Three Ghosts – Part One

My Mum1I arrived home from a GOD AWFUL day at work.”Why is it I’m never patted on the back for doing a good job?” I thought to myself. “One flipping mistake and I’m reprimanded in a room full of people. Dammit, why do I care so much?”

“You care because you’re made that way!”

I spun around. Was it my mother’s voice I heard? It really was a bad day if I heard voices. I changed into comfortable clothes, poured myself a glass of wine and sat on the porch. I needed to be outside where the air was fresh. It would cleanse the odour of failure. What an awful work day. No what an awful work year. “Why do I care?”  I asked myself again.

“Aren’t you listening to me? You care because you’re made that way. Remember how we used to sing, pick yourself up, dust yourself down and start all over again? You saw me do just that more times than I care to remember.”


No answer!

I began to cry. Not big heaving sobs, but tears of sadness and exhaustion trickled down my face. Darkness settled around me, the birds silenced as the sounds of night took over. The chair next to me creaked a little, as though some one has shifted position. I dried my eyes and went inside to pour myself another glass of wine. The wind chimes played a soft tune with no help from the wind. As I approached the front door the porch light dimmed. One of the bulbs must have gone, I though to myself as I walked towards the soft glow.

The night was silent. You could have heard a pin drop. No birds, no crickets, not even the whisper of a breeze.

I sat down, knowing something was about to happen, and then she spoke.

“Talk to me, little girl, tell me what’s wrong”


“I’m not her for long so talk to me. What can I do?” Yes, it was my mother’s voice. The glow that surrounded me wasn’t from electricity, it was her warm, healing aura.

“I’m lost mum, I don’t know where I’m going or where I’ve been. I’m just lost.”

“No, you’ve hit a bump in the road that’s all. Don’t let it get you down. Move on.”

“Move on to what? Move on to where? What do you mean.” I asked

“Move on to what makes you happy. Learn from your mistakes and don’t make them again. We had some rough times you and I, but we survived. You can get through this.”

The light was fading. “Mum, don’t go, stay a while longer.”

“I wish I could pet, but its time for me to leave.”

The porch light came back on, but the glow was harsh. I went back inside. She was right. Even if I’d just imagined my mum, her words were right. As I turned to lock the screen door a sweet smell wafted through. It was the smell of Sweet Peas, Lily of the Valley and vanilla, it was the smell of my mother.

Dead of July by Sandra Thompson



The last goodnight

“Mum, I don’t want to go to bed.”

“Come on now, its school tomorrow.”

“Just five more minutes. Please?”

“Alright then, but scoot up to bed quickly if you hear your dad coming home.”

Lou, Peter’s mum, went into the kitchen and began to prepare her husband’s supper. Peter watched her. For some reason his young heart ached. He sat on the sofa pretending to watch television, but he watched his mum instead. She hummed a tune as she chopped vegetables. She turned around and gave him a funny look. “Whats going on with you tonight?” she asked.

“Nothing mum, I think I’ll go to bed now.” Lou came out of the kitchen and hugged her son, planting a big sloppy kiss on his cheek and ruffling his hair.

“I’ll see you in the morning, sleep tight.” She said. Peter didn’t want to leave her. She smelled so good, so safe, so comfortable. Reluctantly he let go of her, “Goodnight mum, I love you.” he said as he climbed the stairs. “Love you too Pete,” She answered.

Peter lay in bed, his head under the covers, listening to his transistor radio. It was 1965, he was nine years old.

transistor radioSleep settled over him, but not for long. He woke up suddenly to the sound of music. What had happened to his radio? It seemed to have traveled back in time. Instead of the latest pop songs he heard Nat King Cole singing his mum’s favorite song. It was an old song, older than Peter, but his mum would sing it to him when he was sad. Why was the DJ playing songs from ten years ago?

Peter’s bedroom door opened a crack and a face peered in at him, it was his older brother. “You awake Pete?” he asked.

The music on the radio changed, The Four Seasons now sang Bye Bye Baby, Baby Bye Bye. Peter scratched his head. Had he been dreaming? He pushed the covers back and watched his brother walk slowly across the room. He sat and on the edge of Peter’s bed.

“Have you been crying?” Peter asked.

“Pete, I need you to be strong now. Can you be strong?”

Pete nodded his head and looked at his brother nervously. “Did you join the army? Are  you going away? I heard you talking to mum about it. She doesn’t want you to.” he said.

“No I didn’t join the army. I’m not going anywhere. It’s mum, she died.” Pete looked at the clock. It was three in the morning. He could hear people talking and crying downstairs. “She had a heart attack,” his brother continued.

Peter put his head back under the covers and turned the radio back on. He didn’t want to hear anymore, he wanted to hear Nat King Cole, he wanted to hear his mum sing to him again. He didn’t believe she’d died. It must be a dream.


Meeting the Demons – A Ghost Story (Part 3)



smoking potHitching a ride

The peaceful cemetery faded away and I was surrounded by chaos and darkness…………….I took a deep breath and opened my eyes. It was dark and I was on the side of a busy busy motorway. I recognized it immediately. It was the MI, the road to London. 

Was this a cruel joke? A flashback of my delinquent teens? I heard my mother’s voice again.

Don’t be scared, we are exorcising your demons. This is the night you ran away from home, you were only fifteen! 

“I know and I’m sorry” I said. “My dad was in hospital and you were all alone. Why was I so awful? Mum, I really am sorry.”

I know pet, don’t worry, I forgave you the minute you came home and I saw your face. I could see how sorry you were.

Although my body didn’t move, my mind moved forward in time. I sat in a field by a camp fire, it was 1972, I was smoking pot. I groaned inwardly remembering that night. I was arrested and my parents collected me from the Police Station. Was I ashamed when I saw them? No! Did I see anger or disappointment in their eyes? No! Only concern. “Mum, I let you down so many times, how can you ever forgive me?” I asked.

I heard a familiar gentle laugh which brought tears to my eyes, my mother’s voice continued. You will be a mother one day and you will understand that a mother’s love never goes away, just gets stronger. You will be there, just as I was, to help your child pick up the pieces and move on with her life. She will fight you, tell you she hates you and make you cry, but she will always love you and you will always love her and be there when she needs you. 

I fought back the tears as I listened. “Mum, don’t leave yet, lets remember some good times too.”

I wouldn’t go without remembering the good times. The good times will chase away the Demons.

I became a child again. The year was 1974 and we were on the beach in Blackpool……..

I love to write, it’s good for my soul. I have written several short stories, which will be released later this year. My first novel ‘Dead of July’ is available on Amazon and can be purchased by clicking on the book cover below. Judging by the reviews, this book is a fun read. I certainly enjoyed writing it. 

A German Ghost Story

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. 


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 (eBook) (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)

Face in the Mirror

Once when I was a teenager I wondered

What it would be like to be my mother for a day

To see the world through her eyes

And feel the way she felt in every way


Then I began to wonder I about who I really was

Could I now be my mother and was my mother me

What if our places changed and I had gotten old

Would anyone know the difference, would anyone be able to see


I’ve thought about it often as time has passed me by

I look in the mirror to see a face that isn’t mine

My thoughts belong to the girl I used to be

But the face is my mother’s, it just happened over time












Follow me on Facebook

Pigeons, Time and my Life Fly By

Wood PigeonI am awakened by the sound of Wood Pigeons. I smile and roll over snuggling into my warm bed. It’s Saturday so I am in no hurry to move.

No school today. My mum only works for a couple of hours on a Saturday morning and will be home soon. We always enjoy breakfast together before getting ready for the one o clock bus into Darlington.

Saturday is shopping day. First stop is ‘Pietro’s’ where my mum gets her hair fixed. Pietro is a very handsome Italian, he makes my mum blush, and that makes me laugh. Next stop Woolworth’s, where I always get a treat. We wander around the ‘covered in market’ for Yorkshire Curds, meat and whatever else takes our fancy, and we finish up in the Co-op.

Sometimes we buy fish and chips and eat them on the way home.

Yes, I like Saturdays.  CIMG0145

I like shopping with my mum in Darlington. I love the little village of Summerhouse, my home.

Finally I open my eyes, ready to enjoy the day.

Something isn’t right. I rub my eyes and look again.

This isn’t my cozy bedroom in Summerhouse. It’s a lovely room, but not mine, or is it?

I see white wooden shutters on the windows with a green and gold chaise beneath them. I look towards the double doors leading out to the stairs, and the vaulted ceiling of the room beyond.

This is a lovely house, but it isn’t Summerhouse, this is Colorado.

It’s not 1963 anymore and I am not six years old.

In what seems the ‘blink of an eye’ the years flew by. Where did they go?

The year is 2013 and I am old. My mum passed away a long time ago.

The Wood Pidgeon is still outside, but I think he is mocking me now.



Sheila’s Story – One beating too many!

Sheila’s memories started very young, but she probably didn’t know what was going on before the age of three and a half. Her early memories were a jumble of pictures, like lots of movie clips mashed together.

She had one or two good memories, like when she rode on a donkey at the fairground across the road or  riding on a motor bike, squished in the middle between her brother and his friend. Quite illegal, very dangerous, but so much fun. These were good memories.

Sheila’s home was a small terraced house in long street where everyone knew each other. Everyone watched out for each other, and there was always someone on the street, watching out for the kids, it was a safe place to live, on the outside anyway.

It was spring when Sheila left and her mam left their house for good, it was still cold. They had put their coats on and were heading out to Mrs. Barlow’s house as Sheila’s mum had a little side business doing hair. She wasn’t trained, but could put curlers in and fluff someones hair out pretty nicely as fashion then required. It brought in a little bit of money, which they desperately needed. Sheila’s dad didn’t like this little side job, it made her independent. He came through the front door, just as they were about to leave. He had been drinking and he blocked the doorway, telling them they weren’t going anywhere. Sheila’s mam tried to push past him, but he pushed her back inside, she lost her balance and fell to the floor. She tried to get up, but was pushed down again.

Sheila ran into the front room and hid behind a chair, she put her hands over her ears like she always did when her mum and dad argued, it scared her, she hated it. There was no arguing this time though, just thuds and screams. Sheila took her hands from her ears, she hadn’t heard this sound before. She left her hiding place and slowly inched her way to the hallway. She peeped through the door just in time to see her dad’s foot make contact with her mum’s leg and she started to scream. She screamed loud and hard and didn’t stop. What was happening in the hallway was too horrible for her to take in. Her mum lying on her back in the hallway, being kicked brutally by her dad. No child should ever see anything like that. Her dad turned around and ran past her, pushing her out-of-the-way as he went, Sheila’s screams may have saved her mam from something much worse.

Sheila’s mam was crying, but was able to get off the floor. Without hesitation she took hold of Sheila’s hand, opened the front door and left the house for good. They went through the front gate and walked as fast as they could. Sheila kept looking at her mam, who was crying quietly. “Mam are you OK” her little voice asked. “Yes pet” her mam replied, and then they walked in silence.