Demons be Gone – A Ghost Story (the end)

Blackpool Beach“Yes mum, I remember Blackpool Beach, I got lost and you came and collected me from the ‘Lost Children’s Van. I had to eat your ice cream because it was melting.  I thought I would never see you again. I had a nightmare which seemed so real. I was scared, but you came back and made everything right.”

It was more than a nightmare, I thought to myself, it was a premonition of a plane crash, a crash that made the news a week later. A crash that killed someone my mother loved.

“We had a lovely time in Blackpool didn’t we? You were a good girl, you saw way too many things a child should never see.”

Did my mum mean the regular beatings my fist dad gave her, or did she know about my premonition on Blackpool beach?

“You and I were close, we did lots together. We struggled through life on a hope and a prayer until I met your step dad.” she continued.

She’s right. I thought, We lived on very little other than love and the clothes on our back. 

“Mum, I wasn’t very nice to my step dad was I”

“You were a teenager, he understood. He never stopped loving you.”

“How do I put things right? How do I feel good about myself again?”

“Live for the future,” she said “like who you see in the mirror. Treat people well and live a good life. If you do this, you will reap what you sow.”

I smelled Lilly of the Valley again, my mother’s favorite perfume. I was surrounded by warmth and love, but I felt my mother pull away. I wanted her to stay, but knew she must leave. 

“Mum, I love you. I’m sorry for all I put you through. Are you happy?”

I couldn’t see her smile, but I felt it. “Your dad says hello. His heart is strong now and we go for long walks together. Don’t grieve for us because we are with you all of the time.”

She faded away and all I saw was the sun, golden and beautiful, shining through the trees. A new day was dawning and with it a new me. The demons were gone and I had my whole life ahead of me. 

Graveyard

 

My first novel DEAD OF JULY is available on Amazon by clicking on the link below.

A German Ghost Story

Follow me on Facebook

Advertisements

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.

Clearing the Demons – A Ghost Story

GraveyardWas the sun rising or setting? How long had I been here? What was I doing? And then I remembered talking to the old lady in my local pub. I didn’t know her, but felt her watching me. Eventually, feeling uncomfortable, but curious about her fixation, I ordered another drink and went to sit beside her.

“I haven’t seen you here before, but I feel your eyes on me. Do you know me?” I asked.

“You called me.” She said in a quiet voice that sounded like footsteps on dry twigs.

“Called you? I don’t even know you,” I replied, something wasn’t quite right here.

Old woman

“Oh you called me, it was just a whisper, but I heard you. What do you want from me?” She asked.

“What does she mean?” I thought to myselfI began to feel uncomfortable and troubled as her piercing old eyes stared into mine, reading my mind, no reading me. I felt I may faint. She looked away and the feeling passed.

“You are troubled my child. All is not well with you. You need to clear your Demons.”

“Clear my Demons, what do you mean?” I asked, but I knew she was right. For the last year I had been haunted by thoughts of hurting myself, even taking my own life. I was in my early thirties, but felt life had already passed me by. I was an outsider looking at the life other people lived, feeling excluded, sad, different.

She cackled but it wasn’t an angry mean sound, it was just an old woman’s laugh. “Go visit your mother.”

“I’d love to, but my mother is dead.” I replied angrily.

I looked down at my drink, not wanting her to see me cry. I wiped away the tears that rolled down my cheeks before looking up again, when I did, she’d gone. Good riddance, I thought.

I finished my wine and went back to the bar to get another glass. “Who was that old lady?” I asked Gina, the barmaid as I gestured in the direction of the table at which we’d sat.

“Old lady? What are you talking about? You were alone. You looked like you were talking to yourself. I hope you don’t want another drink, I think you may have had enough.”

Was I losing my mind? 

“No, I don’t want another drink. I have an appointment. Happy New Year,” I said to the bemused barmaid as I left. I didn’t care that she thought me crazy. I walked towards the cemetery, the old lady’s voice echoing in my head, “Go visit your mother,” she said. I decided to take her advice.

How does this story end? Check back in a couple of days to find out!

My new novel, Dead of July, is available on Amazon. 

Click on the link below for more information.

A German Ghost Story

A German Ghost Story

 

One Last Christmas – A Whisper and a Sigh!

DSC01449

Christmas Eve is alway special to me. I remember as a child being allowed to stay up late and watch for Santa as he sped across the sky. I alway saw him. “Mum, look, there he is,” I’d say. To which my Mum would reply. “Quick, get ready for bed. Santa only leaves Christmas presents for children who are asleep.

SantaAs fast as I could I would run up the stairs and get ready for bed. I’d peep from under the covers, but was ALWAYS asleep before Santa made his delivery.

Last Christmas eve I sat alone in front of the fire and thought about my mum. She’s been dead over ten years and I miss her. Everyone else was in bed and I was enjoying the peace and quiet, and one last glass of wine.

I whispered to my mother, hoping she was listening from above, “Mum, I miss you. I wish you were here for just one more Christmas. I remember how flustered you used to be as you prepared for Christmas day. You were so eager to make every year the best Christmas ever. Your mince pies were the best, your sage and onion stuffing was to die for and your tearful hug on Christmas morning always made everything right.”

I heard the sound of tinkling bells, where did it come from, I wondered. I looked out of the window and gasped as I saw a familiar image in the night sky far above. It couldn’t be Santa could it?

I heard a sigh from behind me, and turned to see who was there. I was no one, but smelled ‘Lily of the Valley’, my mothers favorite fragrance. Inhaling deeply I stepped forward and closed my eyes. Briefly I felt warm arms envelop me, just for a moment, and then they were gone.

I got my wish. My mother shared one last Christmas with me.

Merry Christmas everyone. Enjoy your family while you can. 

Follow me on Facebook

TRAVEL TALES AND MISHAPS

To purchase my new novel from Amazon, click on the link below.

A German Ghost Story

 

A Christmas Mystery

I was sick, and getting sicker by the hour. My head pounded and my body ached. I lay on the sofa, unable to make it up the stairs to bed. Covered in throws and fleeces my body felt like ice for a while before the fever set in. I was all alone and miserable until my mother showed up.

She sat in a chair by the window, a sympathetic smile on her face, just knowing she was there was comforting to me.

“Mum can I have some water please, I’m burning up?” 

With a burning fever, I slipped in and out of consciousness. Every time I opened my eyes I saw my mum watching over me.

I wish she’d bring me a drink, I thought.

Eventually, in a window of clarity, I crawled up the stairs and into my bed. I didn’t sleep well, but I slept.

The fever persisted and the following day was a blur of sleep, sickness and misery. Even my mother deserted me. I was alone again. Lying on the sofa, I was too exhausted to even read. I vaguely remember calling my husband and telling him my mum had been to visit, he sounded vaguely concerned.

Tears of misery and exhaustion trickled down my face as I watched the sun slip behind the Rocky Mountains.

And then something magical happened. 

CIMG1178

The snowflakes falling outside my window turned to glistening diamonds as the Christmas lights came on.

I stared at them, hypnotized. Was I hallucinating? I’d worried about getting the lights up before the frigid temperatures set in. Who had done this? My husband was in Columbus and no one else had the keys to our shed.

The only person I’d seen in the past two days was my mother, and surely that was a figment of my imagination, induced by the fever.

My mother has been dead over ten years.

Maybe she is still looking out for me.

I hope so.

Mum, thanks for looking out for me and bringing light and comfort to my life. I miss you!

Believe it or not, this is a true story! Things like this have happened to me my whole life and I now sharing them with the world. My first novel ‘Dead of July’ has just been released and is available on Amazon as both a paperback and an eBook.

A German Ghost Story

A German Ghost Story

amzn.to/1ci8iX3 (eBook)

amzn.to/1hFBT45 (Paperback)

Watching over Me

Convallaria-majalisI couldn’t sleep last night. I was stressed and my mind was playing games with me. What did I hear?

Getting out of bed to investigate, I donned my robe and slippers and walked quietly downstairs.

I heard someone whispering in the basement. I should have been afraid, but I wasn’t. The soft whispers were soothing, not threatening.

I crept softly down the stairs towards the sound, wanting to be a part of it, wanting to be included in the intimacy.

A soft warm glow spilled from the basement door. Dust particles danced and floated in the light. It made me giggle like a child.

The whispering stopped.

I froze, hardly daring to breathe. For thirty seconds I heard nothing. I sat down on the stairs and waited.

“Please don’t go.” I said to myself.

As thought someone heard me, the whispering began again, interrupted only by childish laughter.

Who was it? Dare I move? I wanted to be part of the fun.

I smelled “Lily of the Valley”, a familiar smell from my childhood.Convallaria-majalis

Inhaling deeply I closed my eyes.

It was the perfume my mother wore. Oh how I miss her. Now I knew I was dreaming. Silence covered the house like a blanket.

When I opened my eyes again, the glow had been replaced by darkness. I was alone. Sadly I padded back to my bedroom and slept.

This morning, as the light filtered through my blinds, I remembered the whispers. Had I been dreaming?

I had gone to bed worried and stressed, but this morning I was calm.

My arms full of laundry, I started my sunday morning routine. As I descended the stairs, into the basement, I was overwhelmed by a feeling of happiness and well-being. It was so powerful, I gasped. Tears filled my eyes when I saw little sprays of Lily of the Valley strewn on the floor.

“I’m watching you pet, I’m here”Lily-of-the-Valley 1

It was the voice of my mother, she was all around me.

I hope you enjoyed my short story. 

My first novel ‘Dead of July’ will be for sale on Amazon and in some Independent Book Stores before Christmas. Watch out for it!

Follow me on Facebook

Preview Dead of July

Dead of July (Small)

Mothering Sunday – Do I hear my Mother?

None of us really knows what happens after we die. It’s probably a good thing because it may scare us. We all hope we will end up in a better place at least that is what we like to believe.  I hope it’s true but, I have no thoughts one way or the other, I choose not to think about it.

I often sit and have a conversation with my mum and dad. My dad died over twenty years ago and  my mum died around ten years ago. I know, it sounds crazy, but they don’t judge me. I talk about my day, blurt out my problems and ask for help and advice. Of course I don’t get an answer, well not one I can hear. I know they help me though because problems that I talked to them about are often resolved. Impossible situations are often fixed, so I know they hear me.

My mother died in late April of 2002, it doesn’t seem that long ago, but it is almost ten years. My dad died over ten years earlier, just before Easter. Give or take a couple of weeks, they left this world at the same time, only ten years apart.

From late March to mid May (my dad’s birthday was May 15), I feel that they are close to me. When I woke up this morning several doors had been closed during the night. Before he went to bed, my dad would close every door in the little house where I was raised. Things had been moved. It looked liked my house had been organized while I slept. Yes my mum was very tidy.

At times I am sure I can smell her perfume, she liked to wear ‘Tweed’ by Lentheric. This Sunday is ‘Mothering Sunday’ in England. 

‘Mother’s Day’ as it is known here in the US. I always made a fuss of my mum on Mother’s Day and I think she remembers it and comes back to do the same for me.

Laugh at me if you want, but I am telling you that every year between ‘Mothering Sunday’ and my dad’s Birthday on May 15th, they come to visit. I don’t see or hear them, but I do know they are here and they are very welcome.

To read more about ‘Ethel and Wilf’, my mum and dad, check out my short stories from:

My dad inspired me to write, although it took a long time for me to realize it. When I have finished my current novel ‘Dead of July’ I am going to finish a story he started in 1944, about the London Blitz. I hope it makes him proud.

You can keep up to date with my stories her on my blog or by following my Facebook Page  Follow me on Facebook

Blogging for my Mother at Christmas – Miss you mum!

As a budding published Author with a full-time job and a passion for cooking and wine, Christmas is the hardest time to blog!

So I am giving you all a photographic excuse as to why I can’t.

Mince Pies

I have a pan on the stove with two Cornish hens simmering away ready to make soup. Next to it is a pan of beans, bubbling happily before being added to the hens. I have fresh veggies to prepare.

I have scones and mince pies to bake. Why do I do all of this instead of buying them? Because for the week before Christmas and the week after, I feel very close to my mother. Her birthday was on December 26th (Boxing Day).

She cooked incredible and traditional English fare.  I miss the smell of Christmas in my mother’s house as she passed away some years ago. I am keeping up her tradition.

It’s hard to concentrate on writing and blogging with so much to do, so I will continue when I can, but for now…..I am thinking of my mum!

If you have time, check out my short ghost stories below. They are a tribute to my mum and dad, who are no longer with me. Have a Merry Christmas.

 

Follow me on Facebook

Mothers Past and Present

Mother Teresa

We all know this is mother Teresa, not my mother, but someone I would like to remember this mothers day, along with Princess Diana and of course Phoebe Ethel Newman – My Mother.

Princess Diana and Mother Teresa died within a week of each other in 1997, neither will be forgotten. Not so many people knew my mother passed, who passed away in April of 2002.

I miss her.

I didn’t think I would because she lived in England and I am here in the US. We only spoke on the phone every couple of months, and that was when I called her. She was in her eighties, getting forgetful, and would tell me the same thing over and over again. I wasn’t as understanding as I should have been, I wish I could go back in time and tell her things, but I can’t.

When I am alone, I sit and talk to her, and then laugh at myself because I would catch my mother alone in a room, seemingly talking to herself at times. I would ask her what she was doing and she would answer “Talking to Grandma”.

We all become our mothers eventually.

To everyone out there, whose mothers have passed away, spend a couple of minutes taking to them, I am sure they will hear you.

Happy Mother’s Day!