk towards the river.

Dammit, he thought, another soul lost to the unbelievers. My own brother!

You know what to do Johnny boy, take care of it.

Dead of July my first novel is about a young British Army wife and the trouble she got herself into in Germany in the early eighties. In that story she got into trouble with the Russians, not the Irish. Give it a try.

Dead of July by Sandra Thompson



Death in the Shadows

ColleenMichael gently backed Lindsay away from the door before closing it. He held her tightly until the tears subsided. It took a while. Eventually, when she was calm, Michael pulled away and gently lifted her head so he could look into her eyes. Lindsay wouldn’t look at him.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” she said.

“It’s alright, I guess I came just at the right time. You needed someone.”

Lindsay took a deep breath and let Michael go.

“I’m not sure if there will ever be a right time again.”

Michael led her to the sofa and sat down next to her taking both of her hands in his.

“Living through something like this isn’t easy. Believe me, I know.”

“I lost all of my friends,” she whispered, “that’s bad, but there are other things happening. It’s getting worse, much worse. I think the dead are coming back for me!”

She sobbed again, her whole body shaking. “Maybe it’s a good thing. Why should I be the only one left alive?”

Michael put his arm around her “Come on now, you are alive, and you should be grateful.”

“Michael I think I’m losing my mind. I keep dreaming about my best friend Mel, and when I wake up the dream lingers, I see her. Her awful burned face haunts me. I saw her in the interview room at the police station.”

“It’s stress and nerves. You feel guilty because you survived. It’ll pass.”

“No, I don’t think it will.”

“Lindsay, it will, I’m sure. Let me tell you something about my brother, he….”

“I don’t want to hear about your goddamn brother right now. I’m scared and I haven’t finished,” she spat the words out and Michael jumped, alarmed at her ferocity.

Lindsay picked up the pad from the floor and dropped it on his lap.

“Barbara, the young police woman, told me to write down my fears and emotions because I refused to see a shrink. Go on, read them.”

“Okay, this seems reasonable, I’ve heard of people doing this before, it usually helps.”

“Michael read the last line.”


“You’re asking for help.”

“I didn’t write that.”

“Who did?”

“I had another visitor, a young woman with an Irish accent.”

“What, just now, before I came? Who was she?” Michael asked.

“I don’t know, I never saw her face, only heard her voice.”


The room grew colder again and the shadows deepened.

The whispering began, it surrounded them “Michael, Michael, Michael. I see you……Michael where is he, where’s your brother. Where’s John, where’s my Johnny boy?”

Michael froze.


Try my novel Dead of July. Available as an ebook or paperback on Amazon.

Dead of July by Sandra Thompson


Dear Diary – They’re all Dead and Gone!

diaryLindsay’s world calmed down for a couple of days. No more visits from Michael, no more visits from the local police. She sat at home, alone, her head full of awful thoughts. Her parents were due home from France the day before Mel’s funeral, well what remained of Mel. It must have been an awful task for Mel’s parents, identifying the charred remains of their beloved daughter. Lindsay was glad she didn’t have to do it. She’d seen more than enough of Mel since the fire.

Barbara, the WPC, called a couple of times every day. “If you won’t go to see a therapist, or your doctor, keep a diary. Write down your fears and frustrations, that’s what I did when Scott was killed. It helped. It made me cry, but it helped.”

Lindsay took an old notepad left over from her school days and began to write.

Dear Diary,

I have no friends. I’m only twenty and I want to die. Mel was my best friend. Is it my fault she died? I didn’t start the fire, but I had bad thoughts in my head. I was jealous and it made me twisted. Mel was so natural and funny and popular with the boys. I never felt that way. I never found a boy I could trust. They all want to shove their hands in places they shouldn’t. I’m a romantic, I want more. Now all I want is to die. If my death would bring my friend back, I’d kill myself now. I don’t deserve to live. 

Lindsay sat back on her chair and thought Mel. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she continued to write.

Mel, I promise I will do all I can to help the police find out who did this. I miss you. You were pretty and funny and I loved you like a sister, even if I didn’t show it. You were the only person in the world who was nice to me. You put up with my weirdness. You knew why I was the way I was. I never told anyone about my dad and the things he did. I only told you. You were my friend and I wish I’d died instead of you.

The shadows in the room grew darker. Lindsay tried to get up and switch on the light, but she couldn’t move. She was paralyzed. The room became cold, darkness seeped from the corners to envelop the room. She could barely breathe. I need a therapist, the diary isn’t working! I need pills, lots of pills. Maybe I can end this misery with pills.

A gentle voice whispered her name. “Lindsay, I need your help.”


“The fire, it wasn’t meant to kill so many.”

“Who’s speaking to me? Were you killed in the fire too?”


Lindsay strained her eyes trying to see into the darkness, but to no avail. The room warmed up, the shadows faded and Lindsay sat alone. She picked up the pad she’d been using, not sure if she wanted to write any more.


Did I write that?

The pad slipped from her hands as she ran to the door, she needed sunlight and fresh air. When she yanked the door open Michael was standing there. Lindsay flung her arms around him and burst into tears. She needed someone right now and he would do.

I enjoy my blog stories, I hope you do too. My first novel Dead of July is available on Amazon. 

Dead of July by Sandra Thompson